The amateur scientist
Who: Ginella and G'thon
Where: G'thon's quarters
When: The nineteenth day of the sixth month of the third turn of the seventh Pass
What: Ginella, on one of her visits to High Reaches to catch up with Caucus classwork, is expected for tea with G'thon. She has a few moments to herself with his notes, then discusses briefly the matter of Weyrwomen attending the Weyr Council, the topic of her ethics class project, then departs to tend to Aneleth. Ostensibly.
With a new subsection of ethics students starting on what has come to be colloquially referred to as the twelve words project, or even just 'that ethics assignment,' the prior subsection nears the end of term and presumably, eventual presentations on their topics. This contributes to G'thon's reasons for hosting meetings with his students, to prepare them for this last task; it could be argued that his companionless quarters might also inspire these meetings, just so the former weyrleader has people to talk to.
Today he expects - or should expect - the Bendenite weyrwoman for tea and talk. The tea is ready, and the door to his quarters is barely ajar; but the man himself is absent, and perhaps this has something to do with a scrabbled heap of hides, unusually untidy for G'thon's keeping, atop his desk. Perhaps it has only to do with the lack of sweets - no basket of pastries awaits, either. In any case, all is prepared for a conversation of ethic proportions, except for one of the conversationalists.
Ginella is on time, perhaps even a little bit early, for her meeting with the ethics instructor, her bag, full of notes and books, hanging against one hip. She raps her knuckles lightly on the door, then, since it is ajar, peeks inside. When the instructor is not visible, she hesitates a moment, checks a piece of hide in her pocket that has the meeting time, and then steps inside. She makes her way towards the desk, taking a seat in the chair opposite. Her bag is set down, and she waits for a moment or two, watching over her shoulder for G'thon's arrival. When he does not appear, she eyes the tea, and then finally rises to inspect the set-up. Finding it ready, she pours herself a cup. She does not, however, go immediately back to her chair. Rather, she moves slowly back towards his desk, lingering at one corner as she stirs the tea absently. From there, the pile of hides is casually eyed; she leans slightly to look at them as she lifts the tea cup to blow off the steam and take a small sip.
Among the hides she eyes: a series of essays, brief, written by the lower subsection of the ethics class. Their topics vary but all have to do with the rights of the imprisoned; a letter to Lord Anshuman, begun but not completed, describing G'thon's apparent pleasure with little Peloth's personality in tones as familiar as brothers might use; a scrap with shorthand notes, most likely uninteresting to Ginella due to their obvious origin in the latest class discussion; and a small sheaf of hides clipped together at the top, the topmost of which has been bent in half. The visible portion of it reads 'Substance notes,' as if it were a study prepared for publication, and the portion of the hide immediately beneath it has a hand-drawn chart with quantities (small) marked at the top and shorthand remarks in boxes beneath. The rows are identified by number only. Among the remarks, 'disoriented,' 'sleep,' and 'death' are written cleanly, evidently simple or important enough observations to require longhand recording.
The tea is a spicy blend, likely a more southern preparation, a little bit sweet-smelling with touches of cinnamon and cardamom.
The essays are given a glancing over, the names of the students on each noted, the theme in their topics quickly becoming clear, and moving Ginella's eyes along. The letter earns a momentary glance, but when she finds the salutation, she quickly moves on. Notes from their last class are flipped through for a moment as the tea is sipped; it earns a glance of approval back at the pot, but no packaging is visible to give away its origin, and her eyes turn back to the desk. Charts are always more interesting to glance at than essays, so it is this pile she leans towards, lifting a hand to carefully unfold the top page. It is peered at, absently at first, her attention still mostly on the tea she sips, but the notes soon draw her attention, and the cup lowers as brows come together. She peers at it for another second, then begins to flip through the other pages in the bundle.
In a subsequent page the subjects, identified only by number (one through four) in the chart, are described by age and weight - ages 3 months to 11 months, weighing respectively from about one pound to about twelve. The notes are taken in a less than expert order; the chart on that first page is easily the most organized thing present. Paragraphs, some in shorthand and some in longhand, describe various experiments more in diary form than in a manner a healer would use - the first person pronoun is rampant, and editorial remarks are common. Early in the notes a line observes, 'small dose has no effect,' although later on a different line observes, 'small dose disorients,' and even later it is noted, 'small doses seem to have cumulative effect.' Early pages have occasional notes in the margins - *milk is one of them, next to a paragraph describing a subject having and recovering from a choking fit, which the author proposes most unscientifically to be related to overenthusiastic consumption rather than to toxic effect. Still, the last line of one of the pages is pretty simply put: 'Over time, it seems an excess dose of any nature will resolve in regrettable fatality.' If the tone of this note doesn't betray the author, his tidy handwriting surely does.
In a little time the door creaks. G'thon slips through with basket in one hand and the enormous roll of hide which he occasionally hangs up and takes notes upon in class tucked under the other arm. That Ginella should be by his desk or busy with his things seems to trouble him not at all: he rings out a cheery greeting while awkwardly nudging the door shut with an elbow, "So sorry to have kept you waiting, weyrwoman! I do hope you've helped yourself to tea."
Ginella's eyes speed down the page, skimming over it to the end, then going back through each, taking in as much as possible. Her lips move minutely, now and then; memorizing? The handwriting, that is certainly eyed closely, and she is just raising her head from this as the door creaks and G'thon enters. Ginella looks up quickly, eyes widening, just for a second, and then she smiles, and lifts the sheaf of essays that sit just beside what she has really been eyeing. "I did help myself, I'm afraid," she says, with a bit of a hearty chuckle, "And I'm afraid I've been going through your essays, also! I like the topic. And I'm pleased to see you've taken Capellin into the course; I had a history seminar with him, he seems very eager." Now that he is here, she sets the essays back down atop the pile, and moves away, back towards her chair.
Gans steps just to the side of the door and there juggles a bit so he can get the rolled hide down onto its end, propped up against the wall. Once he's relatively assured it won't flop over onto the floor he leaves it to carry the basket over to the sitting area, there to put it down on the desk, closer than the tea-cart. "I brought us some pastries; just go ahead and help yourself to these as well, then," he replies, a chortle's tremulo warming his voice. "Capellin? Ah, yes," he adds, with a glance at the essays, and Capellin's atop them; then Gans goes around the desk, toward tea, which of course he'll want for himself. "His is the longest, I think you might have noticed. Eager indeed. What did you think of his remarks?"
Ginella sits back down in the chair, bending to pull her bag up into her lap. "Oh, that was good of you," she smiles, "I hope you don't mind that I just came in and sat down. I would have come back later, but I'm catching a ride back to Benden shortly, so there wasn't really time." She leans over to look at the pastries, taking her time in choosing as she replies about the essays: "Oh, I'm not surprised; his were always the longest." A pause, then she adds: "I found his take on the prisoner's rights to humane treatment interesting. I believe there was a bit about how long someone should be held without being charged, also? I admit I just skimmed them."
"I should hope," replies Gans, absolutely droll with an eye back over his shoulder for Ginella, "I did not keep you waiting -so- long that you would have had time to do better than skim." He tends then to upturning a cup onto a saucer for himself and the ritual of pouring tea; he amends it slightly with sweet and milk, and while he stirs goes on, "There is indeed a bit about being held without charge. Insightful, if dreary. Most of their briefs have been interesting; I've thought about repeating the exercise, in a more complex form, with you in the upper section. - Did it interest you particularly?"
"Oh no," Ginella assures him quickly, "Not long at all. I've only been here a moment or two; I just got myself some tea and gave his a quick look before you arrived." She smiles again, tea cupped in both hands, which rest on top of her bag. She watches him pour, glances at her own tea, and then looks back up to nod, "It does seem like it has potential, as a topic. It's not something I've heard discussed very often. I suppose it would mostly only be relevent in cases like with the Instigators, when it's not always as simple as catching the one or two men responsible and locking them up for punishment."
"Indeed," agrees G'thon, finishing his tea ritual and turning back to approach the desk and chairs, his smile crooked up on the right-hand side. "Or in those where more crimes are suspected than those with which the person being held might firmly be charged at the time." If his decision not to use a gendered pronoun carries weight it's well-hidden weight, not so much as a pause inferred before 'the person' slips through the ethics instructor's smiling lips.
Ginella's brows rise slightly before she gives a quick little nod, "True, I hadn't thought of that, exactly. That would... apply. Yes." Another little nod, his use or disuse of pronouns going entirely un-reacted to. There's a pause, then Ginella flahes a faint, press-lipped smile and says, "So, just to quickly go over my presentation before I have to run off, I seem basically to have found that most have never really considered the question of Weyrwomen being on the Council. Most of the Weyrwomen I talked to hadn't really considered it, since it's always been the provenance of the Weyrleader, and the Weyrleaders said the same."
"Unsurprising, I suppose; we train our weyrwomen to do - and expect to do - other things from the day they impress." There may be a note of wry bemusement in this observation. G'thon has no observation, however, on the ignorance of weyrleaders on this subject. He lifts his tea, blows over the surface of it, but does not quite yet drink; he does settle more comfortably in his chair, legs crossed, and look over the cup's rim at his student, the weyrwoman who particularly thought of this issue. "Do you think there is any chance you heard altered answers because of who and what you are?"
"Precisely," Ginella replies briskly, with an accompanying nod. She lifts a hand away from her tea cup to brush at her hair, then tilts her head a bit to one side in thought before shaking it again. "It's possible," she admits, "Especially from Weyrleaders. I think from goldriders, though, I had mostly honest answers. I could perhaps attempt to send someone else to speak with the Weyrleaders, but I think at this point it might be too late, since I've already raised the issue in their minds. I have still to discuss this with Neiran, also, as assigned. We've had trouble finding a time with me at Benden. Which--" There's a pause, and she turns inward, then puts on another smile, "I'm so sorry, Instructor, but Aneleth is being insistent. You know how they are on the sands," she adds, smiling again, "I'm afraid I have to cut this short and get back to her."
"Oh, Aneleth," says G'thon, and there's again a trace of a laugh below his words, and in the fine lines that feather out around his eyes. "I shouldn't have even tried to keep you, weyrwoman. Go to her and take my regards, should she want them." This, too, is a bit wry. He replaces the teacup in the saucer and sets it aside, then rises, of course ready to see his guest out. "Don't worry about the meeting with the healer; if you can't find time we'll simply let him be a member of the panel." A brow props up for that, as if this might be more punishment than generousity. But good-humored if so: "And congratulations, by the way."
Ginella manages something of a chuckle, and a nod. Yes, that Aneleth. Gosh darn her. "It's a difficult time for my schedule," she offers, rising, and setting her half-full teacup on the edge of the desk. Her bag is gathered and fastened closed, strap back over her shoulder, and she steps around the chair to move toward the door, nodding. "I would like to try to get the meeting in. I will have to speak with him, but... I suppose that is an alternative, if necessary." Another brief smile, then on its heels, one more, and a nod: "Thank you. Thank you, I'll pass that along. Sorry again. I'll try to make it to the next class," she adds, then slips out.
Where: G'thon's quarters
When: The nineteenth day of the sixth month of the third turn of the seventh Pass
What: Ginella, on one of her visits to High Reaches to catch up with Caucus classwork, is expected for tea with G'thon. She has a few moments to herself with his notes, then discusses briefly the matter of Weyrwomen attending the Weyr Council, the topic of her ethics class project, then departs to tend to Aneleth. Ostensibly.
With a new subsection of ethics students starting on what has come to be colloquially referred to as the twelve words project, or even just 'that ethics assignment,' the prior subsection nears the end of term and presumably, eventual presentations on their topics. This contributes to G'thon's reasons for hosting meetings with his students, to prepare them for this last task; it could be argued that his companionless quarters might also inspire these meetings, just so the former weyrleader has people to talk to.
Today he expects - or should expect - the Bendenite weyrwoman for tea and talk. The tea is ready, and the door to his quarters is barely ajar; but the man himself is absent, and perhaps this has something to do with a scrabbled heap of hides, unusually untidy for G'thon's keeping, atop his desk. Perhaps it has only to do with the lack of sweets - no basket of pastries awaits, either. In any case, all is prepared for a conversation of ethic proportions, except for one of the conversationalists.
Ginella is on time, perhaps even a little bit early, for her meeting with the ethics instructor, her bag, full of notes and books, hanging against one hip. She raps her knuckles lightly on the door, then, since it is ajar, peeks inside. When the instructor is not visible, she hesitates a moment, checks a piece of hide in her pocket that has the meeting time, and then steps inside. She makes her way towards the desk, taking a seat in the chair opposite. Her bag is set down, and she waits for a moment or two, watching over her shoulder for G'thon's arrival. When he does not appear, she eyes the tea, and then finally rises to inspect the set-up. Finding it ready, she pours herself a cup. She does not, however, go immediately back to her chair. Rather, she moves slowly back towards his desk, lingering at one corner as she stirs the tea absently. From there, the pile of hides is casually eyed; she leans slightly to look at them as she lifts the tea cup to blow off the steam and take a small sip.
Among the hides she eyes: a series of essays, brief, written by the lower subsection of the ethics class. Their topics vary but all have to do with the rights of the imprisoned; a letter to Lord Anshuman, begun but not completed, describing G'thon's apparent pleasure with little Peloth's personality in tones as familiar as brothers might use; a scrap with shorthand notes, most likely uninteresting to Ginella due to their obvious origin in the latest class discussion; and a small sheaf of hides clipped together at the top, the topmost of which has been bent in half. The visible portion of it reads 'Substance notes,' as if it were a study prepared for publication, and the portion of the hide immediately beneath it has a hand-drawn chart with quantities (small) marked at the top and shorthand remarks in boxes beneath. The rows are identified by number only. Among the remarks, 'disoriented,' 'sleep,' and 'death' are written cleanly, evidently simple or important enough observations to require longhand recording.
The tea is a spicy blend, likely a more southern preparation, a little bit sweet-smelling with touches of cinnamon and cardamom.
The essays are given a glancing over, the names of the students on each noted, the theme in their topics quickly becoming clear, and moving Ginella's eyes along. The letter earns a momentary glance, but when she finds the salutation, she quickly moves on. Notes from their last class are flipped through for a moment as the tea is sipped; it earns a glance of approval back at the pot, but no packaging is visible to give away its origin, and her eyes turn back to the desk. Charts are always more interesting to glance at than essays, so it is this pile she leans towards, lifting a hand to carefully unfold the top page. It is peered at, absently at first, her attention still mostly on the tea she sips, but the notes soon draw her attention, and the cup lowers as brows come together. She peers at it for another second, then begins to flip through the other pages in the bundle.
In a subsequent page the subjects, identified only by number (one through four) in the chart, are described by age and weight - ages 3 months to 11 months, weighing respectively from about one pound to about twelve. The notes are taken in a less than expert order; the chart on that first page is easily the most organized thing present. Paragraphs, some in shorthand and some in longhand, describe various experiments more in diary form than in a manner a healer would use - the first person pronoun is rampant, and editorial remarks are common. Early in the notes a line observes, 'small dose has no effect,' although later on a different line observes, 'small dose disorients,' and even later it is noted, 'small doses seem to have cumulative effect.' Early pages have occasional notes in the margins - *milk is one of them, next to a paragraph describing a subject having and recovering from a choking fit, which the author proposes most unscientifically to be related to overenthusiastic consumption rather than to toxic effect. Still, the last line of one of the pages is pretty simply put: 'Over time, it seems an excess dose of any nature will resolve in regrettable fatality.' If the tone of this note doesn't betray the author, his tidy handwriting surely does.
In a little time the door creaks. G'thon slips through with basket in one hand and the enormous roll of hide which he occasionally hangs up and takes notes upon in class tucked under the other arm. That Ginella should be by his desk or busy with his things seems to trouble him not at all: he rings out a cheery greeting while awkwardly nudging the door shut with an elbow, "So sorry to have kept you waiting, weyrwoman! I do hope you've helped yourself to tea."
Ginella's eyes speed down the page, skimming over it to the end, then going back through each, taking in as much as possible. Her lips move minutely, now and then; memorizing? The handwriting, that is certainly eyed closely, and she is just raising her head from this as the door creaks and G'thon enters. Ginella looks up quickly, eyes widening, just for a second, and then she smiles, and lifts the sheaf of essays that sit just beside what she has really been eyeing. "I did help myself, I'm afraid," she says, with a bit of a hearty chuckle, "And I'm afraid I've been going through your essays, also! I like the topic. And I'm pleased to see you've taken Capellin into the course; I had a history seminar with him, he seems very eager." Now that he is here, she sets the essays back down atop the pile, and moves away, back towards her chair.
Gans steps just to the side of the door and there juggles a bit so he can get the rolled hide down onto its end, propped up against the wall. Once he's relatively assured it won't flop over onto the floor he leaves it to carry the basket over to the sitting area, there to put it down on the desk, closer than the tea-cart. "I brought us some pastries; just go ahead and help yourself to these as well, then," he replies, a chortle's tremulo warming his voice. "Capellin? Ah, yes," he adds, with a glance at the essays, and Capellin's atop them; then Gans goes around the desk, toward tea, which of course he'll want for himself. "His is the longest, I think you might have noticed. Eager indeed. What did you think of his remarks?"
Ginella sits back down in the chair, bending to pull her bag up into her lap. "Oh, that was good of you," she smiles, "I hope you don't mind that I just came in and sat down. I would have come back later, but I'm catching a ride back to Benden shortly, so there wasn't really time." She leans over to look at the pastries, taking her time in choosing as she replies about the essays: "Oh, I'm not surprised; his were always the longest." A pause, then she adds: "I found his take on the prisoner's rights to humane treatment interesting. I believe there was a bit about how long someone should be held without being charged, also? I admit I just skimmed them."
"I should hope," replies Gans, absolutely droll with an eye back over his shoulder for Ginella, "I did not keep you waiting -so- long that you would have had time to do better than skim." He tends then to upturning a cup onto a saucer for himself and the ritual of pouring tea; he amends it slightly with sweet and milk, and while he stirs goes on, "There is indeed a bit about being held without charge. Insightful, if dreary. Most of their briefs have been interesting; I've thought about repeating the exercise, in a more complex form, with you in the upper section. - Did it interest you particularly?"
"Oh no," Ginella assures him quickly, "Not long at all. I've only been here a moment or two; I just got myself some tea and gave his a quick look before you arrived." She smiles again, tea cupped in both hands, which rest on top of her bag. She watches him pour, glances at her own tea, and then looks back up to nod, "It does seem like it has potential, as a topic. It's not something I've heard discussed very often. I suppose it would mostly only be relevent in cases like with the Instigators, when it's not always as simple as catching the one or two men responsible and locking them up for punishment."
"Indeed," agrees G'thon, finishing his tea ritual and turning back to approach the desk and chairs, his smile crooked up on the right-hand side. "Or in those where more crimes are suspected than those with which the person being held might firmly be charged at the time." If his decision not to use a gendered pronoun carries weight it's well-hidden weight, not so much as a pause inferred before 'the person' slips through the ethics instructor's smiling lips.
Ginella's brows rise slightly before she gives a quick little nod, "True, I hadn't thought of that, exactly. That would... apply. Yes." Another little nod, his use or disuse of pronouns going entirely un-reacted to. There's a pause, then Ginella flahes a faint, press-lipped smile and says, "So, just to quickly go over my presentation before I have to run off, I seem basically to have found that most have never really considered the question of Weyrwomen being on the Council. Most of the Weyrwomen I talked to hadn't really considered it, since it's always been the provenance of the Weyrleader, and the Weyrleaders said the same."
"Unsurprising, I suppose; we train our weyrwomen to do - and expect to do - other things from the day they impress." There may be a note of wry bemusement in this observation. G'thon has no observation, however, on the ignorance of weyrleaders on this subject. He lifts his tea, blows over the surface of it, but does not quite yet drink; he does settle more comfortably in his chair, legs crossed, and look over the cup's rim at his student, the weyrwoman who particularly thought of this issue. "Do you think there is any chance you heard altered answers because of who and what you are?"
"Precisely," Ginella replies briskly, with an accompanying nod. She lifts a hand away from her tea cup to brush at her hair, then tilts her head a bit to one side in thought before shaking it again. "It's possible," she admits, "Especially from Weyrleaders. I think from goldriders, though, I had mostly honest answers. I could perhaps attempt to send someone else to speak with the Weyrleaders, but I think at this point it might be too late, since I've already raised the issue in their minds. I have still to discuss this with Neiran, also, as assigned. We've had trouble finding a time with me at Benden. Which--" There's a pause, and she turns inward, then puts on another smile, "I'm so sorry, Instructor, but Aneleth is being insistent. You know how they are on the sands," she adds, smiling again, "I'm afraid I have to cut this short and get back to her."
"Oh, Aneleth," says G'thon, and there's again a trace of a laugh below his words, and in the fine lines that feather out around his eyes. "I shouldn't have even tried to keep you, weyrwoman. Go to her and take my regards, should she want them." This, too, is a bit wry. He replaces the teacup in the saucer and sets it aside, then rises, of course ready to see his guest out. "Don't worry about the meeting with the healer; if you can't find time we'll simply let him be a member of the panel." A brow props up for that, as if this might be more punishment than generousity. But good-humored if so: "And congratulations, by the way."
Ginella manages something of a chuckle, and a nod. Yes, that Aneleth. Gosh darn her. "It's a difficult time for my schedule," she offers, rising, and setting her half-full teacup on the edge of the desk. Her bag is gathered and fastened closed, strap back over her shoulder, and she steps around the chair to move toward the door, nodding. "I would like to try to get the meeting in. I will have to speak with him, but... I suppose that is an alternative, if necessary." Another brief smile, then on its heels, one more, and a nod: "Thank you. Thank you, I'll pass that along. Sorry again. I'll try to make it to the next class," she adds, then slips out.