Foot In Mouth Disease
IC Date: Day 26, Month 7, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: Ganathon, Vanya
Location: Corridor, Private Residences
Synopsis: A chance meeting in the corridor, and Vanya shows her amazing tendency to say the wrong thing. See? She warned people she had a mouth large enough to hold both feet!
Private Rooms,
Early Afternoon
A simple hallway, lit with glowbaskets and lined with doors leading into small private rooms. Small nameplates beside each door indicate who resides within.
An oddly quiet time of the afternoon, particularly in the lower caverns area. Not late enough for dinner, but long enough after the noontime meal for people to be back at work, or resting. For Vanya, it's the time when she can escape the Infirmary, and find some time for herself, reading or, as of late, studying a few hides to find further answers to some puzzling questions regarding her forthcoming work with Nari. But, today it's a little earlier than usual, which means things are well in the Infirmary, and she can actually take her time, no rush. It's one of those hides she reads over now, a rather familiar-shaped container of hot water in one hand (familiar for those who regularly partake of tea, at least) and her attention not on exactly where she places her feet. A slightly uneven part of the floor, and a soft splash. A mild invective at her own clumsiness, and enough water spilled to postpone her daily ritual. A sigh, and a glance at the floor. "Ah, well, hot water doesn't take so long to heat," she remarks to herself, enough lost to require a return for more, and a delay in having a much-needed cup of tea.
It is on her return trip that Ganathon - so the placard beside his quarters name him - comes down the corridor and, sidestepping naturally to let her by, says nothing more than, "Good afternoon." He smiles, one-sided, at the business of tea she carries, and for a moment the black-clad man, gaunt and tall and pale, seems to sparkle a little with wit, with life. The moment passes, and if Vanya does as well, he will move on.
Vanya also carries with her a large cloth, as well, and is careful to place it over the errant spillage. It is, for that minor task, that she is not already at her door, and hears the proffered greeting, and turns her attention to the older man, a touch of color on her cheeks from rushing. "Good afternoon, sir," Vanya returns, a slight concern to her rather neutral smile. "I beg caution, if I may, I'm afraid my lack of attention caused a spill. The floor is uneven over here, and I'd not like to see anyone take a fall." The young woman seems in no rush, now that her accident is covered and her curiosity piqued. "Excuse me for being bold, but we've not met," she says, offering herself for introduction. "I've seen you a couple of times in the hall, and hoped we might someday meet. I'm Journeyman Healer Vanya, sir," she adds, "and if I'm not mistaken, you are G'thon?"
He glances down, marks the location of the cloth with a sweep of his eyes, and brings his gaze back up to her face, stopping his progress down the hall in so doing. "I am. Well met, healer," G'thon replies, and closes the space left between them with a long stride, graceful enough despite his infamous injuries. He offers out his hands, a cradle in which to shake hers as a gentleman might shake a woman's, more a clasp than a business greeting. "And - welcome? Have you been at the Weyr long?"
Vanya, perhaps unprepared for such a gentlemanly action, glances helplessly at both her hands, one filled with the container of hot water, the other the hide intended for tea-time study. Caught off-guard, she exhibits a moment of girlish fluster, then smiles. Tucking the hide beneath her opposite arm, she offers one of those self-effacing chuckles and replies, "Slightly under two months, I believe, at this point. Certainly not a great deal longer." She allows her one unoccupied hand to be taken, the dip of a curtsey ingrained in her from turns at the hold. "A pleasure, sir. I've hoped to meet you, as you may be able to offer me some assistance in my work." An intriguing and most direct approach, certainly, if prettily offered.
He is poised and paused while she frees up a hand to put into his; he clasps those fingers lightly then in his cool ones before letting them free. "Welcome, then, to High Reaches." To her curtsey he replies a shallow bow, courtly enough, as if Hold-taught. But then; he is. "Assistance?" A pale brow arches to punctuate this word. G'thon, unfortunately, seems neither intrigued nor affected; he is merely curious, and his chin lifts so that he has the view of her down the formidable length of his nose. "Indeed." A gesture of one outstretched palm, and he backsteps, leading them out of the main path of traffic in the hallway. Along the way he asks, "Assistance of what sort?"
Vanya follows suit, moving alongside Ganathon down the hall with smooth steps, mindful of the floor and the hot water she once more carries. "I am, sir, by nature a researcher, and my work as a healer deals with the physical nature of injuries, those especially faced by dragonriders." She pauses in her steps to allow a couple of lower cavern workers to pass with a rather large 'something' between them. "I am a specialist in therapeutic recovery and preventative methods. Most of my research led me to notice certain recurring injuries which would seem to indicate pattern of --" Vanya pauses once more, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend or to be too clinical in explanation. "-- of later life pains in the lumbar region of the back. I was limited in the availability of current, accurate records at the Hall, and I'm thrilled to have been posted to High Reaches. The records here are incredibly helpful, but what I would find helpful is talking to someone who actually experience the training and has experience in methods used prior to the present day." She takes a breath, looking over at Ganathon. "I was hoping your having been a rider and a Weyrleader might offer me a chance to gain a bit of insight." She lapses into silence a second. "If, of course, it would not be an imposition for you to spare me a few minutes at some point. I have no desire to ... be bothersome, sir."
G'thon bristles incrementally, a change in his demeanor so subtle that passerby would miss it. It is accomplished chiefly by the lowering of his chin and the steadying of his hazel regard, though a secreting of one hand away beneath the lapel of his greatcoat, fingers coming to rest unseen over his heart, could also be indicative. "You have questions, then? I would be pleased to describe methods, experience, or pedagogy to you." The one-sided smile has slipped away and his brows resettled; he seems unlikely to be pleased in any such way. "But I must beg you not to allow me simply to ramble on. I would not, after all," and here he reaffixes a portion of the smile so poor it does not brighten his eyes, "care to prevent you from your work, when it sounds so much like your work is designed to benefit our fighting riders." She might detect the least emphasis on the word 'fighting.' It is an unpleasant emphasis. And after all of that unpleasantness G'thon finds it within himself to suggest: "We could, perhaps, take tea sometime?" A glance at her water, then back to her face.
There's an unconscious flush to her face, and Vanya instantly realizes with incredibly acute hindsight that this is a man who might be touchy on such a subject. Her lips compress marginally, and she stubs the toe of her foot on a slightly raised part of the flooring. No spill this time, and only a slight altering of her steps. "Nor, sir, did I mean any offense," is said quietly. "My work is for the benefit of all weyrfolk, be they riders or cooks, fisherfolk or drudges. It is only that I wish to find better ways of doing so that I would ask such a thing of you, and please know I would not have been upset had you declined." She takes a breath, now acutely aware of her faux pas. "I will not take much of your time, now that you've been kind enough to overlook that I often speak with both feet firmly placed in my mouth, and granted me some of your time. Tea, as you've obviously surmised, is a particular favorite drink for me, something I apparently picked up from my father. He left me many herbal recipes of value. I would be delighted to accept."
Near the door to his room, that brass placard shining in the low light, G'thon pauses and rests a pale hand on the doorknob. "Please," he says, when she indicates that if he'd declined she would not have been upset. But she goes on, and he has to grin a little bit, wry and lopsided, and bend his head for a bit of a shake, abashed. "Please, no. You have made no error. I am simply late for my own appointment." He tips his head toward the door by which he stands, raising his head to again fix Vanya in his mild regard; this time there is a little warmth, a little apology secreted away there in his eyes for her to take. "Perhaps the day after morrow? About this time? I will have pastries sent up for us, and you can bring whatever sort of questions or study you wish to pursue."
Vanya pauses her steps, turning grateful eyes to the man who was once leader of this weyr. "That would be lovely, sir," she replies, once more bobbing a small curtsey, his graciousness obviously appreciated. "Should I bring anything?" A faintly impish smile touches her lips. "Though I've not been here long, I have learned the value of a friend in the kitchens who is kind enough to slip me a few tea-time treats now and again. Essdara's culinary skills are only surpassed by her kindness." A pause. "Ah, but I'm sure I say nothing you cannot attest to yourself, sir," she adds with just a touch of lightness to her tone. "Thank you once again, and you shall find me here at the appointed time. Until then, sir."
"No, thank you. I am on a restricted diet." G'thon inclines his head again in a nod, one of those abashed ones, almost boyish in his self-deprecation; he lifts the hand that had slid into his greatcoat and with the tip of his long ring-finger outlines the fine feathery creases at the corner of his eye. His gaze becomes wryer, more sparkling for the gesture, a calling of attention to his age, and presumably an explanation for his diet. "If you see Essdara, however, do take her my regards? And thank you, healer. I will see you again soon." After that he slips open the door, and like a shadow in his funerary black, disappears behind it.
Players: Ganathon, Vanya
Location: Corridor, Private Residences
Synopsis: A chance meeting in the corridor, and Vanya shows her amazing tendency to say the wrong thing. See? She warned people she had a mouth large enough to hold both feet!
Private Rooms,
Early Afternoon
A simple hallway, lit with glowbaskets and lined with doors leading into small private rooms. Small nameplates beside each door indicate who resides within.
An oddly quiet time of the afternoon, particularly in the lower caverns area. Not late enough for dinner, but long enough after the noontime meal for people to be back at work, or resting. For Vanya, it's the time when she can escape the Infirmary, and find some time for herself, reading or, as of late, studying a few hides to find further answers to some puzzling questions regarding her forthcoming work with Nari. But, today it's a little earlier than usual, which means things are well in the Infirmary, and she can actually take her time, no rush. It's one of those hides she reads over now, a rather familiar-shaped container of hot water in one hand (familiar for those who regularly partake of tea, at least) and her attention not on exactly where she places her feet. A slightly uneven part of the floor, and a soft splash. A mild invective at her own clumsiness, and enough water spilled to postpone her daily ritual. A sigh, and a glance at the floor. "Ah, well, hot water doesn't take so long to heat," she remarks to herself, enough lost to require a return for more, and a delay in having a much-needed cup of tea.
It is on her return trip that Ganathon - so the placard beside his quarters name him - comes down the corridor and, sidestepping naturally to let her by, says nothing more than, "Good afternoon." He smiles, one-sided, at the business of tea she carries, and for a moment the black-clad man, gaunt and tall and pale, seems to sparkle a little with wit, with life. The moment passes, and if Vanya does as well, he will move on.
Vanya also carries with her a large cloth, as well, and is careful to place it over the errant spillage. It is, for that minor task, that she is not already at her door, and hears the proffered greeting, and turns her attention to the older man, a touch of color on her cheeks from rushing. "Good afternoon, sir," Vanya returns, a slight concern to her rather neutral smile. "I beg caution, if I may, I'm afraid my lack of attention caused a spill. The floor is uneven over here, and I'd not like to see anyone take a fall." The young woman seems in no rush, now that her accident is covered and her curiosity piqued. "Excuse me for being bold, but we've not met," she says, offering herself for introduction. "I've seen you a couple of times in the hall, and hoped we might someday meet. I'm Journeyman Healer Vanya, sir," she adds, "and if I'm not mistaken, you are G'thon?"
He glances down, marks the location of the cloth with a sweep of his eyes, and brings his gaze back up to her face, stopping his progress down the hall in so doing. "I am. Well met, healer," G'thon replies, and closes the space left between them with a long stride, graceful enough despite his infamous injuries. He offers out his hands, a cradle in which to shake hers as a gentleman might shake a woman's, more a clasp than a business greeting. "And - welcome? Have you been at the Weyr long?"
Vanya, perhaps unprepared for such a gentlemanly action, glances helplessly at both her hands, one filled with the container of hot water, the other the hide intended for tea-time study. Caught off-guard, she exhibits a moment of girlish fluster, then smiles. Tucking the hide beneath her opposite arm, she offers one of those self-effacing chuckles and replies, "Slightly under two months, I believe, at this point. Certainly not a great deal longer." She allows her one unoccupied hand to be taken, the dip of a curtsey ingrained in her from turns at the hold. "A pleasure, sir. I've hoped to meet you, as you may be able to offer me some assistance in my work." An intriguing and most direct approach, certainly, if prettily offered.
He is poised and paused while she frees up a hand to put into his; he clasps those fingers lightly then in his cool ones before letting them free. "Welcome, then, to High Reaches." To her curtsey he replies a shallow bow, courtly enough, as if Hold-taught. But then; he is. "Assistance?" A pale brow arches to punctuate this word. G'thon, unfortunately, seems neither intrigued nor affected; he is merely curious, and his chin lifts so that he has the view of her down the formidable length of his nose. "Indeed." A gesture of one outstretched palm, and he backsteps, leading them out of the main path of traffic in the hallway. Along the way he asks, "Assistance of what sort?"
Vanya follows suit, moving alongside Ganathon down the hall with smooth steps, mindful of the floor and the hot water she once more carries. "I am, sir, by nature a researcher, and my work as a healer deals with the physical nature of injuries, those especially faced by dragonriders." She pauses in her steps to allow a couple of lower cavern workers to pass with a rather large 'something' between them. "I am a specialist in therapeutic recovery and preventative methods. Most of my research led me to notice certain recurring injuries which would seem to indicate pattern of --" Vanya pauses once more, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend or to be too clinical in explanation. "-- of later life pains in the lumbar region of the back. I was limited in the availability of current, accurate records at the Hall, and I'm thrilled to have been posted to High Reaches. The records here are incredibly helpful, but what I would find helpful is talking to someone who actually experience the training and has experience in methods used prior to the present day." She takes a breath, looking over at Ganathon. "I was hoping your having been a rider and a Weyrleader might offer me a chance to gain a bit of insight." She lapses into silence a second. "If, of course, it would not be an imposition for you to spare me a few minutes at some point. I have no desire to ... be bothersome, sir."
G'thon bristles incrementally, a change in his demeanor so subtle that passerby would miss it. It is accomplished chiefly by the lowering of his chin and the steadying of his hazel regard, though a secreting of one hand away beneath the lapel of his greatcoat, fingers coming to rest unseen over his heart, could also be indicative. "You have questions, then? I would be pleased to describe methods, experience, or pedagogy to you." The one-sided smile has slipped away and his brows resettled; he seems unlikely to be pleased in any such way. "But I must beg you not to allow me simply to ramble on. I would not, after all," and here he reaffixes a portion of the smile so poor it does not brighten his eyes, "care to prevent you from your work, when it sounds so much like your work is designed to benefit our fighting riders." She might detect the least emphasis on the word 'fighting.' It is an unpleasant emphasis. And after all of that unpleasantness G'thon finds it within himself to suggest: "We could, perhaps, take tea sometime?" A glance at her water, then back to her face.
There's an unconscious flush to her face, and Vanya instantly realizes with incredibly acute hindsight that this is a man who might be touchy on such a subject. Her lips compress marginally, and she stubs the toe of her foot on a slightly raised part of the flooring. No spill this time, and only a slight altering of her steps. "Nor, sir, did I mean any offense," is said quietly. "My work is for the benefit of all weyrfolk, be they riders or cooks, fisherfolk or drudges. It is only that I wish to find better ways of doing so that I would ask such a thing of you, and please know I would not have been upset had you declined." She takes a breath, now acutely aware of her faux pas. "I will not take much of your time, now that you've been kind enough to overlook that I often speak with both feet firmly placed in my mouth, and granted me some of your time. Tea, as you've obviously surmised, is a particular favorite drink for me, something I apparently picked up from my father. He left me many herbal recipes of value. I would be delighted to accept."
Near the door to his room, that brass placard shining in the low light, G'thon pauses and rests a pale hand on the doorknob. "Please," he says, when she indicates that if he'd declined she would not have been upset. But she goes on, and he has to grin a little bit, wry and lopsided, and bend his head for a bit of a shake, abashed. "Please, no. You have made no error. I am simply late for my own appointment." He tips his head toward the door by which he stands, raising his head to again fix Vanya in his mild regard; this time there is a little warmth, a little apology secreted away there in his eyes for her to take. "Perhaps the day after morrow? About this time? I will have pastries sent up for us, and you can bring whatever sort of questions or study you wish to pursue."
Vanya pauses her steps, turning grateful eyes to the man who was once leader of this weyr. "That would be lovely, sir," she replies, once more bobbing a small curtsey, his graciousness obviously appreciated. "Should I bring anything?" A faintly impish smile touches her lips. "Though I've not been here long, I have learned the value of a friend in the kitchens who is kind enough to slip me a few tea-time treats now and again. Essdara's culinary skills are only surpassed by her kindness." A pause. "Ah, but I'm sure I say nothing you cannot attest to yourself, sir," she adds with just a touch of lightness to her tone. "Thank you once again, and you shall find me here at the appointed time. Until then, sir."
"No, thank you. I am on a restricted diet." G'thon inclines his head again in a nod, one of those abashed ones, almost boyish in his self-deprecation; he lifts the hand that had slid into his greatcoat and with the tip of his long ring-finger outlines the fine feathery creases at the corner of his eye. His gaze becomes wryer, more sparkling for the gesture, a calling of attention to his age, and presumably an explanation for his diet. "If you see Essdara, however, do take her my regards? And thank you, healer. I will see you again soon." After that he slips open the door, and like a shadow in his funerary black, disappears behind it.