(no subject)
Ahem. The log, Sef.
Late this winter evening, whilst most students are already curled up in bed or in their areas preparing for just that, Bailie is sitting primly on one of the couches in the common area. Her winter wardrobe is still impressively perfect and expensive-looking - a low-cut white top, frosty blue lined jacket for warmth, a klah-brown belt looped over a long white skirt, and matching-coloured heeled boots. So. Cute. At the moment, she looks to be studying... although, it's quite possible that her books are spread on the table in front of her just for show whilst she doodles lovehearts and flowers in her notebook upon her lap.
Enter Bailie's antithesis. Neiran stalks into the room, with that air about him that always manages to bring a mote of gloom even if his expression is neutral and nothing about his stoic walk hints at any form of depression or distress. Tonight, his entrance into the common area is a slow one; the day's close has him slowly nearing his low energy point, and with the tasks of the day completed there's nothing left to do but relax. His vehicle for relaxation is being carefully held, a mug full of steeping tea demanding his progression be a slow one lest he spill. He makes his way to a chair away from those few that still remain in the commons, and sinks down into it with care.
Perhaps a testament to Bailie's actual interest in her notes... she's easily distracted by Neiran's entrance. Probably the smell of tea that does it, though it could be the movement caught in the corner of her eye - at any rate, she looks up from her overly decorated page, and flashes the newcomer a bright smile. That he chooses a seat /away/ from her only dulls her expression slightly, and prompts a very cheerful, "Good evening!" Those without books always want to talk to pretty girls, right?
Wrong. That tea exudes a wintergreen scent, which Neiran seems mostly engrossed in. His dark eyes are downcast, watching the water transform into a relaxing brew with infinite patience. He doesn't raise his head at the cheerful salutation, only his eyes raising faintly to look at the girl through upswept lashes. "Good evening," he murmurs, in a monotone. There's not so much as a spark of interest in her visage or garb, before he chooses the tea over the girl and looks back to it again.
Bailie is perplexed for a moment, but quickly recovers as she closes her notebook. Not the first time she's received such a reaction, one would guess. Not to be deterred (for monotone does indeed suggest that her million-watt smile and super-cheery tone are needed desperately), she shuffles to find a more comfortable spot to observe Neiran from. "Is that tea?"
"Yes, it is," Neiran responds in that same toneless voice. He doesn't volunteer any futher information. Not the herbal composition, or why he's drinking it. As she's sitting closer, Bailie might now notice something the man himself has not noticed. On the dark fabric of his long cassock, near his knee, a darker stain sits; heavy liquid that has soaked into the materian unnoticed.
Bailie's brows crease ever-so-slightly. "What kind?" She's comfy now, and crosses her ankles. If she weren't so fashion-conscious, she might not notice the stain; as it stands, she's super fashion conscious, and whilst taking mental notes about Neiran's ensemble remarks off-hand, "I think you spilled some."
"Ninety percent wintergreen, ten percent willow salic as an anodyne." He's just about to lift the brew to his lips, having deemed it satisfactorily steeped, when Bailie calls attention to the spill. Neiran calmly looks down to his knee, and blinks once. A small frown turns his thin lips downwards. "No. That's not tea. That's blood." He puts his tea down on the nearest little table, and makes to rise so he might remedy the situation.
'Anodyne', Bailie mouths to herself, as though searching for word in her vocabulary. As though she has a vocabulary. Upon realising that she indeed doesn't know the meaning of the word, she means to ask, "What-" is anodyne? Instead, "Wait. Blood?" Eyes widen. Neiran is so calm about the blood! Bailie is so horrified! "You're bleeding?" Her tone has turned from cheery to incredulous, and she shuffles a little further away on the couch.
Neiran ensures that his mug is set properly on the table before he releases its handle, ignoring those who have looked over at Bailie's cry of 'blood'. "I'm not bleeding," he assures her flatly. Though his brows do furrow a little bit, the black fabric grasped and lifted so he can look at and assess the stain. The location of it seems to be cause for no small amount of puzzlement, and he seems content to stare at it in the commons for a few moments, thinking. Evidently he recalls some instance that could explain it, all of a sudden, for he whisks himself towards the dorms, presumably to change clothes. He returns in short order, underclothes revealed as a simple linen tunic and trousers, the offending garment nowhere to be seen. As though there was no interruption, he states the answer to the unvoiced question as he sits back down again. "An anodyne is a pain relief."
Bailie just sits, looking mightily confused. Whilst Neiran assesses his leg, she sits. Whilst Neiran whisks himself away, she sits (and tosses out disbeleiving, "I /know/"'s to various students who share her feelings). And when Neiran returns, as though nothing had happened? Well, she sits. Brows creased, arms folded, ankles crossed. In a tone that suggests more 'Oh-/kay/, Captain Weirdo...', "Did you cut your leg?"
Bailie just sits, looking mightily confused. Whilst Neiran assesses his leg, she sits. Whilst Neiran whisks himself away, she sits (and tosses out disbeleiving, "I /know/"'s to various students who share her feelings). And when Neiran returns, as though nothing had happened? Well, she sits. Brows creased, arms folded, ankles crossed. In a tone that suggests more 'Oh-/kay/, Captain Weirdo...', "Did you cut your leg?"
"I told you it wasn't my blood," Neiran repeats, finally looking up from his resumed tea-scrutiny to give Bailie a look with a critical eye. There's nothing lecherous or intrigued in his head-to-toe, for it's a simple glance over as one would offer an uninteresting page of apprentice text with words too large and printed too simply, learnt by rote several Turns ago already. "In any case, you needn't concern yourself with my affairs," the Healer states. His tea is over-steeping, so he lifts the small satchet of herbs from his mug, and holds it suspended above his cup. Bailie's notebooks earn a long look, and then his gaze pointedly diverts to the girl. Shouldn't you be tending your studies?
"Actually, you said you weren't bleeding, not that it wasn't your blood," Bailie clarifies defensively, almost frowning as Neiran looks her over. Hmph. The look the lad gives her notebooks isn't missed, and Bailie draws in a sharp breath. "You know, if you don't want company, the common area isn't really the best place to take your tea."
"I am as entitled to sit here as any other Caucus student. However, I do believe I shall heed your advice," he says smoothly, rising to his feet once again. "Good eve." And, just like that, it would appear Neiran plans to vacate the premises.
"I don't beleive I implied that you weren't entitled so." Always with the clarifications! Bailie shuffles back over to her books. "Mmm, good evening. Enjoy your tea."
Late this winter evening, whilst most students are already curled up in bed or in their areas preparing for just that, Bailie is sitting primly on one of the couches in the common area. Her winter wardrobe is still impressively perfect and expensive-looking - a low-cut white top, frosty blue lined jacket for warmth, a klah-brown belt looped over a long white skirt, and matching-coloured heeled boots. So. Cute. At the moment, she looks to be studying... although, it's quite possible that her books are spread on the table in front of her just for show whilst she doodles lovehearts and flowers in her notebook upon her lap.
Enter Bailie's antithesis. Neiran stalks into the room, with that air about him that always manages to bring a mote of gloom even if his expression is neutral and nothing about his stoic walk hints at any form of depression or distress. Tonight, his entrance into the common area is a slow one; the day's close has him slowly nearing his low energy point, and with the tasks of the day completed there's nothing left to do but relax. His vehicle for relaxation is being carefully held, a mug full of steeping tea demanding his progression be a slow one lest he spill. He makes his way to a chair away from those few that still remain in the commons, and sinks down into it with care.
Perhaps a testament to Bailie's actual interest in her notes... she's easily distracted by Neiran's entrance. Probably the smell of tea that does it, though it could be the movement caught in the corner of her eye - at any rate, she looks up from her overly decorated page, and flashes the newcomer a bright smile. That he chooses a seat /away/ from her only dulls her expression slightly, and prompts a very cheerful, "Good evening!" Those without books always want to talk to pretty girls, right?
Wrong. That tea exudes a wintergreen scent, which Neiran seems mostly engrossed in. His dark eyes are downcast, watching the water transform into a relaxing brew with infinite patience. He doesn't raise his head at the cheerful salutation, only his eyes raising faintly to look at the girl through upswept lashes. "Good evening," he murmurs, in a monotone. There's not so much as a spark of interest in her visage or garb, before he chooses the tea over the girl and looks back to it again.
Bailie is perplexed for a moment, but quickly recovers as she closes her notebook. Not the first time she's received such a reaction, one would guess. Not to be deterred (for monotone does indeed suggest that her million-watt smile and super-cheery tone are needed desperately), she shuffles to find a more comfortable spot to observe Neiran from. "Is that tea?"
"Yes, it is," Neiran responds in that same toneless voice. He doesn't volunteer any futher information. Not the herbal composition, or why he's drinking it. As she's sitting closer, Bailie might now notice something the man himself has not noticed. On the dark fabric of his long cassock, near his knee, a darker stain sits; heavy liquid that has soaked into the materian unnoticed.
Bailie's brows crease ever-so-slightly. "What kind?" She's comfy now, and crosses her ankles. If she weren't so fashion-conscious, she might not notice the stain; as it stands, she's super fashion conscious, and whilst taking mental notes about Neiran's ensemble remarks off-hand, "I think you spilled some."
"Ninety percent wintergreen, ten percent willow salic as an anodyne." He's just about to lift the brew to his lips, having deemed it satisfactorily steeped, when Bailie calls attention to the spill. Neiran calmly looks down to his knee, and blinks once. A small frown turns his thin lips downwards. "No. That's not tea. That's blood." He puts his tea down on the nearest little table, and makes to rise so he might remedy the situation.
'Anodyne', Bailie mouths to herself, as though searching for word in her vocabulary. As though she has a vocabulary. Upon realising that she indeed doesn't know the meaning of the word, she means to ask, "What-" is anodyne? Instead, "Wait. Blood?" Eyes widen. Neiran is so calm about the blood! Bailie is so horrified! "You're bleeding?" Her tone has turned from cheery to incredulous, and she shuffles a little further away on the couch.
Neiran ensures that his mug is set properly on the table before he releases its handle, ignoring those who have looked over at Bailie's cry of 'blood'. "I'm not bleeding," he assures her flatly. Though his brows do furrow a little bit, the black fabric grasped and lifted so he can look at and assess the stain. The location of it seems to be cause for no small amount of puzzlement, and he seems content to stare at it in the commons for a few moments, thinking. Evidently he recalls some instance that could explain it, all of a sudden, for he whisks himself towards the dorms, presumably to change clothes. He returns in short order, underclothes revealed as a simple linen tunic and trousers, the offending garment nowhere to be seen. As though there was no interruption, he states the answer to the unvoiced question as he sits back down again. "An anodyne is a pain relief."
Bailie just sits, looking mightily confused. Whilst Neiran assesses his leg, she sits. Whilst Neiran whisks himself away, she sits (and tosses out disbeleiving, "I /know/"'s to various students who share her feelings). And when Neiran returns, as though nothing had happened? Well, she sits. Brows creased, arms folded, ankles crossed. In a tone that suggests more 'Oh-/kay/, Captain Weirdo...', "Did you cut your leg?"
Bailie just sits, looking mightily confused. Whilst Neiran assesses his leg, she sits. Whilst Neiran whisks himself away, she sits (and tosses out disbeleiving, "I /know/"'s to various students who share her feelings). And when Neiran returns, as though nothing had happened? Well, she sits. Brows creased, arms folded, ankles crossed. In a tone that suggests more 'Oh-/kay/, Captain Weirdo...', "Did you cut your leg?"
"I told you it wasn't my blood," Neiran repeats, finally looking up from his resumed tea-scrutiny to give Bailie a look with a critical eye. There's nothing lecherous or intrigued in his head-to-toe, for it's a simple glance over as one would offer an uninteresting page of apprentice text with words too large and printed too simply, learnt by rote several Turns ago already. "In any case, you needn't concern yourself with my affairs," the Healer states. His tea is over-steeping, so he lifts the small satchet of herbs from his mug, and holds it suspended above his cup. Bailie's notebooks earn a long look, and then his gaze pointedly diverts to the girl. Shouldn't you be tending your studies?
"Actually, you said you weren't bleeding, not that it wasn't your blood," Bailie clarifies defensively, almost frowning as Neiran looks her over. Hmph. The look the lad gives her notebooks isn't missed, and Bailie draws in a sharp breath. "You know, if you don't want company, the common area isn't really the best place to take your tea."
"I am as entitled to sit here as any other Caucus student. However, I do believe I shall heed your advice," he says smoothly, rising to his feet once again. "Good eve." And, just like that, it would appear Neiran plans to vacate the premises.
"I don't beleive I implied that you weren't entitled so." Always with the clarifications! Bailie shuffles back over to her books. "Mmm, good evening. Enjoy your tea."