Questions and Answers
A'son is asleep on the couch in the weyrling training cavern. Persie comes down to check on everyone and ends up waking him up. They talk about notes.
Logfile from A'son
Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#392RJLs)
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.
Persie is not actually scheduled for today, but she can't help but be drawn back to the weyrlings. In the past, she would have felt perfectly welcome to poke her head in during her off hours, just to hang around and lend her extra, willing hands, but now she looks rather like she's sneaking in from the bowl, snow clinging to her hair and boots, her eyes wide in that 'am I going to get caught and yelled at?' sort of way, whether or not it is at all necessary.
A'son looks like he's exhausted. This is probably the most real work he's had to do in ages. And so while there's a little bit of down time, he's passed out on the big couch. The cavern is drafty and so he's got a small blanket pulled up over him
Not seeing anyone around who might shoo her away, and indeed, not really noticing that the bundle of blankety something on the couch is a someone, Persie lets her shoulders drop a little and tries to shake the snow out of her hair with her mittened hands, to knock some of the snow off her boots. The knocking might well start to wake A'son, who claims to be a light sleeper and who she has noticed -just- now. With a little smile, she heads his way, creeping now just in case he hasn't roused.
The knocking stirs A'son to some extent and he rolls over on the couch, grumbling. "Fucking weyrlings... Why can't they just be /quiet/. Man needs to sleep sometime." The blanket is pulled over his head and now he has his face buried into the dirty pillows.
Aw, he's sleepy and grumpy. But it probably won't be easy for A'son to get back to sleep when Persie is creeping near and trying to slide her cold, damp mitten under his head so that she can lift it up with every intention of taking a seat in the place of that crappy pillow. "Oh, poor baby. Are those weyrlings giving you a hard time?" she coos softly, a playful lilt in her voice, the sound of her smile.
There's a tensing of his shoulders until he realizes who it is. "They /smell/." A'son complains into Persie's cold, damp, mitten. "And some of them are giving me a hard time. I hated being a weyrling. What was I thinking." He moans and complains before rolling over to face her.
Persie gets herself all settled and A'son's head settled in her lap. Of course, her slim thigh isn't particularly meaty and thus probably not much more comfortable than the pillow it's replaced, plus she was outside, so her pants are a bit chilly. At least she now she's pulling off her mittens over and shaking them out over the edge of the couch, though the shaking makes her lap move. "Why did you hate being a weyrling?"
Since the whole cavern is a little on the chilly side today, A'son doesn't seem notice that he's moved from chilly couch to chill thigh. He wiggles around to get comfortable. "Because it was awful. Everyone was fourteen except for me and N'thei. He was my only real companionship."
"I was about that old when I was a weyrling," Persie tells him, her exhale like a laugh. "Paddy, P'draig," she pauses there for her lips to press together thoughtfully, "He was one of my weyrlingmasters. I think it was his first class. Isn't that funny?" She seems to think so, though not ha-ha funny. More the sort of funny where you look off into the distance without really seeing much. "Do you think you'd be friends with him, with N'thei, if weyrlinghood had been different?"
"I was twenty-four when I was a weyrling. Too old to enjoy hanging around kids." A'son looks up at the ceiling of the familiar cavern. "I don't really know. I'd like to think that we would be. Life wouldn't really be the same if weren't friends." He purses his lips together. "Maybe it would be easier... But I wouldn't change it. Not now." He pulls the blanket over himself and Persie's legs. Pointing out, "You acted weird when T'mic was bringing P'draig up the other day."
Persie lets her fingers toy with his hair, her touch lazy and light. "If you had a hard time, though, you'll be able to help the weyrlings when they have a hard time. You'll be able to talk to them about how you felt and what you did, and you'll be able to understand them." She sweeps her combing fingers back from his forehead. "I'm glad you're trying it." Her head tipped to the side and her smile smale and bright, she lets the topic of N'thei go and only says of P'draig. "Paddy and me are all right now. It's just... weird. I don't know if I can explain it."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll scare them into not being anything like me." A'son comments idly, his eyes rolling back towards where they're all likely hiding. "It's only a turn or so." Said almost like it might be a death sentence. "I can't wait to go home tonight and sleep." He begins to shift, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "...Did the two of you have a fight?"
Scaring the weyrlings into not being anything like him. Persie lets that roll around in her mind for a moment, with expression slowly falling, getting more and more far away. When he sits up from her lap, she seems to curl in around the vacancy, arms wrapping together against her chest, her knees drawing up with her wet boots barely hooked on the edge of the seat. "Did you always talk like that?" she wonders with her attention strange and foggy. But he asks a direct question and she turns to look at him with clearer eyes and just a touch of surprise. With a smile she looks back at the foor. "No. Not really."
A'son stretches his arms out and then folds them around Persie in her curled up position, resting his face on her shoulder. "Talk like what?" He asks, shifting a little to look at her. The smile catches him and causes his lips to curl up into his own grin and he squeezes her. She doesn't seem too interested in discussing the P'draig issue and she is looking happy right now. So he doesn't press it. "When are you on duty?"
"Like you're bad. Like there's something about you that's bad or scary. Like people should be afraid of turning out like you." Persie looks at him then, but with his head on her shoulder, the angles are all weird and so her eyes stay turned away toward the floor. "I'm on tomorrow, but I have no where else to be, no where else I really want to be. I just feel like I'm missing things when I'm away and it's too much time to think."
A'son's smile begins to fall itself when she says that. His eyebrows furrow together, "There are some very good reasons for them to be better off not turning out like me." Despite the weird angle, he's looking right up at her face. He pulls back a little so that it's not quite so awkward, "I didn't mean that I was /really/ scary." His arms don't move from where they've encircled her so he squeezes again, "So why don't you spend more time here? I doubt anyone is going to be very worried."
Persie ignores everything else, his suggestion, the squeeze of his arms around her. Everything but the reasons; she wants to know the reasons. "Like what?"
A'son starts shaking his head and loosening the grip of his arms, "Like... the desperation? The stabbing myself in the shoulder thing? Being a step away from being an alcoholic? I think there are plenty of people out there that think I'm crazy." The lack of response on her end has him nervous and he begins to shift away.
It's a sad smile she wears as Persie turns to look at him, but it's so fond and there's even a little curl at the corner that says it might be a touch amused. "I guess you are a bit of a mess," she admits, after he puts it all like that. Her head drops down to rest on those lifted knees and she's basically just folded herself into a ball, a ball that's looking at him with quiet, blue eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could just... give you all my memories. So I wouldn't have to expain anything. Of if you could be like Secath and just see it as it happens. As the things connect. I can never explain. There's just too much."
"A bit of a mess?" A'son asks, smile coming back again just a little. He can't exactly resist being close to that skinny little ball and blue eyes. He's soon back in her space, pulling the blanket around them both to keep out the cold. "That would be nice. Then we'd both just know everything. There'd never be another awkward moment again." Though content to be cozy, the bronzerider seems to realize that maybe this isn't the perfect place for that. "Hopefully they won't decide to come out now."
"I don't think we have awkward moments," Persie tells him. That he's mentioned it has her brows tugging inward, just a little confused. "I never feel awkward around you. Or at least, not like I feel around some people. I don't know how anyone could feel awkward around me-" She stops short. "Can you remember all the questions you want to ask? All the things you want to know? And maybe sometime... I can try to explain?" Her eyes slip toward the entrance to the barracks and she looks at A'son again like she's just barely figuring something out.
"I feel awkward when I think you might be upset with me. Like, I thought you were upset with me just now. So I just... I don't know. Felt like I should crawl in on myself or something." A'son stops there, stalled by her request for the questions. "I could write them all down for you. Oh, I know." There's some grinning now, even as he moves closer against her. His voice is lower the closer that they are, "I could write one on a slip of paper and stick it in your boot. Then you could write the answer and stick it in my cap. Sort of like a game. And you could do the same to me."
Oh boy. Persie's eyes well up as she looks at him sideways with her head still bent on her knees. "That might be one of the sweetest things anyone's ever said to me." She even sniffles a bit, because she really means it. "But I don't think I could fit my answers on a slip of paper. I could try. I could try if you want me to. I don't even know if you... really want to know. It's probably selfish of me." It's Persie logic, the steps are there somewhere, but it seems like she leaps right over them.
"I'll make it a whole sheet of paper and you could fill it front and back." A'son tells her as he pulls the blanket tighter about them. "I could ask easy ones at first too. We could do silly and serious. Whatever we want to ask, right?" He seems to becoming more excited about the idea the more they talk about. Even more so because she thinks it's /sweet/. "Really?"
A whole sheet of paper. Persie actually has to sniffle again and blink a bit to try to keep those standing tears from becoming falling ones. She turns her face against her knee to blot and then lifts her head. That sad smile is still present when she nods quickly and it looks like she might want to say something but he's so excited and asking her if she really thinks it's sweet and all she can do is nod again.
"I'd say an entire pad of paper but I don't think you'd could fold up that many and fit them in my boots. I'd spend all day picking the pieces out." A'son squeezes her and kisses her forehead. Then he's glancing at the door to the barracks again, and then, the Weyrlingmaster's office. But the cuddling doesn't seem to stop yet.
"I want to start right away," Persie admits, catching her teeth in her lip so she can chew and keep her smile small and shy. But he's looking toward the barracks and toard the office. "I guess you should get back to work." Or at least, that's what she gleans from his nervous glances.
"I'll write one as soon as I get home tonight." A'son tells her quietly and in her ear. He doesn't seem like he's willing to let her go though. Reluctantly, "I guess. I should at least do something so it doesn't seem like I took the job so I could cuddle with you on this disgusting piece of furniture." He kisses her cheek.
His voice in her ear makes her shiver, like maybe what he says tickles her. She does giggle after all. "What if I take my boot off now?" Persie wonders, her fingers reaching for the sky blue laces. They're wet and hard to untie, but she tugs at them anyway.
"I'd still need a pencil and a piece of paper." A'son tells her, loosening his grip. Just enough so that she can actually untie her laces without a whole lot of difficulty.
"Well get it then," Persie tells him. At least her voice is brighter now, chipper, latching onto his excitment and waking up from all the distant thinking.
It's cold though. And even though Persie is wet from the outside, it's still reasonably warm under their blanket. There's a groan and a whine from him about getting up. But she's so... chipper. He reluctantly unwinds himself from her, draping the blanket around her slim shoulders. A'son goes to the stone tables on the other side, picking through a bunch of papers spread over it. He manages to scavange a pencil and tucks it behind his ear. Rubbing his arms against the chill, he finds a clean sheet.
Persie gets her boot off first and the goes to follow him, carrying the boot in one hand and trying to walk without her socked foot touching the ground any more than is absolutely necessary. It ends up being a limping, mincing, gait and then she's standing beside him, holding the boot out and closing her eyes. "I won't look yet," she tells him. Somehow that seems like it should be part of the game. And if her teeth chatter, well, it doesn't mar her smile.
A'son looks over to her and smiles helplessly. The pencil is pulled from his ear and he leans down over the table, writing very carefully. He pauses to chew the end in his mouth and then adds on something else. The question is considered and then he folds it up neatly. One hand holds onto her boot to steady it and then he places the paper down towards the toe. "There. I hope it's not too strange of a question."
Paper deposited, Persie puts a hand on A'son's arm to steady herself while she crams her foot back into the boot. "I'm going to save it for later," she explains. "When you're not right here, because that doesn't seem right. My answer goes in your boot?" she asks, just double checking. Once the boot is on, she's standing on one leg, wobbling a bit, to get it tied.
"My cap or jacket or something. Wherever you want to put it, as long as I can find it easily." While she's shoving her foot back into her boot, he holdds onto her shoulders. Just so that she doesn't fall and twist her ankle or something while they're out there.
Persie has everything in order, both feet in her boots, her boots tied and on the floor. Now she's pulling her mittens out of her pocket to tug then back on. "I think I'm going to go and see if we can get a pot of stew to bring down here. You know, just to make sure everyone is eating."
Food, someone is going to bring food? A'son begins to perk up now, even as he wraps his arms around himself. "That sounds really good. If you manage to find any, I'll be down here. Just... babysitting dragonets."
There is a little bit of paper burning a hole in her boot and now Persie is very eager to scamper off to read it. But first she reaches out to squeeze his forearm with her mittened hand and she smiles at him as she backing up. "Wish me luck!" Not that she sticks around for the wishing.
Logfile from A'son
Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr(#392RJLs)
All the furniture here has been pushed to one side of the room to allow a large pathway opposite: room enough to let weyrling dragons pass from the bowl's archway to the cavernous barracks at the back. None of the furniture matches, either: it varies from big cushioned, claw-footed chairs to those of plain wood, while the most seating is at the two stone tables ringed by low and equally hard stone benches. Without the tapestries that decorate many of the Weyr's other interior spaces, the room always echoes with noise, no matter how few are there.
What it does have, however, are several colorful murals: on one wall, a detailed diagram of a dragon's anatomy; opposite, next to a creaky wooden door, a number of painted and labeled wing formations. Near the entrance is a large-scale version of the Weyr's badge, while the back wall, by the barracks, features a detailed map of the continent. The latter area's also home to one big, beat-up couch, black or maybe blue -- the thing's so old and filthy it's hard to tell, though it's certainly comfortable.
Persie is not actually scheduled for today, but she can't help but be drawn back to the weyrlings. In the past, she would have felt perfectly welcome to poke her head in during her off hours, just to hang around and lend her extra, willing hands, but now she looks rather like she's sneaking in from the bowl, snow clinging to her hair and boots, her eyes wide in that 'am I going to get caught and yelled at?' sort of way, whether or not it is at all necessary.
A'son looks like he's exhausted. This is probably the most real work he's had to do in ages. And so while there's a little bit of down time, he's passed out on the big couch. The cavern is drafty and so he's got a small blanket pulled up over him
Not seeing anyone around who might shoo her away, and indeed, not really noticing that the bundle of blankety something on the couch is a someone, Persie lets her shoulders drop a little and tries to shake the snow out of her hair with her mittened hands, to knock some of the snow off her boots. The knocking might well start to wake A'son, who claims to be a light sleeper and who she has noticed -just- now. With a little smile, she heads his way, creeping now just in case he hasn't roused.
The knocking stirs A'son to some extent and he rolls over on the couch, grumbling. "Fucking weyrlings... Why can't they just be /quiet/. Man needs to sleep sometime." The blanket is pulled over his head and now he has his face buried into the dirty pillows.
Aw, he's sleepy and grumpy. But it probably won't be easy for A'son to get back to sleep when Persie is creeping near and trying to slide her cold, damp mitten under his head so that she can lift it up with every intention of taking a seat in the place of that crappy pillow. "Oh, poor baby. Are those weyrlings giving you a hard time?" she coos softly, a playful lilt in her voice, the sound of her smile.
There's a tensing of his shoulders until he realizes who it is. "They /smell/." A'son complains into Persie's cold, damp, mitten. "And some of them are giving me a hard time. I hated being a weyrling. What was I thinking." He moans and complains before rolling over to face her.
Persie gets herself all settled and A'son's head settled in her lap. Of course, her slim thigh isn't particularly meaty and thus probably not much more comfortable than the pillow it's replaced, plus she was outside, so her pants are a bit chilly. At least she now she's pulling off her mittens over and shaking them out over the edge of the couch, though the shaking makes her lap move. "Why did you hate being a weyrling?"
Since the whole cavern is a little on the chilly side today, A'son doesn't seem notice that he's moved from chilly couch to chill thigh. He wiggles around to get comfortable. "Because it was awful. Everyone was fourteen except for me and N'thei. He was my only real companionship."
"I was about that old when I was a weyrling," Persie tells him, her exhale like a laugh. "Paddy, P'draig," she pauses there for her lips to press together thoughtfully, "He was one of my weyrlingmasters. I think it was his first class. Isn't that funny?" She seems to think so, though not ha-ha funny. More the sort of funny where you look off into the distance without really seeing much. "Do you think you'd be friends with him, with N'thei, if weyrlinghood had been different?"
"I was twenty-four when I was a weyrling. Too old to enjoy hanging around kids." A'son looks up at the ceiling of the familiar cavern. "I don't really know. I'd like to think that we would be. Life wouldn't really be the same if weren't friends." He purses his lips together. "Maybe it would be easier... But I wouldn't change it. Not now." He pulls the blanket over himself and Persie's legs. Pointing out, "You acted weird when T'mic was bringing P'draig up the other day."
Persie lets her fingers toy with his hair, her touch lazy and light. "If you had a hard time, though, you'll be able to help the weyrlings when they have a hard time. You'll be able to talk to them about how you felt and what you did, and you'll be able to understand them." She sweeps her combing fingers back from his forehead. "I'm glad you're trying it." Her head tipped to the side and her smile smale and bright, she lets the topic of N'thei go and only says of P'draig. "Paddy and me are all right now. It's just... weird. I don't know if I can explain it."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'll scare them into not being anything like me." A'son comments idly, his eyes rolling back towards where they're all likely hiding. "It's only a turn or so." Said almost like it might be a death sentence. "I can't wait to go home tonight and sleep." He begins to shift, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "...Did the two of you have a fight?"
Scaring the weyrlings into not being anything like him. Persie lets that roll around in her mind for a moment, with expression slowly falling, getting more and more far away. When he sits up from her lap, she seems to curl in around the vacancy, arms wrapping together against her chest, her knees drawing up with her wet boots barely hooked on the edge of the seat. "Did you always talk like that?" she wonders with her attention strange and foggy. But he asks a direct question and she turns to look at him with clearer eyes and just a touch of surprise. With a smile she looks back at the foor. "No. Not really."
A'son stretches his arms out and then folds them around Persie in her curled up position, resting his face on her shoulder. "Talk like what?" He asks, shifting a little to look at her. The smile catches him and causes his lips to curl up into his own grin and he squeezes her. She doesn't seem too interested in discussing the P'draig issue and she is looking happy right now. So he doesn't press it. "When are you on duty?"
"Like you're bad. Like there's something about you that's bad or scary. Like people should be afraid of turning out like you." Persie looks at him then, but with his head on her shoulder, the angles are all weird and so her eyes stay turned away toward the floor. "I'm on tomorrow, but I have no where else to be, no where else I really want to be. I just feel like I'm missing things when I'm away and it's too much time to think."
A'son's smile begins to fall itself when she says that. His eyebrows furrow together, "There are some very good reasons for them to be better off not turning out like me." Despite the weird angle, he's looking right up at her face. He pulls back a little so that it's not quite so awkward, "I didn't mean that I was /really/ scary." His arms don't move from where they've encircled her so he squeezes again, "So why don't you spend more time here? I doubt anyone is going to be very worried."
Persie ignores everything else, his suggestion, the squeeze of his arms around her. Everything but the reasons; she wants to know the reasons. "Like what?"
A'son starts shaking his head and loosening the grip of his arms, "Like... the desperation? The stabbing myself in the shoulder thing? Being a step away from being an alcoholic? I think there are plenty of people out there that think I'm crazy." The lack of response on her end has him nervous and he begins to shift away.
It's a sad smile she wears as Persie turns to look at him, but it's so fond and there's even a little curl at the corner that says it might be a touch amused. "I guess you are a bit of a mess," she admits, after he puts it all like that. Her head drops down to rest on those lifted knees and she's basically just folded herself into a ball, a ball that's looking at him with quiet, blue eyes. "Sometimes I wish I could just... give you all my memories. So I wouldn't have to expain anything. Of if you could be like Secath and just see it as it happens. As the things connect. I can never explain. There's just too much."
"A bit of a mess?" A'son asks, smile coming back again just a little. He can't exactly resist being close to that skinny little ball and blue eyes. He's soon back in her space, pulling the blanket around them both to keep out the cold. "That would be nice. Then we'd both just know everything. There'd never be another awkward moment again." Though content to be cozy, the bronzerider seems to realize that maybe this isn't the perfect place for that. "Hopefully they won't decide to come out now."
"I don't think we have awkward moments," Persie tells him. That he's mentioned it has her brows tugging inward, just a little confused. "I never feel awkward around you. Or at least, not like I feel around some people. I don't know how anyone could feel awkward around me-" She stops short. "Can you remember all the questions you want to ask? All the things you want to know? And maybe sometime... I can try to explain?" Her eyes slip toward the entrance to the barracks and she looks at A'son again like she's just barely figuring something out.
"I feel awkward when I think you might be upset with me. Like, I thought you were upset with me just now. So I just... I don't know. Felt like I should crawl in on myself or something." A'son stops there, stalled by her request for the questions. "I could write them all down for you. Oh, I know." There's some grinning now, even as he moves closer against her. His voice is lower the closer that they are, "I could write one on a slip of paper and stick it in your boot. Then you could write the answer and stick it in my cap. Sort of like a game. And you could do the same to me."
Oh boy. Persie's eyes well up as she looks at him sideways with her head still bent on her knees. "That might be one of the sweetest things anyone's ever said to me." She even sniffles a bit, because she really means it. "But I don't think I could fit my answers on a slip of paper. I could try. I could try if you want me to. I don't even know if you... really want to know. It's probably selfish of me." It's Persie logic, the steps are there somewhere, but it seems like she leaps right over them.
"I'll make it a whole sheet of paper and you could fill it front and back." A'son tells her as he pulls the blanket tighter about them. "I could ask easy ones at first too. We could do silly and serious. Whatever we want to ask, right?" He seems to becoming more excited about the idea the more they talk about. Even more so because she thinks it's /sweet/. "Really?"
A whole sheet of paper. Persie actually has to sniffle again and blink a bit to try to keep those standing tears from becoming falling ones. She turns her face against her knee to blot and then lifts her head. That sad smile is still present when she nods quickly and it looks like she might want to say something but he's so excited and asking her if she really thinks it's sweet and all she can do is nod again.
"I'd say an entire pad of paper but I don't think you'd could fold up that many and fit them in my boots. I'd spend all day picking the pieces out." A'son squeezes her and kisses her forehead. Then he's glancing at the door to the barracks again, and then, the Weyrlingmaster's office. But the cuddling doesn't seem to stop yet.
"I want to start right away," Persie admits, catching her teeth in her lip so she can chew and keep her smile small and shy. But he's looking toward the barracks and toard the office. "I guess you should get back to work." Or at least, that's what she gleans from his nervous glances.
"I'll write one as soon as I get home tonight." A'son tells her quietly and in her ear. He doesn't seem like he's willing to let her go though. Reluctantly, "I guess. I should at least do something so it doesn't seem like I took the job so I could cuddle with you on this disgusting piece of furniture." He kisses her cheek.
His voice in her ear makes her shiver, like maybe what he says tickles her. She does giggle after all. "What if I take my boot off now?" Persie wonders, her fingers reaching for the sky blue laces. They're wet and hard to untie, but she tugs at them anyway.
"I'd still need a pencil and a piece of paper." A'son tells her, loosening his grip. Just enough so that she can actually untie her laces without a whole lot of difficulty.
"Well get it then," Persie tells him. At least her voice is brighter now, chipper, latching onto his excitment and waking up from all the distant thinking.
It's cold though. And even though Persie is wet from the outside, it's still reasonably warm under their blanket. There's a groan and a whine from him about getting up. But she's so... chipper. He reluctantly unwinds himself from her, draping the blanket around her slim shoulders. A'son goes to the stone tables on the other side, picking through a bunch of papers spread over it. He manages to scavange a pencil and tucks it behind his ear. Rubbing his arms against the chill, he finds a clean sheet.
Persie gets her boot off first and the goes to follow him, carrying the boot in one hand and trying to walk without her socked foot touching the ground any more than is absolutely necessary. It ends up being a limping, mincing, gait and then she's standing beside him, holding the boot out and closing her eyes. "I won't look yet," she tells him. Somehow that seems like it should be part of the game. And if her teeth chatter, well, it doesn't mar her smile.
A'son looks over to her and smiles helplessly. The pencil is pulled from his ear and he leans down over the table, writing very carefully. He pauses to chew the end in his mouth and then adds on something else. The question is considered and then he folds it up neatly. One hand holds onto her boot to steady it and then he places the paper down towards the toe. "There. I hope it's not too strange of a question."
Paper deposited, Persie puts a hand on A'son's arm to steady herself while she crams her foot back into the boot. "I'm going to save it for later," she explains. "When you're not right here, because that doesn't seem right. My answer goes in your boot?" she asks, just double checking. Once the boot is on, she's standing on one leg, wobbling a bit, to get it tied.
"My cap or jacket or something. Wherever you want to put it, as long as I can find it easily." While she's shoving her foot back into her boot, he holdds onto her shoulders. Just so that she doesn't fall and twist her ankle or something while they're out there.
Persie has everything in order, both feet in her boots, her boots tied and on the floor. Now she's pulling her mittens out of her pocket to tug then back on. "I think I'm going to go and see if we can get a pot of stew to bring down here. You know, just to make sure everyone is eating."
Food, someone is going to bring food? A'son begins to perk up now, even as he wraps his arms around himself. "That sounds really good. If you manage to find any, I'll be down here. Just... babysitting dragonets."
There is a little bit of paper burning a hole in her boot and now Persie is very eager to scamper off to read it. But first she reaches out to squeeze his forearm with her mittened hand and she smiles at him as she backing up. "Wish me luck!" Not that she sticks around for the wishing.