In which manicures for cheer-ups continue.

[noleepackrat]

Logfile part two: Manicures, Girls! Continued from previous entry, scene jumps to Nalaieth's ledge.

Nolee and Nalaieth's Ledge(#9011RJLh)
The ledge is, of course, generous and smooth. One corner sports a low rail of stone, inviting the human occupant to use this area for outdoor entertaining or relaxation, and a low table and two permanently reclining beach chairs have been placed near the rail for just that purpose. The weyr itself is built straight back into the bowl wall, the broad entrance opening into a huge space for the queen's use. A curtain separates the inner weyr from the outer ledge, providing some privacy, though the curtain is often pulled back to allow the air to better circulate within.

>> Secath glides in, landing lightly on the ledge.

>> Nalaieth glides through the bowl, wings beating harder than usual against the heavier winds of the Istan winter. She banks, then lands on in the bowl, making a hop-leap up onto a wide ledge with a stone rail along one edge. Nolee slips down from Nalaieth's back to land on the ledge, pack over her shoulders, moving first to right the beach chairs that've collapsed in the wind. "Inside for me. Move over, you." The gold obliges rather saucily, still irate about having been used a shelter earlier. She pulls at the curtain so it'll close behind them once they're inside, and politely waits for her guest.

Secath, for her part, seems to rather enjoy the winds, twisting back and forth to play with the currents on her nimble little wings. Or maybe she just doesn't get to fly with a gold very often. Either way, when they settle on the ledge, Persie is quickly off the green's shoulder and trotting on into the weyr, eyeballing her nails more than anything to make sure they haven't been chipped or smudged already.

You push aside the heavy curtain and move into the inner weyr.

Nolee and Nalaieth's Weyr
Dominated by a worn, curved couch off to one side, this initial chamber also bears a hulking chest for storage and an ancient woolen rug.
Farther in is a smaller chamber, little more than an alcove attached to the queen's quarters. Still adequate for spacious living, a few pieces of furniture remain: an old table with two matching chairs and a wide desk, etched with comments from the previous owner, with plenty of space for more. Above the desk, smooth slate panels line the wall.
Deeper in still, where little natural light penetrates, is the bedchamber. Bare but for a great chandelier and the rope to lower and raise it, the room is generously sized and scuffed spots on the floor indicate a large bed was once against the far wall. An angled corner with a bar set across it offers a substitute for a wardrobe.
At the very back of the weyr, through a heavy hide curtain, up a few steps and down a few steps, waits a hot bathing pool. The ventilation shaft that bores through the ceiling helps prevent moisture from seeping into other rooms and allows the escape of excess heat. An etched shelf around the rim of the pool is lined with glows, and the water's surface reflects their pale green light, filtered through rising steam.

Nolee ducks inside as well, securing the heavy curtain closed behind them and cutting out the harsh winds. She frowns at the mess: a few hides have blown about and some of her lighter scarves have been tossed to the floor. Shrugging, she steps around them, heading for the smaller chamber that's more person-sized, where waits a dish of fruit that's out on the big storage chest. "Want something to snack on? I have juice, too, but it'll be warm." She plops down into a chair at the table and kicks off her shoes, stretching her toes. "The pool's in the back. It's warm, too, but that's good for softening your feet."

"Uh..." Not an uncertain sound, just Persie thinking. "Sure, yeah, a snack, juice, whatever would be fine," she says with a smile. "I never thought I'd see a firelizard drinking. And what was with all that stuff about babies, babies, babies? I mean, I don't hate kids or anything, I like 'em alright, but... Maybe I'm just not old enough to be obsessed and eager to hear the pitter patter of feet and all. Thanks for, uh, well, letting me come here." She steps out of her shoes, too. "In the back?" She pads that way, figuring she'll know a pool when she comes upon it. "You've got a nice weyr here."

Nolee nods, then adds a vocal, "Uh hunh," as she collects a few pieces of fruit and sloppily pours a few cups of a warm pinkish juice, raising her voice a little to agree, "I didn't either. He was even less controlled than mine are. Not like I see them very much. Nala tends them, mostly." She chops the fruit, tossing the pieces into a wooden bowl. "You're welcome! It's awfully quiet here sometimes, except when I'm in trouble for something." She wrinkles her nose, "Ugh, I can't stand the thought. Messy, and needing so much attention all the time, and those smells. Reminds me of the weyrling barracks, turns my stomach right around. That had to be the last of my interest in M'yr -- thinking I might've kept him if I'd done that first. Blech."

Persie finds the pool and plunks down on the edge to drop her feet in. "I could have kids, someday. Maybe. With the right guy. But now I just feel like the right guy is off having kids with someone else." She takes a big huge breath and sighs and looks at her nails again to try to buck up. "You did a really good job here, ya know. -- So, M'yr, if you knew he couldn't get in line, why were you with him at all? That must have been hard, right?"

Nolee joins Persie at the pool's edge, content enough with the glowlight level, and she sets the fruit and juice between them, only spilling a little where it runs down into a little trench where some other dried juice indicates this is a regular happening. "You could?" She thinks about this, shakes her head. "I don't know if I could. It stretches out your body, leaves all those marks, and could kill you if the baby gets stuck. And then, after all that, most riders give their littles away to be reared by someone else. Nuh-uh." Nibbling a bite of fruit, she dangles her feet into the water. "I didn't have to do anything--someone else did it for me. I just moved in. And do the stuff written on the slateboard, or else." The last question she considers: "He was nice to me. We just happened together, after a goldflight. We were best friends, I think, before? And that plus extras after. How about you? How'd you end up with your trouble guy?"

"Not the weyr, my nails," Persie says showing Nolee the work she's already aquainted with. "And yeah, I mean, I like kids enough. Some riders keep them with 'em. Or they foster them to someone in the Weyr and can see them and all. I don't know, I've never -really- thought about it. Having kids would mean that I'd been with someone and generally, I'm not so much." She kicks her feet in the water, a lazy rhythm that makes her bony self bounce. "We were best friends. He'll always be my best friend, even if we never talk again. We were weyrlings together, so, you know, there wasn't really any option then. And then we weren't weyrling and he was taking up with girls right and left and I just... I stopped talking to him." Which doesn't really explain how there's trouble now.

"Oohh," Nolee looks, belatedly remembering. "Thanks! I don't usually smudge much anymore. I'm lucky to get the paint, so I try not to waste it." Swishing her feet back and forth, she frowns. "I'd rather have a firelizard. They're just as much trouble, and go away with no hard feelings if you forget them." She quiets, and listens to a familiar story, nodding sympathetically as it unfolds, her more round figure a contrast to Persie's. "Yeh," she agrees. "Same for me--friends, candidates, weyrlings, more than that, then --distance." A sigh, then a curious, "So then there's some girl having his baby?" encourages Persie on.

"Well, we weren't anything before the distance. We were just friends. And I could never tell if he wanted to be just friends or if he was interested," Persie scratches at the side of her face, already forgetting about her nails, which are hopefully dry. "But I couldn't watch him with all those girls." She lets out a sigh and kicks a foot under the water, just one, then she's still for a bit. And then she's reaching for some fruit. "So this one day he's all asking me why we don't talk any more. And what could I say? 'Well, I love you, you big slut, and I don't want to see you with all those girls'? So the next day I go to get myself a drink and he comes in and we talked and he... well, basically he said he did want to be with me, that it was different and all sorts of stuff. And I just... I guess I fell for it."

"You weren't?" Nolee, an interactive listener, has to repeat bits of the tale so she can continue to follow it, especially as it deviates from the familiarity of her own. "Did you really tell him that? When I told M'yr, he promised to try to be true to me if I wanted, but I knew he couldn't. I bet he isn't now, either, even if he really likes Niyath's. Unless Niyath makes Soldreth make him. That could be. I think Aerianth's does that here, too." She stops interrupting by putting fruit in her mouth, and nods understandingly, awaiting what happened next.

"We weren't. We were just friends. Just... good friends. I cut his hair. We laughed. We smiles. We made fun of our stupid dragons." And that said with such affection that it is certain neither thinks their dragon is actually stupid. "And no, I didn't tell him he was a big slut. I didn't... I didn't tell him anything. I told him that I'd been waiting. Waiting for him. And he told me he was bad at this. I just didn't realize -how- bad." Persie stops there to munch on some fruit, finding herself hungry and licking her fingers, forgetting about the paints and making a face as her tongue remind her. "Can a dragon really do that? I mean, does it have to be a gold dragon? Maybe Secath could do something... No, that doesn't seem right either. I don't want him to be all forced into being with me, you know?"

Nolee gets a dreamy little smile as Persie describes the good times, and she nods, almost contentedly leaning her elbow on her knee, her chin on her palm, listening. "It's not entirely his fault, if he realized he was bad at it already. Maybe he meant relationships, or being honest? But if he knows it, that's either hopeful, or means he's hopeless." Realizing she's not helping, she shushes again, until a query comes up from her slender companion, and she responds to that, "I think they can," she genuinely tells her new friend. "I haven't been brave enough to ask Gree-r, but it's told of in the teaching songs, and in the records, that some of the gold senior queens, especially, can make people -do- things." She holds her chin high. "I wouldn't want a man that way either. Wouldn't trust it." She gestures: so then what happened?

Persie takes a moment to pop more fruit into her mouth, but it doesn't slow her talking. She just rolls the mouthful around her words. "Bad a relationships. Well, I guess bad at being honest. He told me he couldn't lie to me but... while we were in his weyr, his bronze told Secath that this woman he'd slept with, it was a flight, but I don't know how much that really matters, is pregnant. She didn't tell me, though, until we saw them both for drills the next morning. The woman is our wingleader and seeing her jogged Secath's memory, I guess. So... that's when I found out." She swallows and presses her lips together. "I left afterwards before he could talk to me. And that night I saw his bronze on her ledge. I haven't been home much since then."

Drinking a few sips of one of the cups of juice preoccupies Nolee, and she doesn't seem to mind much as Persie talks with her snack in her mouth. "Hmmm," she contributes, then seconds and thirds that as the story becomes more complex. "Sounds like it. Ugh, what a horrible way to find out." Another bit of fruit is downed, chased by juice. "M'yr didn't tell me, either. I heard from Nala, and from Kintryth's. Cowards, men are." She rolls her eyes, then sighs again. "Did you ask him if he planned to be all dedicated to her now, or just to let her rear the little one however she wanted? That could make a difference. For M'yr, he was so excited about being a papa, and he had to stay with her because of being Weyrleader and all--but if she's your Wingleader, that's almost as awkward."

Persie pulls a pale foot out of the water, grabbing it with a hand and twisting it to her thigh to check out how soft her skin might be. She shakes her head, but not at her foot. "He didn't tell me. Do they all let their stupid dragons do the telling? I mean, he -knew- and he didn't say anything before we..." She chews on her lip, one half disappearing into her mouth and the other side bulging out. "I haven't talk to him. And he hasn't... It's not like he's tried to find me." She pauses. "He must want it, right? The baby? Otherwise why would she have it? They must be, like... together now. Or, well, they sort of will be forever about the kid." Miserable thoughts, all of them. She fans her pink-tipped fingers against the white arch of her foot, trying again to focus on happy painted nails and not on stupid bronzeriders.

Persie's relocation of her foot triggers Nolee's memory that they were using the pool for a purpose, and she hops up and pads over to a little spot in the corner where a few fresh towels await, piled on and amid sachets of lavendar which scents the air as she gathers a few. Returning to Persie's side, she only stubs a toe once, frowns at it momentarily, then flops the towels down near the other girl. "The dragons are too honest to keep secrets, I think," Nolee muses, slowly, her studious face turning to wry dismay. "He took you to bed already knowing about her? Ugh, that is distasteful. First, you should kick him. Then ask if they plan to keep it, raise it, or if he's gonna tell her to bug off. Have a towel? I think your toes are dry enough. Pink to match your nails?"

Persie takes up the towel and does her best to dry her foot, holding it up in the air while she balances on her rear to dry the other one. And then, dilemma. She's, well, stuck with her feet up in the air. It takes some careful maneuvering, rocking side to side, and the use of her hand, but eventually she turns to set her feet down on the stone, facing Nolee. Except, she's not looking at Nolee, her eyes are down and she slumps again to drop her chin onto her knees, arms sort of limp at her sides. "Yeah. He did." It's a flat, dismal admission. "I'd have to see him to kick him or ask him anything. I don't want to see him. If he had anything good to say, he'd find me and say it. I don't need to hear him say the bad stuff. Sounds like somethng those massoskiasts do." That would be masochists, but, well...

Nolee tugs one of the towels over by clasping it with her toes, and then trods on the towel and twists in place to dry her feet, an awkward dance all her own while her spidery companion also aims to become dry. "You've got really long legs," Nolee brightly observes. "Do they get tangled up, like when you walk? If mine were that long, I think I'd fall over them all the time." Her tangent breaks off as she realizes Persie's dispondant once more. "What a wherry turd! So are all boys who lie, or don't tell the whole truth just so they can warm your furs." She tilts her head, not making full sense of the word, but by the widening of her eyes, must be ascribing the practice to the worst people she can think of besides lying boys--and that would be Beastcrafters. Eeeew. "Being insulted isn't any fun either," she agrees, heading down the small steps and back toward the brighter part of the weyr, calling back, "Bring the juice, will you? And the fruit, or at least the bowl." Once seated back at the plain table in the next room, she rests her chin on her palm. "Have your dragon ask his dragon to look in his head! Then you don't have to see him but you'll still know what he's thinking!"

"My legs? No, I walk around alright," Persie says, glancing up at the happy momentary distraction. Of course, Nolee's wiggle-dance helps, too. "You should see me dance," she says, a quirk of a smile starting to pull her lips askew. "I bet that if you had longer legs, you'd be just as used to 'em as the ones you have." And then, for the return to more serious topics, she toss out, "His furs," as if the exact location of the deed had any importance. She does take up the juice and bowl of fruit and her towel and and wobbles up to her feet (wobbling, but not tangling). "Can I really do that? I mean, wouldn't his dragon just tell him that I'd been asking? Or... is that the point? Or.." she frowns sharply, trying to wrap her brain around the possiblities and what they could, maybe, offer. She pads, neither wobbling nor tangling, to the brighter room. "Where do you want all of this?" Well, the juice and fruit can probably go on the table, but the foot-towel?

"Used to them? Oh, my legs." By the time she's seated, Nolee'd forgotten the subject, though she invites, "You should show me your dance! But that wasn't mine. I was just drying my feet. They should be softened now. Grab a pillow or use your towel and sit, put one foot up on my lap. It'll need a shaping, like your fingers, but the feet tickle heaps more." She tugs the pack over to the table, rifles through it, and pulls out the needed supplies, considering. "Well, he might tell, depends on how smart he is. But even if he does, so what? They the man would know you thought of him, and he already knew you did because you slept with him, and if he had any common decency he'd either answer through the dragon and avoid you, or he'd come talk to you himself." She blinks, then nods, trying to make sense of her own advice.

Persie is all obedient, setting the food and drink down on the table and dropping into the chair. Not quite ready to lay the towel across Nolee's lap like a napkin or something, instead she picks up a foot, hangs the towel on it and extends it for the goldrider's easy reach. Tah-dah, it's a foot. "Oh shards, worse tickling? My feet are all ticklish. Well, most of me is, really." She clasps her hands on either side of the seat, bracing for tickles. "So... so what do I say? Or, what do I ask her to say? And what if he wants to talk? What if he comes and finds me just to tell me that he's going to be with Danielle now?" She knows the name, her being wingleader and all. "I guess I'm just a coward. Doesn't it say enough that he hasn't tried to talk to me so far?" Then she bites her lip. "But he always does the wrong thing. Maybe he's staying away because it's the wrong thing to do. Not, like, he means to be wrong. He means to be right, he just always gets it wrong." This concept, hard to follow as it likely is, makes her eyes widen a bit, hopeful even. "Huh."

Nolee giggles, then plucks the towel from Persie's foot, folding it over her lap like it really doesn't matter if it's sopping wet or not. "I'll try not to tickle, but sometimes the opposite of tickle with these little sticks is a scraping hurt if you push too hard." She positions the foot, gently grabs a toe, and takes up one of the pumice sticks, getting to work and probably tickling rather frequently, pausing during any squirming. "He said he's bad at things, so you could be right." Persie's logic is convoluted enough that Nolee's odd brain can follow it. "At least he's truthful at that. Though I'd say some of it depends -- are you still going to be friends, even if he's with her? Because you'll see him everywhere and if you don't talk, it'll all come out in public in a nasty way and then you'll get lectured--at least, I did. Well, after I went crying to the Weyrwoman, anyway. She said to ditch him. I don't know what she'd say to you."

There is some tickling and thus some squirming, but Persie does a pretty decent job of not jerking her foot in any dangerous ways and only a couple of times does she let out little squeaks. "I think he tries to be truthful. He says he can't help it with me but then... then he didn't tell me about -her-. I mean, I guess there wasn't a good time, but isn't that the sort of thing you tell a girl? Particulrly when you're telling her that you want to be with her and not just bed her?" For Nolee's tale, though, she stars to want some details? "It all came out? Like... like how?" Pause. Squirm. "You think Jenna would tell me to ditch him? Or your Weyrwoman? I don't think I've met her."

Nolee finishes up the toenail-shaping part perhaps a little faster than she should in order to get perfect results, but they're striving for cheer, not art, so on goes the polish, after a good shake and an opening of its vial, of course. "Well, if he wanted you to believe he liked you, right before you're intimate probably wouldn't keep you going to intimate. I wouldn't think it's very sexy to hear about someone else's bloated feet and stretchy belly, and what they tossed up for breakfast, you know?" A shrug as the polish goes on in tidy lines. "Jenna?" Blank look. "Oh. Niyath's. Hmph. Depends if she's seeing him on the side, too. I wouldn't ask her; she's expert at using that baby-ugh to keep him, so she'll probably side with that other old lady, your Wingleader." That foot finished, she signals for the other. "Mine would probably say ditch him, though. She doesn't suffer fools. I think that's what someone said. Or else it was fester fools. I get them mixed up."

"I didn't think it was just... pretty words, though," Persie says thoughtfully, and relieved that polish is happening instead of tickling, er, shaping. "He didn't have any pretty words. He kept saying the wrong thing and fumbling and... grinning with me. Like an idiot. This big, dumb, stupid grin." And for that, Persie is watching her knee as she sniffles. And, despite that mood, she wonders, "How do you fester a fool?" That wrinkles her nose. She needs to real explanation, though. "I don't think Jenna's seeing him. She's got M'yr and all. I'm sorry he was an ass to you. He sounds like even more of a tramp than Soka. At least Soka... I don't know... Maybe they're both just stupid asses."

Nolee releases the finished foot, and takes up the other, careful to check in with her companion so the polish isn't going to get smeared before it dries, and the second round of nail-shaping begins, Nolee all the while hmming or frowning at Persie's words, alternately. "He wasn't an ass," she defends, her simple honesty coming as something of a surprise to her. "He was my best friend, and maybe still is. We had heaps of fun together. But sometimes I'm sad that he's not still here. Maybe that's why I'm sad about it--that it's like losing my best friend, too, since he's got responsibilities even more now." She pauses to sip some juice, then inspects the toes in progress with a shrug. "I don't even think he tramped around on me too much, like he sorta tried to prove himself. Except for that headwoman assistant. And some dock girl. And--hm. I guess I was insulting to him during a social thing. Like rude, weyr to weyr. Which is bad. But we get along okay now, I think. I guess you have to decide if you like him enough to risk him telling you things you don't want to hear. Or lying to you."

Persie sets her foot down gently, heal on the stone and toes splayed in the air, just in case. And for Nolee's reaction to her words, she frowns deeply. "I'm sorry. I... I know what you mean. Soka is my best friend, even if I've only spent on night with him in the past handful of turns. You should go see M'yr. That's what my gut says. If you miss him, you should visit him. And if you don't need other stuff, like, being together and stuff... just your best friend... it shouldn't be too bad, right? Unless you still feel like... like you like him like that." For Nolee's recap of the decision Persie has to make, the greenrider is quiet, still thinking.

Nolee watches the careful-toe-splaying with approval, "That's it! Just like that. Then your other toes don't smear it either." She smiles, almost shyly, at having confided all those inside things beside her anger at M'yr, to this new-met Fortian. Slowly, she nods. "I should. We could maybe go out on a boat; we both like doing things like that and I bet he doesn't do that much now, with all that cold and work and stuff." Another pause. "I don't know if I still feel that way. Maybe...less than I did once. And there are other nice boys, who aren't as complicated." Mischief in that smile, then she starts on paint for this set of toes. "What do you think you'll do?"

Persie beams at her toes, picking both feet up in the air, hands steadying her on her the chair as she admires her newly pink nails. "Fantastic! I love it. No--, shards, what's your name? Nonie? And I think you -should- visit M'yr. You should have your gold talk to his bronze and set something up." As for other boys... Persie's smile start to turn impish. "Other boys, huh? Got one in mind?" She drops her heels to the floor and swivels her legs back and forth. "Any one you want to tell me about?" It doesn't seem to matter to Persie that they've only just met. It certainly doesn't feel that way. "I guess I'll talk to him. Maybe he's just being stupid. I hope that's what it is."

"That's very close! It's like the side of a boat, the lee. Or a boat that doesn't have one. No-lee. Or somethign like that." Name reassurance provided with no hint of chastising, Nolee instead admires the painted toes, then starts to file off the ragged paint layer on her own toenails, tucking the knees up close and squishing her ample backside precariously but familiarly onto her chair. "You do? It does look very nice. And matches!" The important details, of course. Nolee beams impishly, flushes a little, then confesses. "There's one from Reaches, where it's all cold? He's really nice, and very considerate, even if he isn't the smartest ever, and not as strong as M'yr. And I never find myself angry at him. Is that a good sign?" -- "Oh, you should. Then you'd know for sure, and wouldn't have to worry or wonder so much."

Persie blinks and starts to shake her head very slowly. "I... I don't know anything about boats. I'll just have to... try to remember. Nolee. No. Lee." She goes on to say the weyrwoman's name a few times. What with their fast friendship, she's putting in the extra effort. And she's easily distracted by the attention to her nails. She pulls her feet up, knees out to the sides and her hands out so that all twenty nails can line up in an approximate row. "I love it. We should do this again. You can come to my weyr, if you want. It's warm. A lot like here, actually. Something about being by the hatching sands. And then I can supply the food and stuff, to help make things even." Or something. "Ooh, Reaches. And after I was told that there are a bunch of hot guys here. Is he cute? I don't think a person needs to be all that smart, really, to be good. I hope not. I'm not smart at all."

Nolee nods vaguely, not minding if her name's a big mangled...her silence suggests she may or may not recall her companion's name, but her furrowed forehead hints that she might be trying to think of it. Rolling one shoulder back dismissively, she pauses in her ministrations to admire the nail color. "We should! I'd like to visit, especially if it were to a warm place. I'm not so much fond of the snow, or the ice. It's...slippery. Then you can give me a tour of the good things, not just the things a Weyrleader'd show to make things look good." A knowing nod; she's got that trick down. "I'm sure you're smart; just about different things than numbers or harper questions. There are other important things. Oh--the guys here are tanned, that's for sure. C'len," he even merits a name-remembering; he must rate well, "isn't tanned, or muscled, really, but he is cute like--like it's easy to lean on him and feel safe and relaxed. And I trust him. Except that he got promoted to a Wingleader, I think, and that's usually bad news. Then they get extra-busy."

Persie lets a breath blow out through loose lips. "Promotions. That seems to happen to your guys. Maybe you just know how to pick 'em? But still, it's not like he's a Weyrleader like the last one. Do you visit him often? High Reaches. That's pretty cold. Colder than Fort. Fort's cold now, but not my weyr, so if you come, you should bring a jacket. And pants." Because she didn't wear pants and regretted it. She rubs her bare thighs thinking about the return trip. "Anyway, your C'len fellow, he sounds nice. Like, really nice. Better for you that M'yr." She's about to snark about him for Nolee's sake, but remembers about them being friends and all and so she stops herself and just looks apologetic instead.

"Pants?" Nolee thinks on this, looking around her room at the scarves on the floor and the collection of clothing likely gathered in the chest. "Like, long ones? I guess I could look in stores. Then I'd have some to visit you, and to visit 'Reaches, too." That's an acceptable idea, at least. "It does! Jays, maybe it's a sign." A nod, startled at this idea. "He is, nice that is. I should visit more, but it's cold there. He visits here, though." Smug little smile, also a hint tickled, as she finishes with her own nails and puts the paints aside. "Say, at least if your Wingleader's pregnant she'll be flying with the queens and not with you and your boy--your friend, at least, not for very long. That'll be less awkward, maybe?"

Persie holds out her hands to Nolee, nodding for her hold out her own beside them. "We look so pretty! This has been great. And you're so great for letting me come over and doing my nails and letting me talk and making me feel better. I think I should probably be going home, or something. Or at least let you get on with stuff. Like sleeping, I guess. It's getting late." Or is late, whatever. "But you -have- to get pants and you -have- to come by Fort and visit me. And you have to visit Reaches so that you can tell me how things are going." She put on a cheeky grin for that. Pretty nails and a new resolve have surely improved her mood from the slumping drinking state she was in when she arrived.

Stretching her fingers out, Nolee can't help but wriggle them around to show off the brightly-shaded polish. "You're welcome! It's made me feel better too. And I made a new friend! Um...I almost remember. It sounds like 'purty,' doesn't it?" She rises, hobbling carefully across the room to the chest, and peering inside, holding her hands awkwardly to keep the polish from getting smeared. "I'll certainly do that--thank you for the invitation, too. It'll give me something fun to do next visit. Oh! Do you need a scarf, or a shawl? I knit things; I have extras if you'll be cold on the way home. I'd offer short-pants, but..." she loks the skinny thing up and down, "Mine wouldn't fit you, or even get to your knees." Giggle.

"Persie," the Fort girl says, but her grin is chipper and wry. "You can call me Perty if you like, though. I'm not picky. I call people all sorts of weird things, so I certainly can't get all bent out of shape, you know?" She giggles for that. "Hey, if you have a shawl or something I can put over my legs, that might be a help." She's standing now, though her toes are still lifted up like she's afraid to put her whole foot on the ground.

"Persie!" Nolee echoes, trying to remember for at least a few minutes. Carefully, she reaches into the open chest and pulls out a knitted orange shawl, bright with lime stripes. "This even almost matches," she observes, carrying it across the room pinned between her outstretched elbows, and holding it out as best she can. "I've been trying to come up with rhymes to remember important names, which works...as long as I can remember the rhyme." A giggle, then a waggle of her fingers. "Nala'll see you two off. Your toes should be dry enough, or the wind will help them get there by the time you mount up. Nice to meet you, Perty of Fort, and fair skies!"

Persie oohs over the shawl. "Oh, I like it! And now you'll have to come visit to get it back because I won't give it up otherwise," she teases. The shawl gets wrapped around her waist with the long part in front as she minces over to her shoes. Only after those shoes are on does she seem to accept that she can walk normally again. "This has been so nice. It was great to meet you! Thank you for... for everything." She gives a salute, a friendly sort, not a sharp drill sort, and then she's heading back out into the wind.