Much needs to be remembered
11-19-2006 (Miniyal, Neiran, Reyce):
Dinner is over but for a few stragglers sitting over a pastry and a mug of klah or skin of wine. There's not too many people about tonight. Mostly it's the usual assortment of people. Plus one. For tonight, rather than being holed up in her room, Miniyal is out here. Likely Gans has a student he is meeting with in their room and so she has taken herself away because. . .well, students. Ick. She's seated at a table towards a wall if not against it with a few hides scattered before her. She's making notes from them into a book that is before her. Near her, but not too near, is a mug of something with steam still rising from it.
Another figure joins the quiet atmosphere of the living caverns, entering from the infirmary tunnel entrance at a slow walk. Subdued and introspective, the dark-haired healer proceeds at a trundlebug's pace towards the foods tables. He lingers there only long enough to procure a small plate of cold vegetable slices, and an empty mug into which he drops a small cheesecloth satchel full of herbs. Balancing his plate and mug as well as the bag hung on his shoulder, he slowly proceeds towards a hearth, the one usually kept with a kettle full of water rather than klah. Although nothing as overt as a yawn gives him away, a keen observer might be able to see the subtler signs of tiredness written on the man's visage. He's but one table away from Miniyal, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice her presence, and simply sets his bag and plate down and moves like an automaton to claim his hot water from the kettle in the warm alcove.
Reyce adds yet one more to the number of quiet types assembled in the living caverns at this hour, arriving not long after Neiran, albeit from a different direction. Shedding his light, long jacket, he slings it over an arm while he moves by the food tables. He doesn't not bother to take any of the cooling dinner food still set out, but grabs a simple redfruit in his non-jacketed hand and moves towards the back. He spots both the healer and Miniyal, and - after an uncertain pause - offers a short nod to the latter and a "Neiran" to the former, in that order. He grabs a small cup set near the water kettle and waits for the healer to finish with it.
It's impossible for her to not pay attention somewhat to her surroundings. After all, if Miniyal does not watch others she cannot tell when to avoid others. So when someone leaves or more importantly comes in she takes note. Barely noticeable when she does it and not at all more often than not. Reaching for her mug or to dip pen into ink she can glance about covertly. Or simply be looking at what she does. No eye contact which is usually all it takes to avoid socializing. However, when she notes Neiran her attitude is somewhat different. Head tilting towards one side she watches him go to get his water and will wait until he will return to where he left his things to voice a soft, "Neiran." To leave the decision up to him if he will stop and notice her or not. Reyce is merely noted. Not even a nod, but a flicker of a glance to meet his eyes a mere moment. She's seen him, yes.
Neiran is apparently slow in coming up out of his reverie; dark eyes usually quick to find the source of a greeting take their time in abandoning the study of reflected flames dancing against the copper kettle's surface. Indeed, he pours water into his mug before turning to face Reyce. But if his gestures are slow, his brain at least isn't, for the man's name is on his lips before he's completed his slow about-face, holding the kettle with its handle covered by a quilted cloth to protect against burns. "Reyce. Good evening." He stares at the man's mug for a few moments, and rather than trying to pass the heavy thing to him, makes a small dip of the spout in a gesture to imply he's willing to pour if Reyce will but hold his cup out for him. A familiar presence in his peripheral vision - and did he hear a name? - also catches his attention, and Miniyal is offered a small nod. "Good evening," he adds, after a lengthy moment has passed.
Reyce, having met Miniyal's gaze, seems equally willing to move on, though the fact that she, too, addresses the healer gains a small flicker of his attention, evident in the short blink he gives on hearing it. "Mm," he says, when the healer offers the kettle for pouring. He sticks his cup under the spout, holding it steady and adding a preemptive, "Thanks." While Neiran pours, his eyes flick across the other man's subtly tired features, taking them in quickly and without comment; once he's satisfied, he draws in a sinus-clearing sniff and looks down at his cup, to call "Okay," when it's filled up enough.
It does seem as if he will not notice her greeting and so Miniyal reaches for her mug. Someone in this weyr has to drink klah! A quiet sip and she sets it back down out of the way before taking up her pen once more and returning to her work. She is just putting pen to hide when she hears the returned greeting. Glancing up she seems about to say more, but pauses when she notices Reyce still standing so closely to the healer. So instead of saying more when otherwise she might have she settles on simply observing the both of them. There is no pretext of working right now, she's given that up simply to watch.
The Journeyman tips the kettle forward, pouring a slow, steady stream of hot water. His other hand lifts from his side, and makes some ineffectual gesture near his wrist, brushing back an invisible sleeve. Instinct hardened by etiquette classes, but utterly foolish looking right now considering the snug sweater sleeves he's wearing. With a small frown and a drawn-out squeeze of his eyelids to wake himself up further, he retracts his hand and the kettle once a full measure has been poured at Reyce's reckoning. He looks back to Miniyal at his leisure to see how his greeting has been received. Finding her staring at him - no, at /them/ - one corner of his mouth twitches uncomfortably, and he turns to return the kettle to its place on the fire. A social impasse has been found, here. Does he brush off either, or both of them, for solitude? No, that would be too rude. And so the initiative falls to him. "Miniyal. The seat across from you appears to be at a desirable distance from the hearth to gain warmth and light without being too warm. I would occupy it, if you are not adverse to it." This leaves Reyce to come or go, but a brief look from half-lidded eyes assures he's not being snubbed.
Reyce is slower to note Miniyal's focus on him because he pauses to warm over his hot water, the rim of the cup held just below his chin. As the steam helps clear away the chill picked up from outside, he turns, as the healer did, and looks, as the healer did, but does not speak, as the healer does just at that moment. He tugs his chin up with another little sniff - one with a more practical purpose, as the heat from his hot water has made his nose run just a bit - and watches her impassively.
"It's one of the best tables here for that sort of thing." Which would be why Miniyal has chosen it perhaps. She would certainly not seat herself where she might be unable to clearly see her work; whatever it may be. Reyce gets a quick look and then she is back to looking at Neiran. A nod and the pen free hand gestures to her table. "There is room if you both wish to sit." How casually she offers. As if it's just anyone. "I am merely transcribing notes from my interviews so I shall not bother you with undue conversation." It leaves it open, of course, to curiosity should the sort of interviews be asked about, but she does not force conversation. Not her. Once she has gestures to the table she dips her pen again in the ink and looks down at her book, marking in it what her eyes glance over on the hides around her. Once her line is done she pauses and gathers the hides up to a more neat pile. One that takes up less space and allows for others to have room of their own should they have decided to sit.
The soft sound of a mug being placed on the table across from Miniyal is her answer. The healer doesn't immediately sit, but doubles back to retrieve his plate of scant vegetable slices and the bag he set down. Ere long, he's sliding onto his seat with deliberate gracefulness, a little more forced than usual due to the dual burden of plate and bag. Reyce has been left to sit or not, wherever he should choose. "I will not interrupt you if you prefer to work." Neiran, of all people, can respect industry in progress. "I was," he goes on, however, "unaware that you were conducting interviews.." The way the sentence lingers and dies off, it invites elucidation while remaining open enough that she could continue to put pen to hide and ignore him. How his conversation instructors would be pleased. Slender fingers reach out to claim a thin, peeled fingerroot slice, to bring it to his lips while his tea steeps. Surreptitiously, half-lidded eyes slide towards Reyce's mug. Did he just pour hot water into an empty mug earlier?
He did. Reyce is, in fact, drinking that hot water, without any effort to steep tea in it. The heat of it, still fresh from the kettle, burns his mouth and prompts a sharp intake of breath to cool it, though he seems neither surprised nor displeased to find it so. It gives him something to do while he considers his options, still staring openly at Miniyal with her busy hidework. Finally he gulps the water down and sits on Neiran's side of the table, putting a bit of space between him and the healer that leaves even more space between him and the historian. Neiran's open-ended comment draws his gaze down to the hides, leaving Miniyal alone at last while he takes a bite of his redfruit.
As the seating is done, Miniyal writes. Scant glances towards the hides now piled neatly by her book. The pen does not pause but to dip into ink and she seems to be nearly writing from memory rather than those glances towards her notes. She has time aplenty before she must speak again to write. By the time she looks up again one hide is finished and she picks it up, turns it upside down, and places it at the bottom of her pile. If her hesitation to answer has more to do with one man than the other she gives none of that away. She is not quite so good at concealing things however for as she sets down the pen and folds her hands on the table her chin tips upwards a fraction. As if she must speak defiantly although her tone is even and soft. "I am recording the history of the weyr since the beginning of the pass. Sometimes before. It depends on what people will tell me. So that turns from now the truth will be there for those who wish to seek it. It is a way to insure that nothing that has happened gets hidden away." If she is even and soft in tone she is also earnest and forceful. A woman with a mission. A calling.
Neiran stares at Reyce's mug a good while, assuring and reassuring himself that the man was, in fact, drinking plain hot water. Rather than comment on the oddity of such a thing, for each is entitled to their own, he lifts his eyes to the man's face and states, deadpan, "if you wished tea, you could have requested it." He blinks, and slides his eyes front and center again. Finally, with a soft crunch, he takes a bite of that fingerroot. While Miniyal speaks, he chews meditatively, crunches almost inaudible. He swallows, and returns the half-bitten portion of vegetable to his plate as though that one bite was too much for him to handle. "That is an admirable pursuit," he says in that subdued voice of his, drawing his mug closer slowly so as not to slosh any hot water over the edge as he draws it across the table a small ways. Forefinger and thumb pinch the string dangling from it, and he leisurely bobs the herb-packed satchel in the steaming water, to coax more of the infusion to seep outwards. "I was required to read a tome on the history of High Reaches which is considered the definitive text. It is in need of updating to account for many contemporary events. Your contributions will be invaluable."
He is. Reyce drinks again from his plain hot water, tilting his fingers oddly so none of the dribbled juice from his redfruit gets on the cup. "Didn't want tea," he answers, his words breathy as he continues to pull in cool air to dull the effect of his overheated drink. He seems to be trading between that and the redfruit, going for it again now he's had his drink. Miniyal's hesitations about answering would seem to be unfounded, for though the Bendenite squints his eyes down over the explanation of her cause, it's a thoughtful look, not an accusing one. He leaves the commenting to Neiran and the delighted spirits of his conversation instructors.
Taking up her mug, Miniyal peers into it and then sets it aside. The remains of her klah holds no interest to her it seems. Refolding her hands on the table she looks down at her work and then smiles faintly. "It is a daunting task. Recording what has happened. It is not even, well, it is just something I am doing. I've no surety anyone will want to see it left anywhere. Although I hope it will at least find room here in records. It is not. . .well. There are plenty of people who are seen in a less than kind way. Should they decide to quiet my work I am not sure I would be able to argue. I shall send a copy to the Masterharper I think. He may lose it in his library, but at least it would be there to be found someday. Much needs to be remembered." Now she will just talk enough for all three of them it seems. This is what happens when you have someone who is obsessed.
Neiran isn't going to try and cure Reyce of his strange, plain water-drinking habits. His blank expression somehow manages yet to say, 'as you wish', in the brief moment in which he glances Reyce's way again. Tea bobbed satisfactorily, he lifts the satchel out of the water and watches the colored drops trickle into the cup. Once they've stopped, he transfers the satchel to an unoccupied corner of his little appetizer plate. Having recovered his energy from the effort of taking that bite of fingerroot, he leaves his tea to cool a little more and takes up the next half. "I commend you for such an attitude," he murmurs. "Such things are often best left to lay aside on a shelf, but Pern benefits from having them." Certainly more than it benefits from having those tawdry romances disseminated that some harpers giddily pen. "Have you assembled many accounts thus far?" He takes another bite of his carrot, chews it equally slowly. It doesn't appear that he wants any more vegetables, however, because he slides his plate away from himself, in Reyce's direction by happenstance.
Reyce's brows ascend in a slow but unspoken question over the 'people who are seen in a less than kind way.' He's soon distracted from it by the sliding of that plate of vegetables towards him, as he arches hin chin to look down, drawing in another sniff against runny-nosed hot water effects. Redfruit still cupped in his hand, he knocks the back of his knuckles on the table, right near the plate, and raises a look to the healer. "Mind if I take some?" A sniff, a quick-sideways twist of his mouth. "Get more later, you want any."
Miniyal lets out a quiet sigh and glances at her notes. "Not enough or as much as I wish. I am still waiting for the acting weyrwoman to grant me my interview. I was not able to speak to E'sere or Aivey before they were gone." Another sigh, this one more wistful and sad. Opportunities lost to her and it breaks her heart. "The weyrleader has spoken with me, but he was less than forthcoming on certain things. I am hoping me might allow me to speak to him again. I was perhaps not at my best." Shocking that admission, yes? Another reach for her mug and she recalls that it is empty of contents that interest her. Standing up slowly, carefully so she does not bump into the table, she nods at both of them. "Excuse me one moment, please." One step and then two are taken from the table towards where she can exchange cold dregs of klah for something warm she pauses. "I would be pleased to speak to both of you sometime in regards to my project. If you are willing to contribute." The answers will have to wait her return for she is off to get that klah. Taking her time and returning only once she has succeed in her mission.
"I believe I am done with them. You may help yourself," Neiran states, inclining his head towards the vegetables in question. There's really only a small amount, all raw slices, varied as much as can be expected of High Reaches in autumn. No dip present either, of course. He's patient when Miniyal departs, simply curling his hands around his mug to appreciate the warmth and the lull in the conversation. His eyes, half lidded, dare to slide to a close even while he's in the public eye still, quiet weariness mistakable for peacefulness written in his posture and expression. When Miniyal returns, he straightens his spine out of its small forward-tilt, and opens his eyes a margin. "I would willingly contribute." Lips barely move behind the ascending curtain of steam, and then he tilts his mug to take a sip at last.
Reyce continues with his odd affinity for plain food, not bothered by Neiran's failure to get dip. He snags one of the few remaining slices of fingerroot and pops it in, crunching loudly over Neiran's words as Miniyal returns. "You just record who you interviewed, or you interview and get a general idea you put together yourself?" He's wary of the invitation to participate, clearly, yet he keeps his voice carefully detached from the question, eyeing his hot water while he asks it.
Fresh klah in hand, Miniyal sits back down at her place. Hot, she sets it down to cool before taking a drink from her cup. One hand curves around the heated ceramic and the other lays flat on the table. Until it must lift almost immediately so she might push her hair back over her shoulder. Switching hands she lays the other on the table now and studies it, considering exactly what to say. Finally she looks up and smiles first at Neiran. "Thank you. I would love to interview you. I shall look at my schedule and send word when I am free and you can meet me as your schedule allows." Now she looks to Reyce, he gets no smile, but he does get very brief eye contact before she takes up her mug, blows on the contents, and sips. "I record the interview. I include a few words about the person being interviewed. So people might compare the opinions given based on the social standing of the person who has given those opinions. I would not record untruths or try to force my perspective on the words of others."
The Journeyman inclines his head in agreement, silently acquiescing to making further arrangements when it becomes relevent. Having heard Reyce's suspicion and Miniyal's returned statements, he looks towards the Bendenite. "Records-keepers are required to be scrupulous. If you are worried that something you say may one day be turned against you by an unsavory individual, simply keep your comments plain. Lying for a historical record is unacceptable, but expressing yourself with brevity is acceptable. Am I correct?" This last, directed towards Miniyal, with a subtle lift of his brow.
Reyce leans to the side that takes him further away from Miniyal, yet at the same time - from the placement of his elbow - turns his toward her. Yet it's Neiran he answers first: "Records-keepers aren't required to be anything. They're scrupulous if they feel like it." A quick sniff gets reversed into a loud snort, making a pause but leaving no silence for anyone else to say something. "Not the question, anyway. Wanted to know how you're going about it. What you're aiming for, to take it down." This time he allows for other comments, falling silent while he drinks from his cooling water.
Miniyal gets out a nod for Neiran. A quietly murmured, "Exactly so." Then there must be a drink taken from her cup because she does enjoy her klah and does not actually get to drink it in her own room. When Reyce speaks she directs all her attention towards him. For a moment she seems ready to give a heated retort. His words clearly affect her, but a drink and then she sets her mug down, lacing her fingers around it. Looking up from the mug that her fingers cradle she tips her head towards one side. "I have never put anything onto hide that was not the truth. I cannot speak, of course, for things copied from turns ago. But I would not lie." Ever. Such a failing. At the question that clarifies she blinks. "To insure that it is not forgotten. That the events that happened are remembered by everyone. So that the failings of our time can hopefully not be repeated. So it is remembered. So all records of it are not locked away in an archive so no one might learn the truth. I will not let that happen."
"Records-keepers are required to be scrupulous," he repeats patiently, as if Miniyal had not just defended herself, "if their own desires compel them to, and if they wish to keep their occupation for long." He removes one hand from his mug in order to make a small gesture, as if flicking grains of sand from his fingertips; dismissing the issue after having explained the reasoning behind his statement. The hand returns to its place on his warm mug, and the item is lowered to the table's surface. It seems as though the healer is about to regress into silence, staring at the contents of his mug as he is. But gradually he turns his head, lifting his eyes to meet Reyce's. "It is an opportunity to immortalize yourself," he proposes quietly. It's not a goad or a jibe, said so tonelessly as it is; bait laid on the water like Thread ash for a fish to nibble at, nonetheless. One might think he was curious to see what reaction such a comment would elicit, if it didn't look like he were playing the role of a corpse holding a mug.
Reyce snorts at the proposed immortality, lowering his drink so the thin quirk of a smile on one edge of his lips shows. "I'll die when I die." He sets the mug down with a faint click, wrapping his hands around it as though embracing it for warmth. "And it'd be nice to think there's an honesty requirement, but still not true. One, she's doing this on her own. So it's her standard, not her job's. Two -" a pause, a look at Miniyal that remembers she's there, "you said yourself, can't vouch for what you've copied. Somebody in the past could mess up, somebody in the present could, too." The edge of a smile has worn down while he speaks, but as he casts a glance down at the table, it resumes with a slightly harder, certainly more in-turned nature. "Still not the thing. Still not my question. You talk about events and failings but you don't say which ones you look at. Can't get them all. That's my question." He wipes his expression with a short sniff and looks up at her again. He shrugs.
The conversation turns away from her and Miniyal, as is often the case in times like this, lets it. Cup picked up so she can sip from her klah she observes the two men. One hand twitches and Miniyal pulls it into her lap to conceal whatever she might give away in the twitching of fingers. "I do not make mistakes." Spoken firmly and quietly, the truth as she sees it. Although she amends with, "Not in my work. I cannot investigate everything I copy, no. But in the past if something has seemed curious I have researched it with other sources. This is not my job, no. Not. . .so much. I do not work in records at the moment. However, it is my duty as a resident of the weyr to insure that what has gone on is recorded true." Stopping here she lets out a little sigh, rubbing at her forehead a moment before she takes a drink. "I'm sorry. I thought I had said. I am recording down the events, any people wish to speak of, that occurred since the beginning of the pass. Older sometimes because our present is tied into our past in the same way our future is going to come about based on the pair of them. The first fall, the weyr's leadership following it, the bringing in of Yevide, E'sere and what he did. The trials. All of it. Preparation in anticipation of the first fall. Shards. I may have to talk to R'vain again." This makes her frown and she doesn't bother hiding it." Now she sighs again and sits up straighter, as if her posture has not been perfect. No etiquette classes needed either, just one mother. "Does that answer your question?" And a look to Neiran, "Why do you want to do it?"
Neiran doesn't venture to argue further; either his statements didn't reflect his personal view, or he doesn't care to be argumentative. Possibly he's just too tired to feel like bothering. He contentedly lingers in silence, occasionally sipping his tea as Miniyal reeducates Reyce, and the hour softly passes by in the quiet of the living cavern. When he's addressed, he seems mildly surprised, lifting his head from its slight stoop, and his brows simultaneously. He recovers gracefully, straightening his shoulders to adopt that self-important sort of posture, while his expression still remains neutral to convey such loftiness. "To contribute to the completeness of the project," he answers without hesitation. "I can only offer my perspective as a healer, for I had nothing to do with the grander events which have been sweeping through the Weyr," he defers, leaving it to Miniyal and Reyce to point out the value of someone who's seen the corpses literally roll by on trolleys, and poked and prodded at various important personages. Without looking to the plate, he extends his hand to retrieve a slice of vegetable, knowing inherently where the plate lies and not caring what it is he brings back to chew on.
Reyce glances down at the hand that reenters his space to claim a vegetable, but since he stole them in the first place, he's not about to protest. "Don't know your work and I'm not saying you'd lie or not. Was answering Neiran, really, but it doesn't matter. You're recording - what, the leadership, mainly. Other things. You can't get it all. Nearly three turns." He pauses then, something registered with him a moment or two after the fact, and he glances at Neiran. A moment later, and he's back, hefting his redfruit but pausing before he bites. "Why do you want me to do it? Or Neiran, he wants to know." A shrug - who knows if the healer wants to know. "Not just completeness because you can't ask everything, so what are you thinking to focus on?" He crunches into his redfruit.
"I look forward to your perspective. I shall have to consider my questions. I have not yet had the chance to ask a student of the caucus any questions." Miniyal pushes her mug away, abandoning the prop that allows her to distract herself and look down and away from those she speaks with. Hands folding together her fingers twitch as if she wants ever so much to twist at the ring on her finger, but she does not. Instead she sits still, regarding the pair of people she converses with as they sit across the table from her. "If I could I would speak to everyone. Everyone who wanted to talk to me. I'm trying to learn. . .well." Well, what is she trying to learn? Perhaps nothing at all as the thought silences her and she glances down at her hands a moment before looking up again. "Perspective. Perspective and truth, Reyce. Everyone believes what they do is right. That there is justification for it. So I want to speak to those who did. To hear their justification and their truth. And compare it to the truth that those on the outside perceive. Those who dealt with the outcome of living someone else's truth, of dealing with the perspective of those they could merely observe."
He wants to know? Only crunching supports or denies the claim. Impassive crunching, at that, slow and drawn-out as though it were an effort or a chore. After swallowing, the last of his tea is used to wash down the vegetable. While the discussion swirls around him, he reaches to the plate again and takes his satchel back. Holding it over his emptied mug, he displays his dexterity by quickly undoing the knot of tiny, tea-soaked string, opening the satchel so the used herbs will tumble into the mug; the cloth itself will be re-used, but the herbs have been expended. After Miniyal has finished speaking, and a weighted pause passes, he shifts in his seat, and slowly rises. "I believe we have come to the conclusion that I will contribute to this project. I find myself unable to contribute any further to the conversation. If you will both forgive me, I would wish to retire to the barracks to sleep until my first class in the morning." He stands there, staring at the table somewhat like an unstrung marionette awaiting dismissal. If he left now, he would be able to get an adequate amount of sleep - the question is when he last slept so long. And if he doesn't plan to cheat by using some of it for study.
Reyce watches her patiently this time, awaiting an answer while she divests herself of props, and boring away at his redfruit in the meantime. He has it down to the core by the time Neiran excuses himself, and with the healer's words he glances sideways and up, following him as he stands. "See you," he allows, and if there's a sudden wry note that enters his tone, he turns the end of it down towards the table, staring at the drink he's almost (but not quite) finished. He finishes it then, raising his eyes as he drinks so he can watch Miniyal over the rim. His answer to her explanation, it would seem, has been derailed.
When Neiran rises and excuses himself, Miniyal affords him a flicker of a smile more genuine than any other she has shown this evening. "I shall send my schedule to you so you might pick when you can speak with me. Thank you again for agreeing to contribute to my project, Neiran. I hope you sleep well." Polite, even, well-mannered. So much easier to say goodnight when you are not fleeing from a table before crying. As her attention returns to Reyce she is somewhat more hesitant of manner. As if awaiting any second some mockery of her words that /will/ have her trying not to run away. "Do you understand now?"
"Please have it sent to the infirmary." A well-executed inclination of his upper body extends respect towards the records-keeper. "I would appreciate it." He lingers long enough to collect his bag neatly, leaving the mug and the plate; the former will be collected by a drudge, and the latter is Reyce's responsibility now. To his classmate and conversation companion Reyce, he gives a nod. Less respectful, or merely less formal? "Good evening to you both. Please excuse my departure. Thank you for your understanding." Three polite excusing sentences strung together just to cover all bases. He hovers yet another moment, as if going over what he's said and done in the complex ritual of extracting one's self from a conversation. Deeming his responses appropriate, he turns and makes his way out, putting effort into keeping himself from shuffling. It's not towards the exit tunnel that he progresses, but the one leading to the infirmary.
Reyce does not seem offended by the mere nod, regardless of its nature; pressing his lips together, he returns it, watching the healer's exit for a small ways and then returning to the plate which has been entrusted to him. He sniffs at it as he fishes up the very last vegetable, answering Miniyal's question while he's at it. "Got it, yeah." Sliding the fingerroot slice off the plate, he pops it into his mouth and punctuates his statement with a mild crunch and with the return of his gaze to Miniyal.
Miniyal has been left alone with Reyce. Well, they are not alone. However, they are seated at a table together with no one else present. Now is the time she finds her eyes straying to her props. The pen, the cup, the ring on her finger. She could fiddle with any of them, but instead she reaches for her hides and then closes her book. It seems she will prepare to leave as well. "I should-well. I think I will be going." Must correct the sentence. She does not /have/ to leave, but it seems she wishes to leave. "Always. . .I'm not sure which word applies. Interesting. Always interesting to see you again, Reyce." Well, she could have said it was a pleasure, but why bother speaking a lie they both would recognize?
Reyce's lip quirks up at one edge, his eyes squint down in some form of amusement that appears when she starts correcting herself. "Doesn't matter," he says. "Leaving anyway." He sweeps together the plate of vegetables and Neiran's cup, stacking his own on top of it, and gets up from the table. Unlike the healer, he doesn't linger for any prolonged farewell ceremony, nor does he head for the infirmary: it's back to the bowl for him.
Dinner is over but for a few stragglers sitting over a pastry and a mug of klah or skin of wine. There's not too many people about tonight. Mostly it's the usual assortment of people. Plus one. For tonight, rather than being holed up in her room, Miniyal is out here. Likely Gans has a student he is meeting with in their room and so she has taken herself away because. . .well, students. Ick. She's seated at a table towards a wall if not against it with a few hides scattered before her. She's making notes from them into a book that is before her. Near her, but not too near, is a mug of something with steam still rising from it.
Another figure joins the quiet atmosphere of the living caverns, entering from the infirmary tunnel entrance at a slow walk. Subdued and introspective, the dark-haired healer proceeds at a trundlebug's pace towards the foods tables. He lingers there only long enough to procure a small plate of cold vegetable slices, and an empty mug into which he drops a small cheesecloth satchel full of herbs. Balancing his plate and mug as well as the bag hung on his shoulder, he slowly proceeds towards a hearth, the one usually kept with a kettle full of water rather than klah. Although nothing as overt as a yawn gives him away, a keen observer might be able to see the subtler signs of tiredness written on the man's visage. He's but one table away from Miniyal, so absorbed in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice her presence, and simply sets his bag and plate down and moves like an automaton to claim his hot water from the kettle in the warm alcove.
Reyce adds yet one more to the number of quiet types assembled in the living caverns at this hour, arriving not long after Neiran, albeit from a different direction. Shedding his light, long jacket, he slings it over an arm while he moves by the food tables. He doesn't not bother to take any of the cooling dinner food still set out, but grabs a simple redfruit in his non-jacketed hand and moves towards the back. He spots both the healer and Miniyal, and - after an uncertain pause - offers a short nod to the latter and a "Neiran" to the former, in that order. He grabs a small cup set near the water kettle and waits for the healer to finish with it.
It's impossible for her to not pay attention somewhat to her surroundings. After all, if Miniyal does not watch others she cannot tell when to avoid others. So when someone leaves or more importantly comes in she takes note. Barely noticeable when she does it and not at all more often than not. Reaching for her mug or to dip pen into ink she can glance about covertly. Or simply be looking at what she does. No eye contact which is usually all it takes to avoid socializing. However, when she notes Neiran her attitude is somewhat different. Head tilting towards one side she watches him go to get his water and will wait until he will return to where he left his things to voice a soft, "Neiran." To leave the decision up to him if he will stop and notice her or not. Reyce is merely noted. Not even a nod, but a flicker of a glance to meet his eyes a mere moment. She's seen him, yes.
Neiran is apparently slow in coming up out of his reverie; dark eyes usually quick to find the source of a greeting take their time in abandoning the study of reflected flames dancing against the copper kettle's surface. Indeed, he pours water into his mug before turning to face Reyce. But if his gestures are slow, his brain at least isn't, for the man's name is on his lips before he's completed his slow about-face, holding the kettle with its handle covered by a quilted cloth to protect against burns. "Reyce. Good evening." He stares at the man's mug for a few moments, and rather than trying to pass the heavy thing to him, makes a small dip of the spout in a gesture to imply he's willing to pour if Reyce will but hold his cup out for him. A familiar presence in his peripheral vision - and did he hear a name? - also catches his attention, and Miniyal is offered a small nod. "Good evening," he adds, after a lengthy moment has passed.
Reyce, having met Miniyal's gaze, seems equally willing to move on, though the fact that she, too, addresses the healer gains a small flicker of his attention, evident in the short blink he gives on hearing it. "Mm," he says, when the healer offers the kettle for pouring. He sticks his cup under the spout, holding it steady and adding a preemptive, "Thanks." While Neiran pours, his eyes flick across the other man's subtly tired features, taking them in quickly and without comment; once he's satisfied, he draws in a sinus-clearing sniff and looks down at his cup, to call "Okay," when it's filled up enough.
It does seem as if he will not notice her greeting and so Miniyal reaches for her mug. Someone in this weyr has to drink klah! A quiet sip and she sets it back down out of the way before taking up her pen once more and returning to her work. She is just putting pen to hide when she hears the returned greeting. Glancing up she seems about to say more, but pauses when she notices Reyce still standing so closely to the healer. So instead of saying more when otherwise she might have she settles on simply observing the both of them. There is no pretext of working right now, she's given that up simply to watch.
The Journeyman tips the kettle forward, pouring a slow, steady stream of hot water. His other hand lifts from his side, and makes some ineffectual gesture near his wrist, brushing back an invisible sleeve. Instinct hardened by etiquette classes, but utterly foolish looking right now considering the snug sweater sleeves he's wearing. With a small frown and a drawn-out squeeze of his eyelids to wake himself up further, he retracts his hand and the kettle once a full measure has been poured at Reyce's reckoning. He looks back to Miniyal at his leisure to see how his greeting has been received. Finding her staring at him - no, at /them/ - one corner of his mouth twitches uncomfortably, and he turns to return the kettle to its place on the fire. A social impasse has been found, here. Does he brush off either, or both of them, for solitude? No, that would be too rude. And so the initiative falls to him. "Miniyal. The seat across from you appears to be at a desirable distance from the hearth to gain warmth and light without being too warm. I would occupy it, if you are not adverse to it." This leaves Reyce to come or go, but a brief look from half-lidded eyes assures he's not being snubbed.
Reyce is slower to note Miniyal's focus on him because he pauses to warm over his hot water, the rim of the cup held just below his chin. As the steam helps clear away the chill picked up from outside, he turns, as the healer did, and looks, as the healer did, but does not speak, as the healer does just at that moment. He tugs his chin up with another little sniff - one with a more practical purpose, as the heat from his hot water has made his nose run just a bit - and watches her impassively.
"It's one of the best tables here for that sort of thing." Which would be why Miniyal has chosen it perhaps. She would certainly not seat herself where she might be unable to clearly see her work; whatever it may be. Reyce gets a quick look and then she is back to looking at Neiran. A nod and the pen free hand gestures to her table. "There is room if you both wish to sit." How casually she offers. As if it's just anyone. "I am merely transcribing notes from my interviews so I shall not bother you with undue conversation." It leaves it open, of course, to curiosity should the sort of interviews be asked about, but she does not force conversation. Not her. Once she has gestures to the table she dips her pen again in the ink and looks down at her book, marking in it what her eyes glance over on the hides around her. Once her line is done she pauses and gathers the hides up to a more neat pile. One that takes up less space and allows for others to have room of their own should they have decided to sit.
The soft sound of a mug being placed on the table across from Miniyal is her answer. The healer doesn't immediately sit, but doubles back to retrieve his plate of scant vegetable slices and the bag he set down. Ere long, he's sliding onto his seat with deliberate gracefulness, a little more forced than usual due to the dual burden of plate and bag. Reyce has been left to sit or not, wherever he should choose. "I will not interrupt you if you prefer to work." Neiran, of all people, can respect industry in progress. "I was," he goes on, however, "unaware that you were conducting interviews.." The way the sentence lingers and dies off, it invites elucidation while remaining open enough that she could continue to put pen to hide and ignore him. How his conversation instructors would be pleased. Slender fingers reach out to claim a thin, peeled fingerroot slice, to bring it to his lips while his tea steeps. Surreptitiously, half-lidded eyes slide towards Reyce's mug. Did he just pour hot water into an empty mug earlier?
He did. Reyce is, in fact, drinking that hot water, without any effort to steep tea in it. The heat of it, still fresh from the kettle, burns his mouth and prompts a sharp intake of breath to cool it, though he seems neither surprised nor displeased to find it so. It gives him something to do while he considers his options, still staring openly at Miniyal with her busy hidework. Finally he gulps the water down and sits on Neiran's side of the table, putting a bit of space between him and the healer that leaves even more space between him and the historian. Neiran's open-ended comment draws his gaze down to the hides, leaving Miniyal alone at last while he takes a bite of his redfruit.
As the seating is done, Miniyal writes. Scant glances towards the hides now piled neatly by her book. The pen does not pause but to dip into ink and she seems to be nearly writing from memory rather than those glances towards her notes. She has time aplenty before she must speak again to write. By the time she looks up again one hide is finished and she picks it up, turns it upside down, and places it at the bottom of her pile. If her hesitation to answer has more to do with one man than the other she gives none of that away. She is not quite so good at concealing things however for as she sets down the pen and folds her hands on the table her chin tips upwards a fraction. As if she must speak defiantly although her tone is even and soft. "I am recording the history of the weyr since the beginning of the pass. Sometimes before. It depends on what people will tell me. So that turns from now the truth will be there for those who wish to seek it. It is a way to insure that nothing that has happened gets hidden away." If she is even and soft in tone she is also earnest and forceful. A woman with a mission. A calling.
Neiran stares at Reyce's mug a good while, assuring and reassuring himself that the man was, in fact, drinking plain hot water. Rather than comment on the oddity of such a thing, for each is entitled to their own, he lifts his eyes to the man's face and states, deadpan, "if you wished tea, you could have requested it." He blinks, and slides his eyes front and center again. Finally, with a soft crunch, he takes a bite of that fingerroot. While Miniyal speaks, he chews meditatively, crunches almost inaudible. He swallows, and returns the half-bitten portion of vegetable to his plate as though that one bite was too much for him to handle. "That is an admirable pursuit," he says in that subdued voice of his, drawing his mug closer slowly so as not to slosh any hot water over the edge as he draws it across the table a small ways. Forefinger and thumb pinch the string dangling from it, and he leisurely bobs the herb-packed satchel in the steaming water, to coax more of the infusion to seep outwards. "I was required to read a tome on the history of High Reaches which is considered the definitive text. It is in need of updating to account for many contemporary events. Your contributions will be invaluable."
He is. Reyce drinks again from his plain hot water, tilting his fingers oddly so none of the dribbled juice from his redfruit gets on the cup. "Didn't want tea," he answers, his words breathy as he continues to pull in cool air to dull the effect of his overheated drink. He seems to be trading between that and the redfruit, going for it again now he's had his drink. Miniyal's hesitations about answering would seem to be unfounded, for though the Bendenite squints his eyes down over the explanation of her cause, it's a thoughtful look, not an accusing one. He leaves the commenting to Neiran and the delighted spirits of his conversation instructors.
Taking up her mug, Miniyal peers into it and then sets it aside. The remains of her klah holds no interest to her it seems. Refolding her hands on the table she looks down at her work and then smiles faintly. "It is a daunting task. Recording what has happened. It is not even, well, it is just something I am doing. I've no surety anyone will want to see it left anywhere. Although I hope it will at least find room here in records. It is not. . .well. There are plenty of people who are seen in a less than kind way. Should they decide to quiet my work I am not sure I would be able to argue. I shall send a copy to the Masterharper I think. He may lose it in his library, but at least it would be there to be found someday. Much needs to be remembered." Now she will just talk enough for all three of them it seems. This is what happens when you have someone who is obsessed.
Neiran isn't going to try and cure Reyce of his strange, plain water-drinking habits. His blank expression somehow manages yet to say, 'as you wish', in the brief moment in which he glances Reyce's way again. Tea bobbed satisfactorily, he lifts the satchel out of the water and watches the colored drops trickle into the cup. Once they've stopped, he transfers the satchel to an unoccupied corner of his little appetizer plate. Having recovered his energy from the effort of taking that bite of fingerroot, he leaves his tea to cool a little more and takes up the next half. "I commend you for such an attitude," he murmurs. "Such things are often best left to lay aside on a shelf, but Pern benefits from having them." Certainly more than it benefits from having those tawdry romances disseminated that some harpers giddily pen. "Have you assembled many accounts thus far?" He takes another bite of his carrot, chews it equally slowly. It doesn't appear that he wants any more vegetables, however, because he slides his plate away from himself, in Reyce's direction by happenstance.
Reyce's brows ascend in a slow but unspoken question over the 'people who are seen in a less than kind way.' He's soon distracted from it by the sliding of that plate of vegetables towards him, as he arches hin chin to look down, drawing in another sniff against runny-nosed hot water effects. Redfruit still cupped in his hand, he knocks the back of his knuckles on the table, right near the plate, and raises a look to the healer. "Mind if I take some?" A sniff, a quick-sideways twist of his mouth. "Get more later, you want any."
Miniyal lets out a quiet sigh and glances at her notes. "Not enough or as much as I wish. I am still waiting for the acting weyrwoman to grant me my interview. I was not able to speak to E'sere or Aivey before they were gone." Another sigh, this one more wistful and sad. Opportunities lost to her and it breaks her heart. "The weyrleader has spoken with me, but he was less than forthcoming on certain things. I am hoping me might allow me to speak to him again. I was perhaps not at my best." Shocking that admission, yes? Another reach for her mug and she recalls that it is empty of contents that interest her. Standing up slowly, carefully so she does not bump into the table, she nods at both of them. "Excuse me one moment, please." One step and then two are taken from the table towards where she can exchange cold dregs of klah for something warm she pauses. "I would be pleased to speak to both of you sometime in regards to my project. If you are willing to contribute." The answers will have to wait her return for she is off to get that klah. Taking her time and returning only once she has succeed in her mission.
"I believe I am done with them. You may help yourself," Neiran states, inclining his head towards the vegetables in question. There's really only a small amount, all raw slices, varied as much as can be expected of High Reaches in autumn. No dip present either, of course. He's patient when Miniyal departs, simply curling his hands around his mug to appreciate the warmth and the lull in the conversation. His eyes, half lidded, dare to slide to a close even while he's in the public eye still, quiet weariness mistakable for peacefulness written in his posture and expression. When Miniyal returns, he straightens his spine out of its small forward-tilt, and opens his eyes a margin. "I would willingly contribute." Lips barely move behind the ascending curtain of steam, and then he tilts his mug to take a sip at last.
Reyce continues with his odd affinity for plain food, not bothered by Neiran's failure to get dip. He snags one of the few remaining slices of fingerroot and pops it in, crunching loudly over Neiran's words as Miniyal returns. "You just record who you interviewed, or you interview and get a general idea you put together yourself?" He's wary of the invitation to participate, clearly, yet he keeps his voice carefully detached from the question, eyeing his hot water while he asks it.
Fresh klah in hand, Miniyal sits back down at her place. Hot, she sets it down to cool before taking a drink from her cup. One hand curves around the heated ceramic and the other lays flat on the table. Until it must lift almost immediately so she might push her hair back over her shoulder. Switching hands she lays the other on the table now and studies it, considering exactly what to say. Finally she looks up and smiles first at Neiran. "Thank you. I would love to interview you. I shall look at my schedule and send word when I am free and you can meet me as your schedule allows." Now she looks to Reyce, he gets no smile, but he does get very brief eye contact before she takes up her mug, blows on the contents, and sips. "I record the interview. I include a few words about the person being interviewed. So people might compare the opinions given based on the social standing of the person who has given those opinions. I would not record untruths or try to force my perspective on the words of others."
The Journeyman inclines his head in agreement, silently acquiescing to making further arrangements when it becomes relevent. Having heard Reyce's suspicion and Miniyal's returned statements, he looks towards the Bendenite. "Records-keepers are required to be scrupulous. If you are worried that something you say may one day be turned against you by an unsavory individual, simply keep your comments plain. Lying for a historical record is unacceptable, but expressing yourself with brevity is acceptable. Am I correct?" This last, directed towards Miniyal, with a subtle lift of his brow.
Reyce leans to the side that takes him further away from Miniyal, yet at the same time - from the placement of his elbow - turns his toward her. Yet it's Neiran he answers first: "Records-keepers aren't required to be anything. They're scrupulous if they feel like it." A quick sniff gets reversed into a loud snort, making a pause but leaving no silence for anyone else to say something. "Not the question, anyway. Wanted to know how you're going about it. What you're aiming for, to take it down." This time he allows for other comments, falling silent while he drinks from his cooling water.
Miniyal gets out a nod for Neiran. A quietly murmured, "Exactly so." Then there must be a drink taken from her cup because she does enjoy her klah and does not actually get to drink it in her own room. When Reyce speaks she directs all her attention towards him. For a moment she seems ready to give a heated retort. His words clearly affect her, but a drink and then she sets her mug down, lacing her fingers around it. Looking up from the mug that her fingers cradle she tips her head towards one side. "I have never put anything onto hide that was not the truth. I cannot speak, of course, for things copied from turns ago. But I would not lie." Ever. Such a failing. At the question that clarifies she blinks. "To insure that it is not forgotten. That the events that happened are remembered by everyone. So that the failings of our time can hopefully not be repeated. So it is remembered. So all records of it are not locked away in an archive so no one might learn the truth. I will not let that happen."
"Records-keepers are required to be scrupulous," he repeats patiently, as if Miniyal had not just defended herself, "if their own desires compel them to, and if they wish to keep their occupation for long." He removes one hand from his mug in order to make a small gesture, as if flicking grains of sand from his fingertips; dismissing the issue after having explained the reasoning behind his statement. The hand returns to its place on his warm mug, and the item is lowered to the table's surface. It seems as though the healer is about to regress into silence, staring at the contents of his mug as he is. But gradually he turns his head, lifting his eyes to meet Reyce's. "It is an opportunity to immortalize yourself," he proposes quietly. It's not a goad or a jibe, said so tonelessly as it is; bait laid on the water like Thread ash for a fish to nibble at, nonetheless. One might think he was curious to see what reaction such a comment would elicit, if it didn't look like he were playing the role of a corpse holding a mug.
Reyce snorts at the proposed immortality, lowering his drink so the thin quirk of a smile on one edge of his lips shows. "I'll die when I die." He sets the mug down with a faint click, wrapping his hands around it as though embracing it for warmth. "And it'd be nice to think there's an honesty requirement, but still not true. One, she's doing this on her own. So it's her standard, not her job's. Two -" a pause, a look at Miniyal that remembers she's there, "you said yourself, can't vouch for what you've copied. Somebody in the past could mess up, somebody in the present could, too." The edge of a smile has worn down while he speaks, but as he casts a glance down at the table, it resumes with a slightly harder, certainly more in-turned nature. "Still not the thing. Still not my question. You talk about events and failings but you don't say which ones you look at. Can't get them all. That's my question." He wipes his expression with a short sniff and looks up at her again. He shrugs.
The conversation turns away from her and Miniyal, as is often the case in times like this, lets it. Cup picked up so she can sip from her klah she observes the two men. One hand twitches and Miniyal pulls it into her lap to conceal whatever she might give away in the twitching of fingers. "I do not make mistakes." Spoken firmly and quietly, the truth as she sees it. Although she amends with, "Not in my work. I cannot investigate everything I copy, no. But in the past if something has seemed curious I have researched it with other sources. This is not my job, no. Not. . .so much. I do not work in records at the moment. However, it is my duty as a resident of the weyr to insure that what has gone on is recorded true." Stopping here she lets out a little sigh, rubbing at her forehead a moment before she takes a drink. "I'm sorry. I thought I had said. I am recording down the events, any people wish to speak of, that occurred since the beginning of the pass. Older sometimes because our present is tied into our past in the same way our future is going to come about based on the pair of them. The first fall, the weyr's leadership following it, the bringing in of Yevide, E'sere and what he did. The trials. All of it. Preparation in anticipation of the first fall. Shards. I may have to talk to R'vain again." This makes her frown and she doesn't bother hiding it." Now she sighs again and sits up straighter, as if her posture has not been perfect. No etiquette classes needed either, just one mother. "Does that answer your question?" And a look to Neiran, "Why do you want to do it?"
Neiran doesn't venture to argue further; either his statements didn't reflect his personal view, or he doesn't care to be argumentative. Possibly he's just too tired to feel like bothering. He contentedly lingers in silence, occasionally sipping his tea as Miniyal reeducates Reyce, and the hour softly passes by in the quiet of the living cavern. When he's addressed, he seems mildly surprised, lifting his head from its slight stoop, and his brows simultaneously. He recovers gracefully, straightening his shoulders to adopt that self-important sort of posture, while his expression still remains neutral to convey such loftiness. "To contribute to the completeness of the project," he answers without hesitation. "I can only offer my perspective as a healer, for I had nothing to do with the grander events which have been sweeping through the Weyr," he defers, leaving it to Miniyal and Reyce to point out the value of someone who's seen the corpses literally roll by on trolleys, and poked and prodded at various important personages. Without looking to the plate, he extends his hand to retrieve a slice of vegetable, knowing inherently where the plate lies and not caring what it is he brings back to chew on.
Reyce glances down at the hand that reenters his space to claim a vegetable, but since he stole them in the first place, he's not about to protest. "Don't know your work and I'm not saying you'd lie or not. Was answering Neiran, really, but it doesn't matter. You're recording - what, the leadership, mainly. Other things. You can't get it all. Nearly three turns." He pauses then, something registered with him a moment or two after the fact, and he glances at Neiran. A moment later, and he's back, hefting his redfruit but pausing before he bites. "Why do you want me to do it? Or Neiran, he wants to know." A shrug - who knows if the healer wants to know. "Not just completeness because you can't ask everything, so what are you thinking to focus on?" He crunches into his redfruit.
"I look forward to your perspective. I shall have to consider my questions. I have not yet had the chance to ask a student of the caucus any questions." Miniyal pushes her mug away, abandoning the prop that allows her to distract herself and look down and away from those she speaks with. Hands folding together her fingers twitch as if she wants ever so much to twist at the ring on her finger, but she does not. Instead she sits still, regarding the pair of people she converses with as they sit across the table from her. "If I could I would speak to everyone. Everyone who wanted to talk to me. I'm trying to learn. . .well." Well, what is she trying to learn? Perhaps nothing at all as the thought silences her and she glances down at her hands a moment before looking up again. "Perspective. Perspective and truth, Reyce. Everyone believes what they do is right. That there is justification for it. So I want to speak to those who did. To hear their justification and their truth. And compare it to the truth that those on the outside perceive. Those who dealt with the outcome of living someone else's truth, of dealing with the perspective of those they could merely observe."
He wants to know? Only crunching supports or denies the claim. Impassive crunching, at that, slow and drawn-out as though it were an effort or a chore. After swallowing, the last of his tea is used to wash down the vegetable. While the discussion swirls around him, he reaches to the plate again and takes his satchel back. Holding it over his emptied mug, he displays his dexterity by quickly undoing the knot of tiny, tea-soaked string, opening the satchel so the used herbs will tumble into the mug; the cloth itself will be re-used, but the herbs have been expended. After Miniyal has finished speaking, and a weighted pause passes, he shifts in his seat, and slowly rises. "I believe we have come to the conclusion that I will contribute to this project. I find myself unable to contribute any further to the conversation. If you will both forgive me, I would wish to retire to the barracks to sleep until my first class in the morning." He stands there, staring at the table somewhat like an unstrung marionette awaiting dismissal. If he left now, he would be able to get an adequate amount of sleep - the question is when he last slept so long. And if he doesn't plan to cheat by using some of it for study.
Reyce watches her patiently this time, awaiting an answer while she divests herself of props, and boring away at his redfruit in the meantime. He has it down to the core by the time Neiran excuses himself, and with the healer's words he glances sideways and up, following him as he stands. "See you," he allows, and if there's a sudden wry note that enters his tone, he turns the end of it down towards the table, staring at the drink he's almost (but not quite) finished. He finishes it then, raising his eyes as he drinks so he can watch Miniyal over the rim. His answer to her explanation, it would seem, has been derailed.
When Neiran rises and excuses himself, Miniyal affords him a flicker of a smile more genuine than any other she has shown this evening. "I shall send my schedule to you so you might pick when you can speak with me. Thank you again for agreeing to contribute to my project, Neiran. I hope you sleep well." Polite, even, well-mannered. So much easier to say goodnight when you are not fleeing from a table before crying. As her attention returns to Reyce she is somewhat more hesitant of manner. As if awaiting any second some mockery of her words that /will/ have her trying not to run away. "Do you understand now?"
"Please have it sent to the infirmary." A well-executed inclination of his upper body extends respect towards the records-keeper. "I would appreciate it." He lingers long enough to collect his bag neatly, leaving the mug and the plate; the former will be collected by a drudge, and the latter is Reyce's responsibility now. To his classmate and conversation companion Reyce, he gives a nod. Less respectful, or merely less formal? "Good evening to you both. Please excuse my departure. Thank you for your understanding." Three polite excusing sentences strung together just to cover all bases. He hovers yet another moment, as if going over what he's said and done in the complex ritual of extracting one's self from a conversation. Deeming his responses appropriate, he turns and makes his way out, putting effort into keeping himself from shuffling. It's not towards the exit tunnel that he progresses, but the one leading to the infirmary.
Reyce does not seem offended by the mere nod, regardless of its nature; pressing his lips together, he returns it, watching the healer's exit for a small ways and then returning to the plate which has been entrusted to him. He sniffs at it as he fishes up the very last vegetable, answering Miniyal's question while he's at it. "Got it, yeah." Sliding the fingerroot slice off the plate, he pops it into his mouth and punctuates his statement with a mild crunch and with the return of his gaze to Miniyal.
Miniyal has been left alone with Reyce. Well, they are not alone. However, they are seated at a table together with no one else present. Now is the time she finds her eyes straying to her props. The pen, the cup, the ring on her finger. She could fiddle with any of them, but instead she reaches for her hides and then closes her book. It seems she will prepare to leave as well. "I should-well. I think I will be going." Must correct the sentence. She does not /have/ to leave, but it seems she wishes to leave. "Always. . .I'm not sure which word applies. Interesting. Always interesting to see you again, Reyce." Well, she could have said it was a pleasure, but why bother speaking a lie they both would recognize?
Reyce's lip quirks up at one edge, his eyes squint down in some form of amusement that appears when she starts correcting herself. "Doesn't matter," he says. "Leaving anyway." He sweeps together the plate of vegetables and Neiran's cup, stacking his own on top of it, and gets up from the table. Unlike the healer, he doesn't linger for any prolonged farewell ceremony, nor does he head for the infirmary: it's back to the bowl for him.