Wisdom
First log of 2007. Coolness.
Miniyal, J'cor (1-1-2007)
Weyrleader's Weyr
Rank allows slightly more comfortable furnishings than can be found elsewhere in the Weyr. Done in warm tones, the walls have been white-washed and hung with sunny tapestries to match the shades of the area rugs and the bed coverings. Those rugs divide the room into sections. There is the seating area, suitable for conversation and informal meetings, with its couches and low central table. There is the working area, occupied by a desk and shelves for hidework. Last but not least, there is the living area where the Weyrleader sleeps and stores his clothing and riding gear.
The weyr has two exits. The first is a simple doorway that leads to the stairs and back down to the shared office. The second is a curtained archway that leads to the couch and ledge sized for a bronze dragon. The ledge is some distance above the bowl and accessible only from the air.
Dinnertime has come and gone. The weyr is settling into its evening routine. In the winter that usually means camping out in a warm spot. In front of a fire, curled up with someone else, wrapped around a bottle. All of these are options that are open to Miniyal and she denies them all right now. Instead she has come out in the cold. Across the bowl, it's so much quicker than walking up and around and the cold is only so bad. Unless you are weird about your coat like she is in which case the cold can be a bit much.
So when she winds up outside the weyrleader's door she takes a moment to allow the temperature change to be noticed by frozen extremities. In one hand she holds a basket and the other she uses to rap politely on the door. She is, it seems, willing to bribe her way back in just in case he was not telling the truth about not holding their last meeting against her.
On the other hand, some people combat the cold by smoking their pipe indoors. Take J'cor for an example: he's not puffing so heavily as to have formed a visible cloud of smoke over his head, or anything, but the woodsy odor of the smoke gives him away where its appearance doesn't. By the time he reaches the door - and he is prompt in doing so - his pipe has been settled in the little spoon holder she gave to him, resting innocently. The door open, he blinks once upon seeing Miniyal and then clears his expression into a smile, pulling the door open the rest of the way as he steps back. "Ah, Miniyal. Come in, won't you?"
Miniyal has a hesitant smile in place on her lips when the door opens. It settles into something more sure when he asks her in and she lets it linger before stepping inside. "Thank you, sir. I was going to have this sent to you, but then I thought to bring it myself since I was out and had to run some errands and such." Pausing inside she takes a moment and then invites herself to the spot where she usually sits although she does not sit just yet. "I brought klah as well. In case you wanted any. And because I thought I might be cold upon arrival." Well, she's honest at least.
J'cor turns towards her as she heads towards her usual seat, indicating with a wave of one hand that she should feel free to take it. "Klah would be most welcome, thank you. And of course, if you are cold -" he lets the sentence trail off into the obvious with a broadening of his smile and then turns again - towards his desk. A raised finger advises her that he is not walking away from her, just going to his desk a moment. "And, for once, I have a gift of return. You will have to oblige me a moment in searching for it, though, as I am not as organized as I could be." Reaching his desk, he leans his weight on a palm and starts pulling open the drawers and fiddling through with his free hand.
Sure now that she will not be humored and then shown the door, Miniyal sits down and begins to take things from her basket. A carefully wrapped pitcher with klah and sweetener and cups. His words cause her to blink and peer up from her task. "You didn't have to get. . .thank you. It's not, I mean, the end of the turn is almost here and in my family we give little gifts out to people. Sort of. . .well, thanks to our friends. A sort of link between turns." She did, yes, just call him a friend. Without flinching although she does drop her head down to take something out of the basket. Lalala. Maybe she is slightly insecure about offering this out especially considering their last encounter. But offer she did and it is too late to take it back now.
J'cor takes the new word in stride: if being called a friend surprises him, it does not do so enough to pause him in his searches through the desk drawers. He returns it, in fact, more confidently than she held it out: "Then surely you cannot mind a friend giving a turn gift in return." He has, apparently, found his gift, and he lifts it out of his bottom drawer with a little smile, returning to where she sits. Presenting a gift trumps taking a seat, so he remains standing across from her as he extends a small sheaf of papers bound (if one uses the term loosely) between two flat sheets of leather: a little homemade book. "A collection of dancers' stories from my home hold," he says. "I hope you have not tired of the theme."
Miniyal's one hand remains in the basket, likely around her gift, but it comes out so she can take what was offered to her. "Oh. Oh, thank you!" She looks at the gift, all thoughts of friendship and return gifts and being social forgotten as she looks. There is a ritual to gifts. You get them as soon as possible and then you examine them carefully before you take time to do anything else. So, it is a few moments before she can pull her gaze and attention away from the stories. Smiling brightly she keeps the book in her lap as she pulls out her own gift to him. "Thank you so much, sir. It's wonderful. I cannot wait to read it!" But she will. Until she gets home at least. Her own gift clinks some in the small box it is handed over in. Inside are chess pieces. There is no board, but she did leave the other. The pieces are nicer than a generic set, if not overly elaborate. Something an unemployed woman could easily afford. "So you have your own. No matter what."
J'cor watches with a patient smile, one that hedges on anxious, while she examines the gift; his eyes flick once towards her face, but then turn down to the book, watching her flick through the pages. The pages are unelaborated, a simple scroll of neat handwriting with occasional large breaks to separate the stories from each other, but the tales compensate for their simple appearance with elaborate content, an almost poetic rhythm to go with their legendary content. Who knew the moon Timor was a dancer? For his own gift, J'cor has another smile, this one cleared of anxiety, and a look of genuine appreciation for the knight piece he picks out to inspect. "Ahh," he muses as he turns the piece between his fingers. "Lovely. Thank you very much." The smile lifts to her face, accompanied by a nod.
Miniyal, to be honest, doesn't really notice his first look at his gift. Because, well, her eyes have drifted back down to her own present. The book. With stories! She starts to read at the beginning and stops after a page. . .ok, two pages. Biting her lip she looks back up and smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry. This is so wonderful. It's one of the best gifts I've gotten all turn. It's wonderful." Closing the book she sets it carefully inside the now empty basket and then busies herself pouring klah lest she give in and try to read again. "I'm glad you like them. The chess pieces. I was going to get a board, but I didn't like any of them I saw. Well, there was one. I got the name of the crafter that made it. He's over at the hold. He wouldn't drop his price enough."
J'cor is pleasantly taken aback by her delight in the present, his smile frozen in hesitance over what to do next. A broader smile seems to be the key to conveying the appropriate warmth of reception, and so a broader smile is what he uses. "I'm glad you like it so," he responds, echoing her formula with a few changes thrown in for originality. A raised brow sets another pause upon his smile when she mentions the board she didn't buy, but again another smile chases out the pause, this one quirked with amusement. "No? Well, what is his name? Should I ever seek a match for these pieces." He gives the knight a final twist between forefinger and thumb, then replaces it carefully in its box.
Miniyal is much like her mother and enamored of any gift given to her. But this was clearly more than that for it was a book. Written words just for her. Her eyes flicker towards the basket where it rests. But she resists the urge to reach in and touch it, instead adding sweetener to her klah and then taking up her cup for a drink. "His name was Leary. It was a beautiful board." There is a wistful sigh for the item she had to say no to, but she dismisses it then with a sip from her klah. "Will you be attending the ball? I think I am being forced to go."
J'cor nods, a short-lived frown of concentration crossing his features so he will remember the man's name. Also while he closes the lid over his box of chess pieces, fitting the latch carefully since it's such a small thing and his rough rider's fingers are a bit clumsy with delicates. "I do not intend to stay the whole evening, but I will go for a little while at least. For appearances sake if little else," he admits, a ghost of a smile touching his features. Again he retreats to his desk, this time to set the the box down there and exchange it for his pipe, which has died out in the time they were talking and exchanging presents.
Miniyal sets her cup down so she can fold her hands in her lap. "I look forward to seeing you there then." A smile at this, as if running into him while on the arm of her escort will not be the height of social awkwardness. "I would offer a dance to you, but I do try to avoid embarrassing myself on the dance floor." There is a quiet sigh at this and she shakes her head. "I have a feeling I will not get out of dancing this time as I have in the past." Tipping her head to one side she takes up her cup again. Before taking a drink she hesitates, speaking words carefully thought out. "I was pleased to get your note. I worried I had messed up terribly with you."
J'cor fetches a match from his desk drawer - this is an object he need not search very long to find - and allows the occupation of pipe lighting to distract him from any considerations of the social awkwardness that would result from running into her escort. "Perhaps we could waltz - it is a simple thing, compared to most others," he suggests, but it is an idle if amiable suggestion, thrown out while he waits for his pipe to start up again. Fortunately, it has done so - and his full attention reverted to her - when she speaks those carefully thought out words. He peers at her somberly through the smoke of his newly relit pipe. "I thought the same, thus it was a relief to receive your note. I lost my composure, Miniyal, but this was a fault of mine, not yours." A beat falls, but before it can settle he twists the conversation to easier subjects: gifts again. "I've yet to finish the book, by the way, though I assure you I will soon."
Miniyal laughs, surprised for whatever reason at his offer of a waltz. Her answer, coming before she takes a drink from her cup is simple. "A waltz. Wear heavy boots, sir. You will need them." She will, it seems, deal with social awkwardness. Likely she will deal with it beforehand and simply lay down the law. When the topic switches to gifts and more importantly towards book gifts she takes that happily and runs with it. "I thought when I was first reading it that the dance device was a bit contrived. But I found myself enjoying it once I got past my initial worry over such things. And the characterization was really well done I thought. I will be interested to hear which character you found most sympathetic." Discussing books is good. Hardly room for social missteps. Well, there is always room for them, but if she is careful she can avoid them on this topic.
J'cor allows himself a smile, edged out around his pipe, when she laughs - whatever reason she finds the suggestion of a waltz surprising, he sees in it humor enough on his own. "I am habitually inclined to heavy boots," he allows in a quiet murmur, moving back to his chair. There's no chess board for which he must crouch on the floor today, thankfully. He pulls his pipe out of his mouth for a second as he settles in, ankle crossing over knee. "True, the author seems less interested in developing plot and setting than in developing character, but I find that a pleasant change from some of the more popular literature, which is all the former and none the latter."
Miniyal maintains proper posture, but she allows herself to lean back into the couch. With her cup held in both hands she nods her head. Likely towards his comment about the book and not the one about boots. "I do not understand those who feel we will care about the plot if we view the characters as odious relatives we would rather avoid at any family gathering. Or worse, if we cannot see anything in them worth viewing at all. I found a copy of Deyole and have been reading it slowly. I do not recommend having little to do. You find yourself dragging everything out as if it will take up more time than it should just so you do not have to think of something else to occupy your time with. How far are you in the book? Are the dancers married yet? I warn you if you are not that one of them is rather contrived. If believable for the characters in question."
J'cor has returned the pipe to his mouth again, which means that when he smiles it must always be a crooked thing, edged around the pipe. It also means he speaks a little thickly, inhibited by the stem's presence at the righthand corner of his lips. "They are married, yes. I suspect it is another case of our author caring more for his characters than his plot - they are an intriguing couple, and I'll concede his point in as far as it's interesting to see them thrown together. Are you enjoying Deyole? He is an author who cares more for his setting than aught else, but his imagery -" a hand lifts, waving an indistinct suggestion of complimentary adjectives through the air. "I marvel," he concludes as the hand drops back down.
"Deyole is wonderful. The scene where the main character is looking out over the land from the hold walls is. . .brilliance." Miniyal smiles at the recollection of the passage, going so far as to recite several lines from it before she stops herself. "Sorry. Umm. But, it is hard to miss how well he writes even if sometimes the technique does not lend itself to advancing a story at any great pace. I have not found myself disappointed. Thank you, by the way, for the mention even in passing for I had not considered reading anything of his." There is a pause here and a small sigh, explained with her next words. "I was quite running out of things to read. I have read everything that remains legible in records. And my own collection has had to remain small by necessity."
J'cor closes his eyes when she recites, giving a small nod that seems to compliment her pacing of Deyole's complicated lines. "Literature is best recited - I think we've discussed that before," he says, a short-lived twinkle entering his eyes at the reminder. At any rate, this seems to be a dismissal of her apology for reciting the work - it certainly doesn't bother him any. "I'm quite glad you took up the book. The author is not well known, for precisely the same reasons you've outlined, and precisely the same reasons he's worth reading. History's unfailing sense of irony at work again, I fear."
Miniyal wrinkles her nose and still looks somewhat embarrassed at her recitation. "My parents got tired of reading to me when I was young so I took to reading to myself. And I found it a less lonely endeavor to read out loud. It is a hard thing to break sometimes, but I have tried. And I might misremember the words." Well, that won't happen, but he is not aware of that. "Have you considered teaching, sir? I mean. . .you know. When. . .well, you know." It is awkward, mentioning someone's potentially soon to be joblessness. She would know this, often being without real work. "While I feel the caucus itself as an institution is rather poorly done I think there might be some benefits to those who attend were they to have good teachers. You are well read and speak well on what you read. I think you would make a fine instructor of literature that people might otherwise never get the opportunity to be exposed to."
J'cor is caught slightly off guard at this suggestion - but only slightly. He recovers himself quickly, with a wry shake of his head. "Karth has mentioned the idea as well, though he prefers me a historian." This is the point where Karth would usually chime in with a rumble she can't interpret, but the little bronze isn't here tonight. If she looked up when she came in to the Weyrleaders' complex she'd have seen him on the ledge, but otherwise there's no sign of his presence. Without his dragon there to fill the expected gap, J'cor pauses and finds an empty, silent space that makes him clear his throat uncomfortably just to fill it. "I'm not sure the occupation is amenable to me. I do like to discuss what I've read, but how to /teach/ any of it, I would not know."
Miniyal blinks and then bites back a laugh, smothering it with a quickly raised cup. "Historians are old men who are dry and boring." Wannabe historians are socially awkward young women with no hopes for a real future as far as gainful employment. That seems to escape her. "Much of literature is history, sir. People use what goes on and it shapes their stories. It shapes the types of stories that come out not just from Harper, but from everyone. If you observe the writing of a certain time you can see what people are thinking." She pauses here and the smiles for a brief moment. "That is a subject worth teaching. The combination of history and literature. How the time shapes what is written and how what is written shapes how we view past times. I do not believe anyone does anything like that right now. It would be discussing and not teaching I think. It is something open to the interpretation of each person."
J'cor leans forward, taking the pipe out of his mouth and dropping it lazily over the edge of his knee. "Two sides of the same question. My interest in history centers primarily on those instructive histories - Livian and the like - which use stories to demonstrate how current leaders ought to act. The twist they give those stories in order to make their point fascinates me to no end, but then, I must say also, that literature often serves the same function more directly, since it need not make any pretense of truth; yet I wonder if it's less effectively, since without the claim of truth it may have less impact." Mouth open to continue his out-loud musings, J'cor pauses and draws back, his pipe held carefully away from his skin while he presses the back of his hand briefly to his forehead. "Ah, I wander on." He drops the hand and smiles wanly. "In a manner and on a subject, I suspect, which Caucus students would find less than intriguing."
Miniyal is quick to sit up once more, leaning forward and shaking her head forcefully. Cup is set down with a click to the surface of the table it now rests on. "No, not at all!" she objects earnestly. "I think it would be fascinating. It is not something many people think on, you know. They tend to look at them as separate things and they are not. They are so entwined as to be. . .the same. There is much said that is not considered to be historical truth that is still truth of history. People, the common people, are more likely to learn of history from popular literature. From harper stories and not teaching ballads and the like. Those do not hold interest the way a tale might." She smiles brightly, encouragingly. "I think many students would find it of interest. Not all, but many of them find little of interest but the latest fashions and whom they might snare for a husband or wife."
J'cor brings the pipe back to his mouth so that it can muffle his expression, his mouth forced into an unreadable line while it holds the pipe in place. Occasional puffs obscure, if not obstruct, whatever else might show in his eyes. "Perhaps. It is an interesting subject. With all my time, I could write a book on it, if I so chose, and that might be a more rewarding end than the prospect of teaching it to disinterested students. Who I still think would comprise the majority of any class I taught. And, I confess, that more and more I have been thinking of - Igen, and that prospect becomes tempting as well. We will see, I suppose. I have less work to occupy the entirety of my days, but I remain loathe to make any decision for the future from my current situation."
Miniyal inclines her head, not the sort to push someone into doing anything. "A book would be wonderful. You must promise if you do that I get a copy." She settles back in her seat, calm once more as she considers his words. There is, perhaps, something in her expression when he mentions Igen but she adds no words to it right away. Instead she sits in silence, studying her hands thoughtfully. "I'm sure going home appeals, sir. If you decide to do that I hope you know that you will be missed here." Giving her head a shake she brushes at her hair, tucking it behind her ears. "It must be hard I think to not be at home. I cannot imagine living anywhere but here at High Reaches. I do not think I would like it."
J'cor becomes distracted, as well as guarded, by his pipe, staring down his nose into the bowl of it and watching smoke curl up. There is a break in his expression when she mentions he will be missed, a wry little twist of his mouth, but he soon flips it back up into a smile. "It is less the place than the people, I think. In honesty, I have never been very attached to the weyr, but there are people, and there is more familiarity for me there."
"That makes sense. And, I know you might doubt those words and think I am just saying them out of some sense of politeness, but I do not lie, sir. I cannot imagine I am the only person who would be sad to see you go." Miniyal gets the words out earnestly, going so far as to watch him as she speaks and allowing her head to duck only after she finishes. "It is your home because it is where you became what you are. In the same way that the hold in which you were born is your home because it is where you came to be. They have both imprinted themselves upon you and shaped you in their own way. That is the way of homes. They teach us. Not just the people at the location, but the environment as well. You would not be the same had you been born somewhere else even to the same parents. Had you impressed somewhere else you would not be the same even if Karth had found you elsewhere. That is what I believe."
J'cor meets her gaze, since she levels it so earnestly, but to judge from his still flat expression, he remains unconvinced. "Some few might be sad to see me go, others indifferent, and others pleased indeed. I've become accustomed to all three," he notes with a simple shrug, hand reaching up to take the pipe away for a moment. "I do not deny location's role, only its particular draw upon me personally. With my home hold, then yes, the place is very important - its location and its character are inextricably tied. The weyr is most likely the same way, but as I did not grow up there, its ties are less important to me. For the people, however." He pauses, looking down at his pipe again and turning it around distractedly. "Ah, for the people I have more concern," he concludes.
Miniyal cannot help but ask, ignoring all that comes before it. "Why?" She can dismiss all she said and his agreement and not. Talk of his place here and that place's role there. None of it is as important as the answer to her question because. . .well, because it strikes her as important as some things do. And so she will focus on it to the exclusion of all else and sit still, hands folded primly and head cocked to the side as she awaits her answer.
J'cor splits hairs. "I'm sorry, why what?"
Miniyal nearly smiles, but at the last minute it trails away. She is amused perhaps or something else. Whatever the case her expression is more serious as she looks over at him. "Concern. For the people there. Why? Did you mean concern in a different way? Or is there some reason to be concerned? Am I being overly nosy? I apologise if so, but I am most curious why you would use that word in that situation is all. Not, I suppose, that it is at all any of my business."
J'cor leans into the back of his chair, dropping the foot that was crossed over his knee and planting it back on the ground. The pipe returns to his mouth in the meantime, and he puffs it slowly while he watches her. He does this for a while, the question apparently requiring some level of reflection before an answer can be made. "I meant it more loosely than I suspect you are interpreting it, but perhaps a rigid construction has worth as well. Yes, I am concerned. I am concerned in the sense that it involves me more, as the greater part of my life has been spent in Igen, among those people of whom I speak. I am also concerned in the sense that I -" he pauses, breath drawn in, and then gives up his reservations with a shrug. "I worry. My tenure here has drawn my attention to certain failings of character and behavior, and I would do what I can to rectify those errors, if at all I can, with those whom they harmed most."
Miniyal listens, attentive as ever to the words spoken to her in conversation. She has abandoned all props that she might otherwise have made use of as they talk so she might listen. The question that comes to mind is not one she truly feels is wise to ask. So she does not. For now. "I see. And, I am sorry if I misinterpreted. Things have been so trying here that I am sure you can understand why I might have done so. It is my hope the new turn will cause things to reach some even keel. Otherwise I fear we might never recover." And now the question comes. One for which she really, probably, tried to not ask. "Would you go before they found who killed Yevide?" Excuse the faltering over the name. It is not a name she says lightly all things considered. Her expression is apologetic already, but she does not apologize. That will come after his reaction surely.
Surely. His reaction never changes: a freezing of position, a glossing of the eyes, a quiet stirring from his dragon in the snow outside. She would have done better, perhaps, to ask the first question that came to mind, and spare her restraint for this second one. Certainly everything else she said, though it gained his mild and amicable attention, has been forgotten in lieu of this Question and that Name that won't go away. His voice, when he answers, is coldly detached, though some effort of will - perhaps inspired by their last meaning - inspires him to keep it just short of coldly forbidding or angry. "I suspect," he says, "that I would have to."
She cannot, surely, have expected the question to be well received. Miniyal is not so poorly schooled in social interaction as that. Nor is she unused to watching men get emotional over that woman in particular. If she finds it odd that she circles around the men so entwined with memories of a dead woman she does not give it much thought. Instead she inclines her head a fraction. "I am sorry, sir. Sometimes I say things before I am quite aware how truly horrible they are to have said. I do not mean to upset people." Here she looks up, earnest in her sincerity and apology for being so rude. "If you wish to yell at me or ask me to leave I will understand. It is alright."
J'cor stretches into the support of his chair, one hand going out along the arm while his legs stretch forward and cross together at the ankles. "As usual, Miniyal, had I wished to yell or ask you to leave I would already have done so." That he has not, he points out with the sharp raising of his eyebrow; the quickness of his expression goes well with the sudden chop of his words. The coldness has seeped out, but the rigid barrier of formality remains, and he does nothing to gentle it.
Miniyal's head nods then at his words and she rises to her feet. "Sometimes I wish people would. Yell or just. . ." Pausing she glances around the room and with a frustrated sigh stomps her foot. "Would not be this way." It is habit for her when trying to marshal thoughts around an attempted emotional outburst to pace and so he must deal with her as she does so. To the door and back she goes, not leaving as she does not have her basket and the prized book within. "I do not understand what I do wrong. Why I cannot stop myself before I say something that is wrong." Blinking she stops her pacing and then frowns. "It's like I am determined to just. . .just mess everything up and now I am-" Whatever the sentence should say she does not finish, instead stalking back to the couch and reseating herself forcefully. Ducking her head she takes several deep breaths and finally shakes her head with a defeated sigh. "I do not know why I always mess up or nearly do. I am sorry, sir. For what I said and for my outburst and for messing up another nearly pleasant evening."
J'cor remains cool and restrained when she stomps on the floor, and then to the doorway. If his posture grows a bit stiffer, it's not much of a change; it doesn't provoke any words out of him, anyway. By the time she gets back he's at work on his pipe, having pulled a small tool out of his pocket to stuff down what remains of its contents. "The reason I am as you put it 'this way' is because I do not wish to yell, and I believe I have the best hopes of calming my temper if I do not let it run away with me entire. As for your second point, I would suggest that you are not so much determined to mess up as you are to give up. Please forgive me." Not that his tone holds anything more than its removed formality, but perhaps - just perhaps - it's worth something that he offers the slight hint of an apology for his words. Whatever it's worth, it's not enough to stop him there. "Sometimes a confrontation is such that one must remove oneself from it entirely. At other times both parties require patience for it is only to be expected that an untoward question provokes an untoward answer, and one will never get further than that if one gives up at first response." All this he explains while methodically restuffing his pipe.
Miniyal lets out a weary sigh and rubs at her forehead. She might speak between his points, but that would give her less time to actually formulate a response that will not just be stammering apologies once more. So she twists at the ring on her finger as she listens and tries to get her brain to focus on the words she needs to say in order to not feel like an idiot once more. "I am sorry. It's not just. . .it's not you, sir. Sometimes I feel like the only person in the world who is not always calm. Like there is something wrong with me because I cannot. . .because I get upset and cannot control it. I do not mean to imply that you handle things incorrectly." Well, that came out ok. Maybe she'll keep her foot on the floor and out of her mouth a little longer. His words are replayed over in her mind as she thinks of what else she might say. "I-" Whatever she was going to say is cut short and she looks up and over at him once more. "I give up. You're right. I always have. I never. . .I never thought about it, but you're right."
J'cor has finished cleaning his pipe, but he continues to look down at it for a moment or two while she answers. When he raises his look back to her it's simply watchful: the coldness seems to have had enough time to seep out of him, although not enough time for amiability to be replaced. "I do not wish to harm," he says, a thoughtful frown briefly furrowing his features. "I hope I have not. If I have said something of use, than I am glad of it."
Miniyal has a smile for him, fleeting though it may be, when he looks up from his pipe. "You do me no harm. I do it to myself. I am just thankful some people are so patient with me. I feel a million steps behind everyone most days in matters of social etiquette. I always say or do the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. And I guess it's just always been easier to run away from it." Now she looks down and twists at her ring once more as she seems to be deciding if more needs to be said or not. "I /am/ sorry for my outburst. You did not deserve it. You've been far kinder to me than you have needed to be and I am thankful for that." Here she pauses for a wry chuckle, glancing up again. "I am far harder to get along with most times than I wish to be. That anyone is willing to do so is always amazing to me."
J'cor answers that fleeting smile with a quick nod, and leans again into his chair as he brins the pipe back up to his mouth. He has to give it a short puff, to test it or break it in, and then he can speak. "We're all social beings on some level. Our nature makes us seek company and our intelligence impels us to discrminate between company which is interesting and company which is not. In the case of the former, often a rare find, our sociality steps in to insist that it continue. Wonder not, then, that people are willing to overlook anything for the sake of interesting company. You did the same, did you not, when you forgave my own outburst, restrained though it may have been, and returned?"
Miniyal's head shakes at something he says, but again she lets him finish before she speaks. It is rude to interrupt and for all her faults she does try not to be rude intentionally. "I sought you out not because you are interesting-" Full stop, mind the blush as she stammers out, "That is not what I meant. I didn't mean. I like your company. I mean, I /do/ like your company." Well, what? She was going to be articulate forever? Hands nervously smooth down non-existent wrinkles in her skirt as she stops to calm herself. "Few people are willing to put up with my company. Fewer still do not do so just so they might get something from me or amuse themselves at my expense."
J'cor considers her from behind puffs of smoke, paced evenly if a little slow. Her stumble raises a brow from him, but he waits out the second attempt that, as he has learned, will inevitably correct the first error. "Ah," he says simply, once she's reached the end of that second attempt. "You mentioned that it amazed you why anyone would put up with you. In my, admittedly roundabout, way, I meant to say that you shouldn't be so surprised."
Miniyal has recovered then from her misstep and will now await her next. It is inevitable after all. He is given a grateful smile for his understanding of her inability to speak at all coherently most of the time. "I have never thought of myself as interesting I guess, sir. I have until recently not thought much about myself at all. At least not in regards to social situations since I have always done my utmost to avoid anything which might be labeled as such. It is not unreasonable to expect I shall stumble, but I still have trouble when I do. I should probably stick to neutral topics like poetry and literature. I rarely offend with those."
J'cor tilts up a small smile, his eyes briefly flicking down to his feet. "The bold advice here would be to discuss whatever topic you wished, for you will be most interesting discussing that which interests you most. Unfortunately, I feel a bit hypocritical giving that advice, so while I mention it in passing, in case it should be turned to more use in your mind than it has been in mine, I beg you not to judge me by my own standard. Do as I say, after all, not as I do."
Miniyal might have said something witty or at least vaguely amusing or at least not offensive, but whatever she might have said is lost in another of those surprised laughs. Her eyes sparkle with it and she inclines her head to J'cor as she dares even a teasing grin. Made bold by a laugh. "I shall take the advice of my elder to heart," she promises solemnly. Other than that grin and the remains of the laugh in her tone. Hardly solemn those.
J'cor allows this laugh to draw a low chuckle out of him, a muffled thing that slips out between his teeth as they hold the pipe steady. He turns a solemn regard on her for her solemn promise, adding a slow nod to reinforce his dignity. "As it should be," he says approvingly, then tilts back in his chair. Nothing so bold as a grin, but a mere smile curves out around his pipe - mere smiles he has in supply, but grins and laughter are rare, and he is not so generous with them as to award two in one exchange.
The best things in life must be earned. If she is not aware that he will doll out those things sparingly she might guess. So Miniyal is content with the smile because she understands that too. "Of course, I am only humoring you in the hopes of getting more books." She says this so seriously other than a continued lingering amusement in her eyes. "After all, I have to have /some/ reason to come here and visit with you. If I am not getting something out of it there's no need to bother."
J'cor flicks the fingers of his hand at her, dismissing the question of her reward. "I remind you that wisdom is its own reward, and lest that be insufficient, that I have any number of books I might recommend or, if your dutiful acting has me particularly convinced, gift." An eyebrow jumps up with his words, implying the tease although his smile remains no more than 'mere' and his voice still has a faintly stuffy quality.
Miniyal sits up straighter and attends him now with hands folded exactly so in her lap. She sits as if she were conversing with, well, a weyrleader. All formal and proper. "All on its own you say? I shall consider your words. Although, I must point out it was you who said with age does not come wisdom so I must find some other way to decide if your words are at all worth taking to heart." To the rest of his words merely sighs. "And in the end it comes down to bribes, does it? Behave and get a treat. However, if I must merely act dutiful without meaning it I can comply. After all, making faces at you behind your back is as acceptable a past time to me as anything else. And I can sit properly when you look at me." If she were discussing the weather her tone and expression would be perfect. That she uses both to discuss sticking her tongue out at the weyrleader behind his back? Well, one will make of it what one will.
J'cor will make of it a joke, enough to make him pull the pipe out of his mouth so it can lose the gripped quality his biting down on something always give it. "I did say that, and then went on to demonstrate an unfortunate proof. Age brings old backs and a mound of experiences to bear on them, but if it brought wisdom perhaps I would know better than to contradict myself." He pauses, thoughtful a second. "Or perhaps that is part of my wisdom. Either way, I am foolish enough to be flattered by pretenses, so I won't quibble over faces you may make at me behind my back."
Miniyal inclines her head a fraction. "Then pretenses you shall have, sir. Far be it from me to deny such a charming man his due." There is again that sparkle in her eyes that detracts from her serious words. She has not got the hang of saying and meaning different things. Even joking. "If it is wise to contradict yourself I must be the wisest woman on all of Pern. I excel at that. But, clearly I can learn more from you on that topic and so I shall eagerly await those lessons."
J'cor's smile becomes quirked when he's described as charming, and he gives a small shake of his head - not a rejection, just bemusement. "There you have it, you have a found a class I can teach. Unfortunately I suspect that other instructors before me have adequately covered the question of self-contradiction for the Caucus, so I will have to find my pupils independent of their auspices."
Miniyal lets out a little sigh and gives her head a shake. "Alas. It is hard to find one's calling just a little too late. I shall be better prepared next time to offer many suggestions on future employment. Perhaps the kitchens as was suggested to me." A smile at this and then she rises once more. Reaching for her basket and book(!) she bobs her head once. "I probably should be going. I've rather lost track of time and I am sure it is later than I intended. Thank you, sir." For her book and putting up with her and all of that, but it's easier to just say thanks and let the other person infer what they will of it. He may see her out and even reply, but those are the last words she offers, as if determined to end on a good note.
Miniyal, J'cor (1-1-2007)
Weyrleader's Weyr
Rank allows slightly more comfortable furnishings than can be found elsewhere in the Weyr. Done in warm tones, the walls have been white-washed and hung with sunny tapestries to match the shades of the area rugs and the bed coverings. Those rugs divide the room into sections. There is the seating area, suitable for conversation and informal meetings, with its couches and low central table. There is the working area, occupied by a desk and shelves for hidework. Last but not least, there is the living area where the Weyrleader sleeps and stores his clothing and riding gear.
The weyr has two exits. The first is a simple doorway that leads to the stairs and back down to the shared office. The second is a curtained archway that leads to the couch and ledge sized for a bronze dragon. The ledge is some distance above the bowl and accessible only from the air.
Dinnertime has come and gone. The weyr is settling into its evening routine. In the winter that usually means camping out in a warm spot. In front of a fire, curled up with someone else, wrapped around a bottle. All of these are options that are open to Miniyal and she denies them all right now. Instead she has come out in the cold. Across the bowl, it's so much quicker than walking up and around and the cold is only so bad. Unless you are weird about your coat like she is in which case the cold can be a bit much.
So when she winds up outside the weyrleader's door she takes a moment to allow the temperature change to be noticed by frozen extremities. In one hand she holds a basket and the other she uses to rap politely on the door. She is, it seems, willing to bribe her way back in just in case he was not telling the truth about not holding their last meeting against her.
On the other hand, some people combat the cold by smoking their pipe indoors. Take J'cor for an example: he's not puffing so heavily as to have formed a visible cloud of smoke over his head, or anything, but the woodsy odor of the smoke gives him away where its appearance doesn't. By the time he reaches the door - and he is prompt in doing so - his pipe has been settled in the little spoon holder she gave to him, resting innocently. The door open, he blinks once upon seeing Miniyal and then clears his expression into a smile, pulling the door open the rest of the way as he steps back. "Ah, Miniyal. Come in, won't you?"
Miniyal has a hesitant smile in place on her lips when the door opens. It settles into something more sure when he asks her in and she lets it linger before stepping inside. "Thank you, sir. I was going to have this sent to you, but then I thought to bring it myself since I was out and had to run some errands and such." Pausing inside she takes a moment and then invites herself to the spot where she usually sits although she does not sit just yet. "I brought klah as well. In case you wanted any. And because I thought I might be cold upon arrival." Well, she's honest at least.
J'cor turns towards her as she heads towards her usual seat, indicating with a wave of one hand that she should feel free to take it. "Klah would be most welcome, thank you. And of course, if you are cold -" he lets the sentence trail off into the obvious with a broadening of his smile and then turns again - towards his desk. A raised finger advises her that he is not walking away from her, just going to his desk a moment. "And, for once, I have a gift of return. You will have to oblige me a moment in searching for it, though, as I am not as organized as I could be." Reaching his desk, he leans his weight on a palm and starts pulling open the drawers and fiddling through with his free hand.
Sure now that she will not be humored and then shown the door, Miniyal sits down and begins to take things from her basket. A carefully wrapped pitcher with klah and sweetener and cups. His words cause her to blink and peer up from her task. "You didn't have to get. . .thank you. It's not, I mean, the end of the turn is almost here and in my family we give little gifts out to people. Sort of. . .well, thanks to our friends. A sort of link between turns." She did, yes, just call him a friend. Without flinching although she does drop her head down to take something out of the basket. Lalala. Maybe she is slightly insecure about offering this out especially considering their last encounter. But offer she did and it is too late to take it back now.
J'cor takes the new word in stride: if being called a friend surprises him, it does not do so enough to pause him in his searches through the desk drawers. He returns it, in fact, more confidently than she held it out: "Then surely you cannot mind a friend giving a turn gift in return." He has, apparently, found his gift, and he lifts it out of his bottom drawer with a little smile, returning to where she sits. Presenting a gift trumps taking a seat, so he remains standing across from her as he extends a small sheaf of papers bound (if one uses the term loosely) between two flat sheets of leather: a little homemade book. "A collection of dancers' stories from my home hold," he says. "I hope you have not tired of the theme."
Miniyal's one hand remains in the basket, likely around her gift, but it comes out so she can take what was offered to her. "Oh. Oh, thank you!" She looks at the gift, all thoughts of friendship and return gifts and being social forgotten as she looks. There is a ritual to gifts. You get them as soon as possible and then you examine them carefully before you take time to do anything else. So, it is a few moments before she can pull her gaze and attention away from the stories. Smiling brightly she keeps the book in her lap as she pulls out her own gift to him. "Thank you so much, sir. It's wonderful. I cannot wait to read it!" But she will. Until she gets home at least. Her own gift clinks some in the small box it is handed over in. Inside are chess pieces. There is no board, but she did leave the other. The pieces are nicer than a generic set, if not overly elaborate. Something an unemployed woman could easily afford. "So you have your own. No matter what."
J'cor watches with a patient smile, one that hedges on anxious, while she examines the gift; his eyes flick once towards her face, but then turn down to the book, watching her flick through the pages. The pages are unelaborated, a simple scroll of neat handwriting with occasional large breaks to separate the stories from each other, but the tales compensate for their simple appearance with elaborate content, an almost poetic rhythm to go with their legendary content. Who knew the moon Timor was a dancer? For his own gift, J'cor has another smile, this one cleared of anxiety, and a look of genuine appreciation for the knight piece he picks out to inspect. "Ahh," he muses as he turns the piece between his fingers. "Lovely. Thank you very much." The smile lifts to her face, accompanied by a nod.
Miniyal, to be honest, doesn't really notice his first look at his gift. Because, well, her eyes have drifted back down to her own present. The book. With stories! She starts to read at the beginning and stops after a page. . .ok, two pages. Biting her lip she looks back up and smiles sheepishly. "I'm sorry. This is so wonderful. It's one of the best gifts I've gotten all turn. It's wonderful." Closing the book she sets it carefully inside the now empty basket and then busies herself pouring klah lest she give in and try to read again. "I'm glad you like them. The chess pieces. I was going to get a board, but I didn't like any of them I saw. Well, there was one. I got the name of the crafter that made it. He's over at the hold. He wouldn't drop his price enough."
J'cor is pleasantly taken aback by her delight in the present, his smile frozen in hesitance over what to do next. A broader smile seems to be the key to conveying the appropriate warmth of reception, and so a broader smile is what he uses. "I'm glad you like it so," he responds, echoing her formula with a few changes thrown in for originality. A raised brow sets another pause upon his smile when she mentions the board she didn't buy, but again another smile chases out the pause, this one quirked with amusement. "No? Well, what is his name? Should I ever seek a match for these pieces." He gives the knight a final twist between forefinger and thumb, then replaces it carefully in its box.
Miniyal is much like her mother and enamored of any gift given to her. But this was clearly more than that for it was a book. Written words just for her. Her eyes flicker towards the basket where it rests. But she resists the urge to reach in and touch it, instead adding sweetener to her klah and then taking up her cup for a drink. "His name was Leary. It was a beautiful board." There is a wistful sigh for the item she had to say no to, but she dismisses it then with a sip from her klah. "Will you be attending the ball? I think I am being forced to go."
J'cor nods, a short-lived frown of concentration crossing his features so he will remember the man's name. Also while he closes the lid over his box of chess pieces, fitting the latch carefully since it's such a small thing and his rough rider's fingers are a bit clumsy with delicates. "I do not intend to stay the whole evening, but I will go for a little while at least. For appearances sake if little else," he admits, a ghost of a smile touching his features. Again he retreats to his desk, this time to set the the box down there and exchange it for his pipe, which has died out in the time they were talking and exchanging presents.
Miniyal sets her cup down so she can fold her hands in her lap. "I look forward to seeing you there then." A smile at this, as if running into him while on the arm of her escort will not be the height of social awkwardness. "I would offer a dance to you, but I do try to avoid embarrassing myself on the dance floor." There is a quiet sigh at this and she shakes her head. "I have a feeling I will not get out of dancing this time as I have in the past." Tipping her head to one side she takes up her cup again. Before taking a drink she hesitates, speaking words carefully thought out. "I was pleased to get your note. I worried I had messed up terribly with you."
J'cor fetches a match from his desk drawer - this is an object he need not search very long to find - and allows the occupation of pipe lighting to distract him from any considerations of the social awkwardness that would result from running into her escort. "Perhaps we could waltz - it is a simple thing, compared to most others," he suggests, but it is an idle if amiable suggestion, thrown out while he waits for his pipe to start up again. Fortunately, it has done so - and his full attention reverted to her - when she speaks those carefully thought out words. He peers at her somberly through the smoke of his newly relit pipe. "I thought the same, thus it was a relief to receive your note. I lost my composure, Miniyal, but this was a fault of mine, not yours." A beat falls, but before it can settle he twists the conversation to easier subjects: gifts again. "I've yet to finish the book, by the way, though I assure you I will soon."
Miniyal laughs, surprised for whatever reason at his offer of a waltz. Her answer, coming before she takes a drink from her cup is simple. "A waltz. Wear heavy boots, sir. You will need them." She will, it seems, deal with social awkwardness. Likely she will deal with it beforehand and simply lay down the law. When the topic switches to gifts and more importantly towards book gifts she takes that happily and runs with it. "I thought when I was first reading it that the dance device was a bit contrived. But I found myself enjoying it once I got past my initial worry over such things. And the characterization was really well done I thought. I will be interested to hear which character you found most sympathetic." Discussing books is good. Hardly room for social missteps. Well, there is always room for them, but if she is careful she can avoid them on this topic.
J'cor allows himself a smile, edged out around his pipe, when she laughs - whatever reason she finds the suggestion of a waltz surprising, he sees in it humor enough on his own. "I am habitually inclined to heavy boots," he allows in a quiet murmur, moving back to his chair. There's no chess board for which he must crouch on the floor today, thankfully. He pulls his pipe out of his mouth for a second as he settles in, ankle crossing over knee. "True, the author seems less interested in developing plot and setting than in developing character, but I find that a pleasant change from some of the more popular literature, which is all the former and none the latter."
Miniyal maintains proper posture, but she allows herself to lean back into the couch. With her cup held in both hands she nods her head. Likely towards his comment about the book and not the one about boots. "I do not understand those who feel we will care about the plot if we view the characters as odious relatives we would rather avoid at any family gathering. Or worse, if we cannot see anything in them worth viewing at all. I found a copy of Deyole and have been reading it slowly. I do not recommend having little to do. You find yourself dragging everything out as if it will take up more time than it should just so you do not have to think of something else to occupy your time with. How far are you in the book? Are the dancers married yet? I warn you if you are not that one of them is rather contrived. If believable for the characters in question."
J'cor has returned the pipe to his mouth again, which means that when he smiles it must always be a crooked thing, edged around the pipe. It also means he speaks a little thickly, inhibited by the stem's presence at the righthand corner of his lips. "They are married, yes. I suspect it is another case of our author caring more for his characters than his plot - they are an intriguing couple, and I'll concede his point in as far as it's interesting to see them thrown together. Are you enjoying Deyole? He is an author who cares more for his setting than aught else, but his imagery -" a hand lifts, waving an indistinct suggestion of complimentary adjectives through the air. "I marvel," he concludes as the hand drops back down.
"Deyole is wonderful. The scene where the main character is looking out over the land from the hold walls is. . .brilliance." Miniyal smiles at the recollection of the passage, going so far as to recite several lines from it before she stops herself. "Sorry. Umm. But, it is hard to miss how well he writes even if sometimes the technique does not lend itself to advancing a story at any great pace. I have not found myself disappointed. Thank you, by the way, for the mention even in passing for I had not considered reading anything of his." There is a pause here and a small sigh, explained with her next words. "I was quite running out of things to read. I have read everything that remains legible in records. And my own collection has had to remain small by necessity."
J'cor closes his eyes when she recites, giving a small nod that seems to compliment her pacing of Deyole's complicated lines. "Literature is best recited - I think we've discussed that before," he says, a short-lived twinkle entering his eyes at the reminder. At any rate, this seems to be a dismissal of her apology for reciting the work - it certainly doesn't bother him any. "I'm quite glad you took up the book. The author is not well known, for precisely the same reasons you've outlined, and precisely the same reasons he's worth reading. History's unfailing sense of irony at work again, I fear."
Miniyal wrinkles her nose and still looks somewhat embarrassed at her recitation. "My parents got tired of reading to me when I was young so I took to reading to myself. And I found it a less lonely endeavor to read out loud. It is a hard thing to break sometimes, but I have tried. And I might misremember the words." Well, that won't happen, but he is not aware of that. "Have you considered teaching, sir? I mean. . .you know. When. . .well, you know." It is awkward, mentioning someone's potentially soon to be joblessness. She would know this, often being without real work. "While I feel the caucus itself as an institution is rather poorly done I think there might be some benefits to those who attend were they to have good teachers. You are well read and speak well on what you read. I think you would make a fine instructor of literature that people might otherwise never get the opportunity to be exposed to."
J'cor is caught slightly off guard at this suggestion - but only slightly. He recovers himself quickly, with a wry shake of his head. "Karth has mentioned the idea as well, though he prefers me a historian." This is the point where Karth would usually chime in with a rumble she can't interpret, but the little bronze isn't here tonight. If she looked up when she came in to the Weyrleaders' complex she'd have seen him on the ledge, but otherwise there's no sign of his presence. Without his dragon there to fill the expected gap, J'cor pauses and finds an empty, silent space that makes him clear his throat uncomfortably just to fill it. "I'm not sure the occupation is amenable to me. I do like to discuss what I've read, but how to /teach/ any of it, I would not know."
Miniyal blinks and then bites back a laugh, smothering it with a quickly raised cup. "Historians are old men who are dry and boring." Wannabe historians are socially awkward young women with no hopes for a real future as far as gainful employment. That seems to escape her. "Much of literature is history, sir. People use what goes on and it shapes their stories. It shapes the types of stories that come out not just from Harper, but from everyone. If you observe the writing of a certain time you can see what people are thinking." She pauses here and the smiles for a brief moment. "That is a subject worth teaching. The combination of history and literature. How the time shapes what is written and how what is written shapes how we view past times. I do not believe anyone does anything like that right now. It would be discussing and not teaching I think. It is something open to the interpretation of each person."
J'cor leans forward, taking the pipe out of his mouth and dropping it lazily over the edge of his knee. "Two sides of the same question. My interest in history centers primarily on those instructive histories - Livian and the like - which use stories to demonstrate how current leaders ought to act. The twist they give those stories in order to make their point fascinates me to no end, but then, I must say also, that literature often serves the same function more directly, since it need not make any pretense of truth; yet I wonder if it's less effectively, since without the claim of truth it may have less impact." Mouth open to continue his out-loud musings, J'cor pauses and draws back, his pipe held carefully away from his skin while he presses the back of his hand briefly to his forehead. "Ah, I wander on." He drops the hand and smiles wanly. "In a manner and on a subject, I suspect, which Caucus students would find less than intriguing."
Miniyal is quick to sit up once more, leaning forward and shaking her head forcefully. Cup is set down with a click to the surface of the table it now rests on. "No, not at all!" she objects earnestly. "I think it would be fascinating. It is not something many people think on, you know. They tend to look at them as separate things and they are not. They are so entwined as to be. . .the same. There is much said that is not considered to be historical truth that is still truth of history. People, the common people, are more likely to learn of history from popular literature. From harper stories and not teaching ballads and the like. Those do not hold interest the way a tale might." She smiles brightly, encouragingly. "I think many students would find it of interest. Not all, but many of them find little of interest but the latest fashions and whom they might snare for a husband or wife."
J'cor brings the pipe back to his mouth so that it can muffle his expression, his mouth forced into an unreadable line while it holds the pipe in place. Occasional puffs obscure, if not obstruct, whatever else might show in his eyes. "Perhaps. It is an interesting subject. With all my time, I could write a book on it, if I so chose, and that might be a more rewarding end than the prospect of teaching it to disinterested students. Who I still think would comprise the majority of any class I taught. And, I confess, that more and more I have been thinking of - Igen, and that prospect becomes tempting as well. We will see, I suppose. I have less work to occupy the entirety of my days, but I remain loathe to make any decision for the future from my current situation."
Miniyal inclines her head, not the sort to push someone into doing anything. "A book would be wonderful. You must promise if you do that I get a copy." She settles back in her seat, calm once more as she considers his words. There is, perhaps, something in her expression when he mentions Igen but she adds no words to it right away. Instead she sits in silence, studying her hands thoughtfully. "I'm sure going home appeals, sir. If you decide to do that I hope you know that you will be missed here." Giving her head a shake she brushes at her hair, tucking it behind her ears. "It must be hard I think to not be at home. I cannot imagine living anywhere but here at High Reaches. I do not think I would like it."
J'cor becomes distracted, as well as guarded, by his pipe, staring down his nose into the bowl of it and watching smoke curl up. There is a break in his expression when she mentions he will be missed, a wry little twist of his mouth, but he soon flips it back up into a smile. "It is less the place than the people, I think. In honesty, I have never been very attached to the weyr, but there are people, and there is more familiarity for me there."
"That makes sense. And, I know you might doubt those words and think I am just saying them out of some sense of politeness, but I do not lie, sir. I cannot imagine I am the only person who would be sad to see you go." Miniyal gets the words out earnestly, going so far as to watch him as she speaks and allowing her head to duck only after she finishes. "It is your home because it is where you became what you are. In the same way that the hold in which you were born is your home because it is where you came to be. They have both imprinted themselves upon you and shaped you in their own way. That is the way of homes. They teach us. Not just the people at the location, but the environment as well. You would not be the same had you been born somewhere else even to the same parents. Had you impressed somewhere else you would not be the same even if Karth had found you elsewhere. That is what I believe."
J'cor meets her gaze, since she levels it so earnestly, but to judge from his still flat expression, he remains unconvinced. "Some few might be sad to see me go, others indifferent, and others pleased indeed. I've become accustomed to all three," he notes with a simple shrug, hand reaching up to take the pipe away for a moment. "I do not deny location's role, only its particular draw upon me personally. With my home hold, then yes, the place is very important - its location and its character are inextricably tied. The weyr is most likely the same way, but as I did not grow up there, its ties are less important to me. For the people, however." He pauses, looking down at his pipe again and turning it around distractedly. "Ah, for the people I have more concern," he concludes.
Miniyal cannot help but ask, ignoring all that comes before it. "Why?" She can dismiss all she said and his agreement and not. Talk of his place here and that place's role there. None of it is as important as the answer to her question because. . .well, because it strikes her as important as some things do. And so she will focus on it to the exclusion of all else and sit still, hands folded primly and head cocked to the side as she awaits her answer.
J'cor splits hairs. "I'm sorry, why what?"
Miniyal nearly smiles, but at the last minute it trails away. She is amused perhaps or something else. Whatever the case her expression is more serious as she looks over at him. "Concern. For the people there. Why? Did you mean concern in a different way? Or is there some reason to be concerned? Am I being overly nosy? I apologise if so, but I am most curious why you would use that word in that situation is all. Not, I suppose, that it is at all any of my business."
J'cor leans into the back of his chair, dropping the foot that was crossed over his knee and planting it back on the ground. The pipe returns to his mouth in the meantime, and he puffs it slowly while he watches her. He does this for a while, the question apparently requiring some level of reflection before an answer can be made. "I meant it more loosely than I suspect you are interpreting it, but perhaps a rigid construction has worth as well. Yes, I am concerned. I am concerned in the sense that it involves me more, as the greater part of my life has been spent in Igen, among those people of whom I speak. I am also concerned in the sense that I -" he pauses, breath drawn in, and then gives up his reservations with a shrug. "I worry. My tenure here has drawn my attention to certain failings of character and behavior, and I would do what I can to rectify those errors, if at all I can, with those whom they harmed most."
Miniyal listens, attentive as ever to the words spoken to her in conversation. She has abandoned all props that she might otherwise have made use of as they talk so she might listen. The question that comes to mind is not one she truly feels is wise to ask. So she does not. For now. "I see. And, I am sorry if I misinterpreted. Things have been so trying here that I am sure you can understand why I might have done so. It is my hope the new turn will cause things to reach some even keel. Otherwise I fear we might never recover." And now the question comes. One for which she really, probably, tried to not ask. "Would you go before they found who killed Yevide?" Excuse the faltering over the name. It is not a name she says lightly all things considered. Her expression is apologetic already, but she does not apologize. That will come after his reaction surely.
Surely. His reaction never changes: a freezing of position, a glossing of the eyes, a quiet stirring from his dragon in the snow outside. She would have done better, perhaps, to ask the first question that came to mind, and spare her restraint for this second one. Certainly everything else she said, though it gained his mild and amicable attention, has been forgotten in lieu of this Question and that Name that won't go away. His voice, when he answers, is coldly detached, though some effort of will - perhaps inspired by their last meaning - inspires him to keep it just short of coldly forbidding or angry. "I suspect," he says, "that I would have to."
She cannot, surely, have expected the question to be well received. Miniyal is not so poorly schooled in social interaction as that. Nor is she unused to watching men get emotional over that woman in particular. If she finds it odd that she circles around the men so entwined with memories of a dead woman she does not give it much thought. Instead she inclines her head a fraction. "I am sorry, sir. Sometimes I say things before I am quite aware how truly horrible they are to have said. I do not mean to upset people." Here she looks up, earnest in her sincerity and apology for being so rude. "If you wish to yell at me or ask me to leave I will understand. It is alright."
J'cor stretches into the support of his chair, one hand going out along the arm while his legs stretch forward and cross together at the ankles. "As usual, Miniyal, had I wished to yell or ask you to leave I would already have done so." That he has not, he points out with the sharp raising of his eyebrow; the quickness of his expression goes well with the sudden chop of his words. The coldness has seeped out, but the rigid barrier of formality remains, and he does nothing to gentle it.
Miniyal's head nods then at his words and she rises to her feet. "Sometimes I wish people would. Yell or just. . ." Pausing she glances around the room and with a frustrated sigh stomps her foot. "Would not be this way." It is habit for her when trying to marshal thoughts around an attempted emotional outburst to pace and so he must deal with her as she does so. To the door and back she goes, not leaving as she does not have her basket and the prized book within. "I do not understand what I do wrong. Why I cannot stop myself before I say something that is wrong." Blinking she stops her pacing and then frowns. "It's like I am determined to just. . .just mess everything up and now I am-" Whatever the sentence should say she does not finish, instead stalking back to the couch and reseating herself forcefully. Ducking her head she takes several deep breaths and finally shakes her head with a defeated sigh. "I do not know why I always mess up or nearly do. I am sorry, sir. For what I said and for my outburst and for messing up another nearly pleasant evening."
J'cor remains cool and restrained when she stomps on the floor, and then to the doorway. If his posture grows a bit stiffer, it's not much of a change; it doesn't provoke any words out of him, anyway. By the time she gets back he's at work on his pipe, having pulled a small tool out of his pocket to stuff down what remains of its contents. "The reason I am as you put it 'this way' is because I do not wish to yell, and I believe I have the best hopes of calming my temper if I do not let it run away with me entire. As for your second point, I would suggest that you are not so much determined to mess up as you are to give up. Please forgive me." Not that his tone holds anything more than its removed formality, but perhaps - just perhaps - it's worth something that he offers the slight hint of an apology for his words. Whatever it's worth, it's not enough to stop him there. "Sometimes a confrontation is such that one must remove oneself from it entirely. At other times both parties require patience for it is only to be expected that an untoward question provokes an untoward answer, and one will never get further than that if one gives up at first response." All this he explains while methodically restuffing his pipe.
Miniyal lets out a weary sigh and rubs at her forehead. She might speak between his points, but that would give her less time to actually formulate a response that will not just be stammering apologies once more. So she twists at the ring on her finger as she listens and tries to get her brain to focus on the words she needs to say in order to not feel like an idiot once more. "I am sorry. It's not just. . .it's not you, sir. Sometimes I feel like the only person in the world who is not always calm. Like there is something wrong with me because I cannot. . .because I get upset and cannot control it. I do not mean to imply that you handle things incorrectly." Well, that came out ok. Maybe she'll keep her foot on the floor and out of her mouth a little longer. His words are replayed over in her mind as she thinks of what else she might say. "I-" Whatever she was going to say is cut short and she looks up and over at him once more. "I give up. You're right. I always have. I never. . .I never thought about it, but you're right."
J'cor has finished cleaning his pipe, but he continues to look down at it for a moment or two while she answers. When he raises his look back to her it's simply watchful: the coldness seems to have had enough time to seep out of him, although not enough time for amiability to be replaced. "I do not wish to harm," he says, a thoughtful frown briefly furrowing his features. "I hope I have not. If I have said something of use, than I am glad of it."
Miniyal has a smile for him, fleeting though it may be, when he looks up from his pipe. "You do me no harm. I do it to myself. I am just thankful some people are so patient with me. I feel a million steps behind everyone most days in matters of social etiquette. I always say or do the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. And I guess it's just always been easier to run away from it." Now she looks down and twists at her ring once more as she seems to be deciding if more needs to be said or not. "I /am/ sorry for my outburst. You did not deserve it. You've been far kinder to me than you have needed to be and I am thankful for that." Here she pauses for a wry chuckle, glancing up again. "I am far harder to get along with most times than I wish to be. That anyone is willing to do so is always amazing to me."
J'cor answers that fleeting smile with a quick nod, and leans again into his chair as he brins the pipe back up to his mouth. He has to give it a short puff, to test it or break it in, and then he can speak. "We're all social beings on some level. Our nature makes us seek company and our intelligence impels us to discrminate between company which is interesting and company which is not. In the case of the former, often a rare find, our sociality steps in to insist that it continue. Wonder not, then, that people are willing to overlook anything for the sake of interesting company. You did the same, did you not, when you forgave my own outburst, restrained though it may have been, and returned?"
Miniyal's head shakes at something he says, but again she lets him finish before she speaks. It is rude to interrupt and for all her faults she does try not to be rude intentionally. "I sought you out not because you are interesting-" Full stop, mind the blush as she stammers out, "That is not what I meant. I didn't mean. I like your company. I mean, I /do/ like your company." Well, what? She was going to be articulate forever? Hands nervously smooth down non-existent wrinkles in her skirt as she stops to calm herself. "Few people are willing to put up with my company. Fewer still do not do so just so they might get something from me or amuse themselves at my expense."
J'cor considers her from behind puffs of smoke, paced evenly if a little slow. Her stumble raises a brow from him, but he waits out the second attempt that, as he has learned, will inevitably correct the first error. "Ah," he says simply, once she's reached the end of that second attempt. "You mentioned that it amazed you why anyone would put up with you. In my, admittedly roundabout, way, I meant to say that you shouldn't be so surprised."
Miniyal has recovered then from her misstep and will now await her next. It is inevitable after all. He is given a grateful smile for his understanding of her inability to speak at all coherently most of the time. "I have never thought of myself as interesting I guess, sir. I have until recently not thought much about myself at all. At least not in regards to social situations since I have always done my utmost to avoid anything which might be labeled as such. It is not unreasonable to expect I shall stumble, but I still have trouble when I do. I should probably stick to neutral topics like poetry and literature. I rarely offend with those."
J'cor tilts up a small smile, his eyes briefly flicking down to his feet. "The bold advice here would be to discuss whatever topic you wished, for you will be most interesting discussing that which interests you most. Unfortunately, I feel a bit hypocritical giving that advice, so while I mention it in passing, in case it should be turned to more use in your mind than it has been in mine, I beg you not to judge me by my own standard. Do as I say, after all, not as I do."
Miniyal might have said something witty or at least vaguely amusing or at least not offensive, but whatever she might have said is lost in another of those surprised laughs. Her eyes sparkle with it and she inclines her head to J'cor as she dares even a teasing grin. Made bold by a laugh. "I shall take the advice of my elder to heart," she promises solemnly. Other than that grin and the remains of the laugh in her tone. Hardly solemn those.
J'cor allows this laugh to draw a low chuckle out of him, a muffled thing that slips out between his teeth as they hold the pipe steady. He turns a solemn regard on her for her solemn promise, adding a slow nod to reinforce his dignity. "As it should be," he says approvingly, then tilts back in his chair. Nothing so bold as a grin, but a mere smile curves out around his pipe - mere smiles he has in supply, but grins and laughter are rare, and he is not so generous with them as to award two in one exchange.
The best things in life must be earned. If she is not aware that he will doll out those things sparingly she might guess. So Miniyal is content with the smile because she understands that too. "Of course, I am only humoring you in the hopes of getting more books." She says this so seriously other than a continued lingering amusement in her eyes. "After all, I have to have /some/ reason to come here and visit with you. If I am not getting something out of it there's no need to bother."
J'cor flicks the fingers of his hand at her, dismissing the question of her reward. "I remind you that wisdom is its own reward, and lest that be insufficient, that I have any number of books I might recommend or, if your dutiful acting has me particularly convinced, gift." An eyebrow jumps up with his words, implying the tease although his smile remains no more than 'mere' and his voice still has a faintly stuffy quality.
Miniyal sits up straighter and attends him now with hands folded exactly so in her lap. She sits as if she were conversing with, well, a weyrleader. All formal and proper. "All on its own you say? I shall consider your words. Although, I must point out it was you who said with age does not come wisdom so I must find some other way to decide if your words are at all worth taking to heart." To the rest of his words merely sighs. "And in the end it comes down to bribes, does it? Behave and get a treat. However, if I must merely act dutiful without meaning it I can comply. After all, making faces at you behind your back is as acceptable a past time to me as anything else. And I can sit properly when you look at me." If she were discussing the weather her tone and expression would be perfect. That she uses both to discuss sticking her tongue out at the weyrleader behind his back? Well, one will make of it what one will.
J'cor will make of it a joke, enough to make him pull the pipe out of his mouth so it can lose the gripped quality his biting down on something always give it. "I did say that, and then went on to demonstrate an unfortunate proof. Age brings old backs and a mound of experiences to bear on them, but if it brought wisdom perhaps I would know better than to contradict myself." He pauses, thoughtful a second. "Or perhaps that is part of my wisdom. Either way, I am foolish enough to be flattered by pretenses, so I won't quibble over faces you may make at me behind my back."
Miniyal inclines her head a fraction. "Then pretenses you shall have, sir. Far be it from me to deny such a charming man his due." There is again that sparkle in her eyes that detracts from her serious words. She has not got the hang of saying and meaning different things. Even joking. "If it is wise to contradict yourself I must be the wisest woman on all of Pern. I excel at that. But, clearly I can learn more from you on that topic and so I shall eagerly await those lessons."
J'cor's smile becomes quirked when he's described as charming, and he gives a small shake of his head - not a rejection, just bemusement. "There you have it, you have a found a class I can teach. Unfortunately I suspect that other instructors before me have adequately covered the question of self-contradiction for the Caucus, so I will have to find my pupils independent of their auspices."
Miniyal lets out a little sigh and gives her head a shake. "Alas. It is hard to find one's calling just a little too late. I shall be better prepared next time to offer many suggestions on future employment. Perhaps the kitchens as was suggested to me." A smile at this and then she rises once more. Reaching for her basket and book(!) she bobs her head once. "I probably should be going. I've rather lost track of time and I am sure it is later than I intended. Thank you, sir." For her book and putting up with her and all of that, but it's easier to just say thanks and let the other person infer what they will of it. He may see her out and even reply, but those are the last words she offers, as if determined to end on a good note.