The Fairer Sex
Location: Living Cavern
Time: Evening on Day 1, Month 13, Turn 2
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: Roa helps Neiran with his Ethics homework.
It's cold. As in cold. As in absolutely shellingly frigid. High Reaches is always talked about as so icy and chilly and whatnot, and residents tend to roll their eyes at the whining of foreigners. And then days like this hit ad everyone is reminded that oh. Yes. The foreigners are right. Roa has hunkered down, hide in one hand, steaming mug in the other, near the fire. There she reads, and shivers, and reads some more.
It's as though the healer was conjured on the spot, such is the unobtrusiveness with which he appears at Roa's shoulder. He loiters there for a space of a few heartbeats, known to Roa or not, before he steps into her peripheral vision in order to extend his hand to make a claim on the kettle of water hanging in the aura of the hearth's warmth. Well aware he's come out of the blue rather suddenly and passed right by the goldrider, he murmurs a discreet "pardon me" as he slides between Roa's seat and the wall, to get at the hearth. He must have been hiding somewhere in the back seats, near another hearth, or else he skirted the entire periphery of the cavern after entering from one of the tunnels. Even though inside, he's bundled in coat and scarf, with no flecks of snow to suggest he's been outside recently.
The way she continues to read as Neiran appears does not suggest that Roa notices him has he hovers near her. But, the way she also continues to read as he moves around and towards the kettle does not suggest that she was caught unawares. It is only after the Journeyman moves past and over to the fire that the little weyrwoman lifts her gaze and offers a small smile in greeting. "How are your pursuits of games and recreation coming along?"
Neiran's other hand has a mug prepared to receive the font of hot water that emerges from the kettle. Hot steam and the scent of herbs infuses the immediate air around the Journeyman, and it is over the tranquil sound of falling water that he speaks. "My pursuit has been fruitful," he replies, glossing over any acknowledgment of the potential for amusement in the woman's greeting. "I believe I am now decently acquainted with the principles of Go, and I have acquired an acquaintance who is interested in learning of it, as well. To that effect, I have been successful both in educating myself and acquiring the potential for further social interactions." Of course he was finished pouring somewhere in the middle of his words, and he returned the kettle to its hanging place right after. Now, mug clasped in pale hands, he looms over Roa and returns the courtesy he was shown by asking, "how does the evening find you?"
It is not very difficult to loom over Roa and Roa, for her part, does not seem much to mind. Her hide is settled in her lap so both hands can curl around her own mug. "It is always pleasing, when one's acquisitions work out the way one has intended they should," she notes with soft solemnity. There is a pause to blow on the hot liquid in the mug before taking a small sip. "The evening finds me frigid but well. Mostly frigid, unfortunately."
"It is cold," the Journeyman agrees, his narrow shoulders hunched just a little in a sign of chill, despite his lined wherhide jacket. "Extra care must be taken to ensure that we-" presumably the populace of the Weyr as a whole "-do not fall ill." A silence follows, which some might consider awkward, in which Neiran gently blows air across the surface of his tea. His dark eyes lift, and fall on Roa, focused without intimidating intentness. "I apologize if I have interrupted you in your reading for mere triviality."
"But you wouldn't have," comes the weyrwoman's easy rejoinder. "Interrupted me for mere triviality. So, either you are practicing small talk, which considering the source, is not a thing I would find trivial at all, or you actually have something that you consider important that you would like to discuss." Sip. "Or ask." She settles into her chair, turning a bit more towards the warmth of the fire, and simple regards the Journeyman with slightly raised brows.
Neiran's brows raise in response, Roa's inquiry being met with mild surprise. "You have reminded me of your perceptiveness," the Journeyman replies, that acknowledgment as much of a compliment as he ever usually gives, accompanied by a nod of recognition. "I did, in fact, have something which I wished to discuss with you, but I did not wish to seem rude by ignoring the social courtesies one generally deserves. If you would not be adverse to it, and you have some time presently, I would fetch my bag from where I was seated previously, and join you...?"
"I'd be delighted, Journeyman, if you would do so," Roa responds. The smile is either an additional invitation or a response to the Neiranworld version of flattery. Her mug is sipped from again and she draws up her legs so she might tuck them closer to her body and attempt to hold in a bit more heat that way.
Neiran places his mug down across from Roa and parts after a nod only to return ere long with his bag on his shoulder. He sets that down on the seat next to him, and before seating himself withdraws a slip of hide and a quill and inkpot. He unwinds the long purple scarf from around his neck, and shrugs his jacket off of his narrow shoulders. He hangs both these items on the back of his chair and seats himself with decorum, oblivious to the woman's smile. "Foremost, thank you for acquiescing...if you have appointments elsewhere, please do not hesitate to curtail our discussion in order to make them."
All of the little gestures and settles are regarded with placid interest, but for the most part, Roa is patient. Simply waiting and occasionally sipping from her mug. To Neiran's disclaimer she nods and only murmurs a faint, "Mmm." And then, eyes on the quill and hide, she waits.
And she'll wait. Now that Neiran is seated, all prepared, his quill ready to be dipped in the ink, he pauses, and the pause stretches on. After a moment of staring at the blank hide in front of him, he looks up at Roa. "I am essentially interviewing you in order to accumulate data for G'thon's recent ethics assignment. I am interviewing you because you are a woman, and it is the role of women which I am concerning myself with." It's a somewhat inelegant preface, even if smoothly delivered. "Your position as a goldrider, I believe, gives you a unique angle from which to assess your own status within the Weyr and the wider structures of Pern, as well as the status of other women of other echelons of society." The silence and the attentive visage which faces Roa afterwards suggests that it's her turn to simply begin speaking.
Well, that wins another lift of Roa's eyebrows and a tilt of her head. "I am to speak on, then, women? How I believe I am perceived as a goldrider? As a potential leader? My views on women in society as a whole? Is there a specific statement or aspect you would like me to focus on? That's rather a broad request and I'm not sure all that I'd have to say would be of any use, depending on your specific topic." Sip.
Neiran inclines his head, unsurprised by the request for clarification. "Please comment on the following statement: Women are continually prescribed roles for which they are not necessarily suited." He dips the tip of his quill, already sharpened, into the ink, and meticulously removes the drip of extra ink from the tip by skirting it along the lip of the little inkwell. Pen prepped in his right hand, his left draws his mug closer and he takes a sip to whet his lips.
Perhaps Roa has a bit of a contrary streak or perhaps she simply likes to poke fun at men with unusual and awkward social temperaments. Either way, the weyrwoman's first response is a fleeting smile and these words: "I agree."
Whether intended to poke fun or simply to be contrary, the comment is accepted with a perfunctory nod. He tilts his chin towards his chest a margin, eyes lowering to the hide before him. He jots a few brief words in an angular script, and rests the quill nib against the inkwell again. "I would like you to elaborate. What is your perception of the origin of this social orthodoxy, and, as a woman, what are your views of the fairer sex's response to it? You are welcome to include your own responses as well as observations."
The weyrwoman leans back into her chair, tilting her head to the side to consider before she speaks any more. "I can't say that I know how women were always perceived, whether we have always been expected to fill specific rolls or whether we were once viewed as more capable of making our own decisions in such matters. I do know that the last pass before this one brought with it a plague that nearly decimated the population, and if there is one thing that nobody will argue women can do and men cannot..." Roa's brow quirks and she takes another sip of her drink in lieu of explaining further. "I think culture tends to form around necessity. If women were needed to remain in certain places and bear children, the thought would eventually come that perhaps they could do little more. Or the thought came to keep women from -wishing- to do more and endangering the perilously depleted populous. That's still two hundred turns of such thinking and arguably long enough for people to presume it's always been so. Or I'm wrong, it has always been so, and I'm silly."
When Roa begins to speak, Neiran puts quill to parchment again, and his eyes focus on the page rather than the woman across from him. He has his own shorthand figured out, and surely is only focusing on the key ideas communicated, for even though he doesn't stop writing until a few moments after Roa has finished her piece, surely he hasn't taken her words down verbatim. "Thank you. Now, if you do not wish to speak for other women, I would ask you to please speak for yourself in the following matter. How has this construction of the role of women effected you?"
"Well," Roa considers, tipping her head to the side, "in many ways I feel it has left me ill-prepared for my current role and what might await me in the future. I was, until my impression, a girl who worked in the kitchens. There was no expectation from myself or anyone around me that I would do anything more than continue to work in the kitchens as I grew, and the things one needs to know to perform efficiently as a member of the kitchen staff are somewhat different than the things one needs to know to be an effective weyrwoman." Pause. Sip. "Then I had Tialith and suddenly, there was a scramble to catch me up. I came to Caucus and I believe I'm adapting, but it seems...it's always just struck me as odd. Weyrwomen are chosen arbitrarily as far as I can surmise. Until the moment of impression, we are incapable of leading, and then, suddenly, that is not so? It would have been nice to have had a better education from the start. The fact that many weyrwomen come from common stock rather undermines the whole idea of a preset station, to my mind."
Scratch, scratch. Neiran's quill works furiously to keep up, and fails to do so entirely, judging by the continuation of the rapid writing again once Roa has finished. It's all worn down his quill nib, so he is forced to wipe ink from it and retrieve his penknife from his bag. "Indeed," he replies summarily, words underscored by the sound of books being pushed out of the way as he finds the hard case that keeps the little scribe's tool inside. Like all Caucus students, the ritual of resharpening the quill tip is done swiftly, the small shards of hardened tip and the penknife then tucked away. "Thank you. Your observations are well placed and informative to me. I am required by the assignment to pursue matters to an even deeper level, however. Beneath the overt structures of social expectation and requirement, would you suggest that there is an /ethical/ principle beneath the injustice? I do not wish to lead you with my questioning, nor put words in your mouth. If you do not consider the state of things an injustice, please say so." The awkward pauses have essentially evaporated, the self-conscious deliberateness of his actions dissolved as he asks the question without looking up from his page, absorbed in analyzing the words written there.
"I think," begins the weyrwoman...and perhaps the sharpening of the quill, rather than Neiran's hurried notetaking is what reminds Roa that writing and speaking do not happen at the same speed, for now she speaks slowly..."we shall have a more interesting discussion, and you a more fascinating presentation, if we allow, for this particular moment, that I find there is an ethical principle beneath the injustice. Or, perhaps, a lack thereof, if you will." A polite pause until Neiran stops writing before she continues. "The injustice could be said to be one of presumption. If you are this, then you cannot be that, and never mind if one is capable of proving otherwise. The only way a woman is seen to be of greater use than a wife is if some outside force identifies her as such. A dragon, and really it has to be a gold one or she's simply moved to a different station of less-effective-than-men. Or a crafter pointing out a skill that a girl may be ignored for should she point it out herself. And even in these positions, there are expected limitations that women simply cannot exceed."
"Whether or not my presentation will be fascinating, I hope that it will not be misrepresentative, and that it will be well received by the women in my ethics class. As a man discussing this issue, I have the potential to garner respect and elicit contemplation of it, or warrant only skepticism and contempt. Handling it effectively is more concerning than entertainment." Neiran finally looks up from his page after he's spoken and finished jotting down essentials. He turns the page towards her, and slides it the short distance across the table. Some of the ink is still glistening faintly, drying in the warmer air near the fire just as its presented to the junior weyrwoman. "If there is something which I have written there which you feel is incorrect, please say so." All told, the writing is legible and the ideas sound - the injustice of presumption, the absence of ethical principle, as well as a few particulars of Roa's background that place her stated opinions in context.
Leaning forward, Roa's gaze flicks over the hide that is offered, and it is to this she speaks, rather than to the healer proper. "You do realize, do you not, that what you ask is risky. A woman who admits to discontent is speaking unfavorably of traditions many hold in the highest regard. It is not, arguably, an overly wise thing to do, especially considering their current standing in the world. So," dark blue eyes flick up, then back down to again read through the notes jotted, "allowing those you interview to offer 'entertaining alternatives' to their own socially acceptable beliefs may be more than mere amusement on both your parts." She sits up straight and shrugs. "Just a thought. Those notes look fine, thank you."
The healer draws the hide to himself, and releases his hold on his quill in favor of his mug once again. As always, he absorbs the words of his conversation partner with a neutral expression, nodding in a somber fashion only when a moment has wedged itself between Roa's words and the present moment. "I had considered that some women might be reticent to state their opinions. In that case, without taking names, I shall make note of the reluctance to speak. I believe that that data will serve its own role in my presentation. Thank you for your suggestion." The suggestion which he bypassed without very much contemplation by the look of things, but at the very least had the courtesy to acknowledge. "I believe that, for the immediate moment, that will suffice. I am required in the infirmary and class shortly. Thank you, Roa, once again." Although his wrapping-up of the issue at hand might be considered a little brisk, for his thanks he makes an effort to pause and give eye-contact to convey sincerity. Thank his conversation coach for that.
"You're welcome, Neiran." Look at that. A name for a name. "I look forward to hearing the rest of your presentation in class." His eye contact is met with a solemn nod and then the hide in Roa's lap is lifted again and, with her dropped gaze, the Journeyman is dismissed. Or let off the hook, perhaps. The remains of Roa's mug have gone lukewarm and she swallows it down before it can drift from 'tepid' to 'gone cold'.
Time: Evening on Day 1, Month 13, Turn 2
Players: Roa and Neiran
Scene: Roa helps Neiran with his Ethics homework.
It's cold. As in cold. As in absolutely shellingly frigid. High Reaches is always talked about as so icy and chilly and whatnot, and residents tend to roll their eyes at the whining of foreigners. And then days like this hit ad everyone is reminded that oh. Yes. The foreigners are right. Roa has hunkered down, hide in one hand, steaming mug in the other, near the fire. There she reads, and shivers, and reads some more.
It's as though the healer was conjured on the spot, such is the unobtrusiveness with which he appears at Roa's shoulder. He loiters there for a space of a few heartbeats, known to Roa or not, before he steps into her peripheral vision in order to extend his hand to make a claim on the kettle of water hanging in the aura of the hearth's warmth. Well aware he's come out of the blue rather suddenly and passed right by the goldrider, he murmurs a discreet "pardon me" as he slides between Roa's seat and the wall, to get at the hearth. He must have been hiding somewhere in the back seats, near another hearth, or else he skirted the entire periphery of the cavern after entering from one of the tunnels. Even though inside, he's bundled in coat and scarf, with no flecks of snow to suggest he's been outside recently.
The way she continues to read as Neiran appears does not suggest that Roa notices him has he hovers near her. But, the way she also continues to read as he moves around and towards the kettle does not suggest that she was caught unawares. It is only after the Journeyman moves past and over to the fire that the little weyrwoman lifts her gaze and offers a small smile in greeting. "How are your pursuits of games and recreation coming along?"
Neiran's other hand has a mug prepared to receive the font of hot water that emerges from the kettle. Hot steam and the scent of herbs infuses the immediate air around the Journeyman, and it is over the tranquil sound of falling water that he speaks. "My pursuit has been fruitful," he replies, glossing over any acknowledgment of the potential for amusement in the woman's greeting. "I believe I am now decently acquainted with the principles of Go, and I have acquired an acquaintance who is interested in learning of it, as well. To that effect, I have been successful both in educating myself and acquiring the potential for further social interactions." Of course he was finished pouring somewhere in the middle of his words, and he returned the kettle to its hanging place right after. Now, mug clasped in pale hands, he looms over Roa and returns the courtesy he was shown by asking, "how does the evening find you?"
It is not very difficult to loom over Roa and Roa, for her part, does not seem much to mind. Her hide is settled in her lap so both hands can curl around her own mug. "It is always pleasing, when one's acquisitions work out the way one has intended they should," she notes with soft solemnity. There is a pause to blow on the hot liquid in the mug before taking a small sip. "The evening finds me frigid but well. Mostly frigid, unfortunately."
"It is cold," the Journeyman agrees, his narrow shoulders hunched just a little in a sign of chill, despite his lined wherhide jacket. "Extra care must be taken to ensure that we-" presumably the populace of the Weyr as a whole "-do not fall ill." A silence follows, which some might consider awkward, in which Neiran gently blows air across the surface of his tea. His dark eyes lift, and fall on Roa, focused without intimidating intentness. "I apologize if I have interrupted you in your reading for mere triviality."
"But you wouldn't have," comes the weyrwoman's easy rejoinder. "Interrupted me for mere triviality. So, either you are practicing small talk, which considering the source, is not a thing I would find trivial at all, or you actually have something that you consider important that you would like to discuss." Sip. "Or ask." She settles into her chair, turning a bit more towards the warmth of the fire, and simple regards the Journeyman with slightly raised brows.
Neiran's brows raise in response, Roa's inquiry being met with mild surprise. "You have reminded me of your perceptiveness," the Journeyman replies, that acknowledgment as much of a compliment as he ever usually gives, accompanied by a nod of recognition. "I did, in fact, have something which I wished to discuss with you, but I did not wish to seem rude by ignoring the social courtesies one generally deserves. If you would not be adverse to it, and you have some time presently, I would fetch my bag from where I was seated previously, and join you...?"
"I'd be delighted, Journeyman, if you would do so," Roa responds. The smile is either an additional invitation or a response to the Neiranworld version of flattery. Her mug is sipped from again and she draws up her legs so she might tuck them closer to her body and attempt to hold in a bit more heat that way.
Neiran places his mug down across from Roa and parts after a nod only to return ere long with his bag on his shoulder. He sets that down on the seat next to him, and before seating himself withdraws a slip of hide and a quill and inkpot. He unwinds the long purple scarf from around his neck, and shrugs his jacket off of his narrow shoulders. He hangs both these items on the back of his chair and seats himself with decorum, oblivious to the woman's smile. "Foremost, thank you for acquiescing...if you have appointments elsewhere, please do not hesitate to curtail our discussion in order to make them."
All of the little gestures and settles are regarded with placid interest, but for the most part, Roa is patient. Simply waiting and occasionally sipping from her mug. To Neiran's disclaimer she nods and only murmurs a faint, "Mmm." And then, eyes on the quill and hide, she waits.
And she'll wait. Now that Neiran is seated, all prepared, his quill ready to be dipped in the ink, he pauses, and the pause stretches on. After a moment of staring at the blank hide in front of him, he looks up at Roa. "I am essentially interviewing you in order to accumulate data for G'thon's recent ethics assignment. I am interviewing you because you are a woman, and it is the role of women which I am concerning myself with." It's a somewhat inelegant preface, even if smoothly delivered. "Your position as a goldrider, I believe, gives you a unique angle from which to assess your own status within the Weyr and the wider structures of Pern, as well as the status of other women of other echelons of society." The silence and the attentive visage which faces Roa afterwards suggests that it's her turn to simply begin speaking.
Well, that wins another lift of Roa's eyebrows and a tilt of her head. "I am to speak on, then, women? How I believe I am perceived as a goldrider? As a potential leader? My views on women in society as a whole? Is there a specific statement or aspect you would like me to focus on? That's rather a broad request and I'm not sure all that I'd have to say would be of any use, depending on your specific topic." Sip.
Neiran inclines his head, unsurprised by the request for clarification. "Please comment on the following statement: Women are continually prescribed roles for which they are not necessarily suited." He dips the tip of his quill, already sharpened, into the ink, and meticulously removes the drip of extra ink from the tip by skirting it along the lip of the little inkwell. Pen prepped in his right hand, his left draws his mug closer and he takes a sip to whet his lips.
Perhaps Roa has a bit of a contrary streak or perhaps she simply likes to poke fun at men with unusual and awkward social temperaments. Either way, the weyrwoman's first response is a fleeting smile and these words: "I agree."
Whether intended to poke fun or simply to be contrary, the comment is accepted with a perfunctory nod. He tilts his chin towards his chest a margin, eyes lowering to the hide before him. He jots a few brief words in an angular script, and rests the quill nib against the inkwell again. "I would like you to elaborate. What is your perception of the origin of this social orthodoxy, and, as a woman, what are your views of the fairer sex's response to it? You are welcome to include your own responses as well as observations."
The weyrwoman leans back into her chair, tilting her head to the side to consider before she speaks any more. "I can't say that I know how women were always perceived, whether we have always been expected to fill specific rolls or whether we were once viewed as more capable of making our own decisions in such matters. I do know that the last pass before this one brought with it a plague that nearly decimated the population, and if there is one thing that nobody will argue women can do and men cannot..." Roa's brow quirks and she takes another sip of her drink in lieu of explaining further. "I think culture tends to form around necessity. If women were needed to remain in certain places and bear children, the thought would eventually come that perhaps they could do little more. Or the thought came to keep women from -wishing- to do more and endangering the perilously depleted populous. That's still two hundred turns of such thinking and arguably long enough for people to presume it's always been so. Or I'm wrong, it has always been so, and I'm silly."
When Roa begins to speak, Neiran puts quill to parchment again, and his eyes focus on the page rather than the woman across from him. He has his own shorthand figured out, and surely is only focusing on the key ideas communicated, for even though he doesn't stop writing until a few moments after Roa has finished her piece, surely he hasn't taken her words down verbatim. "Thank you. Now, if you do not wish to speak for other women, I would ask you to please speak for yourself in the following matter. How has this construction of the role of women effected you?"
"Well," Roa considers, tipping her head to the side, "in many ways I feel it has left me ill-prepared for my current role and what might await me in the future. I was, until my impression, a girl who worked in the kitchens. There was no expectation from myself or anyone around me that I would do anything more than continue to work in the kitchens as I grew, and the things one needs to know to perform efficiently as a member of the kitchen staff are somewhat different than the things one needs to know to be an effective weyrwoman." Pause. Sip. "Then I had Tialith and suddenly, there was a scramble to catch me up. I came to Caucus and I believe I'm adapting, but it seems...it's always just struck me as odd. Weyrwomen are chosen arbitrarily as far as I can surmise. Until the moment of impression, we are incapable of leading, and then, suddenly, that is not so? It would have been nice to have had a better education from the start. The fact that many weyrwomen come from common stock rather undermines the whole idea of a preset station, to my mind."
Scratch, scratch. Neiran's quill works furiously to keep up, and fails to do so entirely, judging by the continuation of the rapid writing again once Roa has finished. It's all worn down his quill nib, so he is forced to wipe ink from it and retrieve his penknife from his bag. "Indeed," he replies summarily, words underscored by the sound of books being pushed out of the way as he finds the hard case that keeps the little scribe's tool inside. Like all Caucus students, the ritual of resharpening the quill tip is done swiftly, the small shards of hardened tip and the penknife then tucked away. "Thank you. Your observations are well placed and informative to me. I am required by the assignment to pursue matters to an even deeper level, however. Beneath the overt structures of social expectation and requirement, would you suggest that there is an /ethical/ principle beneath the injustice? I do not wish to lead you with my questioning, nor put words in your mouth. If you do not consider the state of things an injustice, please say so." The awkward pauses have essentially evaporated, the self-conscious deliberateness of his actions dissolved as he asks the question without looking up from his page, absorbed in analyzing the words written there.
"I think," begins the weyrwoman...and perhaps the sharpening of the quill, rather than Neiran's hurried notetaking is what reminds Roa that writing and speaking do not happen at the same speed, for now she speaks slowly..."we shall have a more interesting discussion, and you a more fascinating presentation, if we allow, for this particular moment, that I find there is an ethical principle beneath the injustice. Or, perhaps, a lack thereof, if you will." A polite pause until Neiran stops writing before she continues. "The injustice could be said to be one of presumption. If you are this, then you cannot be that, and never mind if one is capable of proving otherwise. The only way a woman is seen to be of greater use than a wife is if some outside force identifies her as such. A dragon, and really it has to be a gold one or she's simply moved to a different station of less-effective-than-men. Or a crafter pointing out a skill that a girl may be ignored for should she point it out herself. And even in these positions, there are expected limitations that women simply cannot exceed."
"Whether or not my presentation will be fascinating, I hope that it will not be misrepresentative, and that it will be well received by the women in my ethics class. As a man discussing this issue, I have the potential to garner respect and elicit contemplation of it, or warrant only skepticism and contempt. Handling it effectively is more concerning than entertainment." Neiran finally looks up from his page after he's spoken and finished jotting down essentials. He turns the page towards her, and slides it the short distance across the table. Some of the ink is still glistening faintly, drying in the warmer air near the fire just as its presented to the junior weyrwoman. "If there is something which I have written there which you feel is incorrect, please say so." All told, the writing is legible and the ideas sound - the injustice of presumption, the absence of ethical principle, as well as a few particulars of Roa's background that place her stated opinions in context.
Leaning forward, Roa's gaze flicks over the hide that is offered, and it is to this she speaks, rather than to the healer proper. "You do realize, do you not, that what you ask is risky. A woman who admits to discontent is speaking unfavorably of traditions many hold in the highest regard. It is not, arguably, an overly wise thing to do, especially considering their current standing in the world. So," dark blue eyes flick up, then back down to again read through the notes jotted, "allowing those you interview to offer 'entertaining alternatives' to their own socially acceptable beliefs may be more than mere amusement on both your parts." She sits up straight and shrugs. "Just a thought. Those notes look fine, thank you."
The healer draws the hide to himself, and releases his hold on his quill in favor of his mug once again. As always, he absorbs the words of his conversation partner with a neutral expression, nodding in a somber fashion only when a moment has wedged itself between Roa's words and the present moment. "I had considered that some women might be reticent to state their opinions. In that case, without taking names, I shall make note of the reluctance to speak. I believe that that data will serve its own role in my presentation. Thank you for your suggestion." The suggestion which he bypassed without very much contemplation by the look of things, but at the very least had the courtesy to acknowledge. "I believe that, for the immediate moment, that will suffice. I am required in the infirmary and class shortly. Thank you, Roa, once again." Although his wrapping-up of the issue at hand might be considered a little brisk, for his thanks he makes an effort to pause and give eye-contact to convey sincerity. Thank his conversation coach for that.
"You're welcome, Neiran." Look at that. A name for a name. "I look forward to hearing the rest of your presentation in class." His eye contact is met with a solemn nod and then the hide in Roa's lap is lifted again and, with her dropped gaze, the Journeyman is dismissed. Or let off the hook, perhaps. The remains of Roa's mug have gone lukewarm and she swallows it down before it can drift from 'tepid' to 'gone cold'.