(no subject)
Someone finally slugged Xorvian. Too bad it was Brady, because that means he's almost certainly going to be getting into trouble. And apparently Neana is flirting with him like nobody's business. That's really tough to handle, unfortunately, because I know what he would like to handle is her, hot, smooth, supple young flesh.
Just in case anyone is secretly reading my journal: I'm kidding. I'm sarcastic in my journals, too.
Tuval's Room
Tuval's room is neatly packed with belongings. If it were not so neatly organized, it would give the impression of bursting at the seams. The stone walls are almost entirely covered with paintings in watercolors. Mostly, they seem to be landscapes of somewhere with a climate colder than Ista's, but there are a number of semi-impressionistic portraits as well.
Technically, Brady knocks. However, since he can hear Tuval puttering around in the room already, he doesn't actually wait for a response before pushing the door open. It's early afternoon, and Brady is well-groomed, if battered and bloodied. "I need spiritual guidance," he announces, closing the door behind him.
Tuval is rearranging some of his paintings around the walls, so puttering is a good word for it. He looks around and doesn't quite get to inviting Brady in. He makes an open handed gesture in the direction of the room's seat. "Mm-hm," he says, looking over Brady's rather colorful face. "So, what's up?"
Brady moves across the room and drops himself into the chair heavily. "I'm floating in that nebulous area between right and wrong," he says. "The floating, nebulous, shadowy region where everything in wrong-land looks all appealing, and right-land is so bloody hard."
Tuval looks a little bit blankly at Brady. "Uh-huh," he replies. "So. How /did/ you and Xorvian wind up with matching bruises?"
"Oh, it's /so/ much more complicated than that," Brady says. He pauses and leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees so that his elbows splay out. "Okay. Neana." He pauses. This is going to be fun. "She's been flirting with me. A lot. And Celeste is very... not here. And I kind of... like the vibe of having someone like Neana flirting that obviously. So I haven't made any real attempts to stop her."
Well, it looks like Tuval's not going to get an answer to that question. Which doesn't really bother him that much, but it does surprise him. "Uh...oh. Shells, I'm not really the best at this side of things. I don't think enjoying a little bit of...attention is necessarily a horrible thing. The problem is the directions that kinda thought can lead you in, yes?"
"Yeah," Brady says. "Directions that lead to chatting with her on the beach while she's wearing a bikini. Directions that have Xorvian walk in and make some really low-brow comments that force me to punch him in the jaw. And then encouraging her to lie to join a coverup, and potentially giving her -- and this is Neana we're talking about -- blackmail material."
Tuval nods slowly as Brady launches into this explanation, which does cover quite a few of his questions. "Oh. That's, um. It might be a little late to put everything back the way it /ought/ to be. Problem is that Neana hasn't really done anything way outta line."
"Yeah." Brady is using that word a lot. He leans back in the chair again, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. "I should just come clean. Go talk to Master Taree or something."
Tuval hesitates for a minute, then nods. "That is definitely the right and hard way to go," he replies. "Just...bear in mind that if you go to Master Taree, she might press you on other topics than Neana's flirting, like, you know, the current state of your face. But it might be the easiest way to get some space between you and Neana."
Brady says "Yeah," again. Anyone surprised? He continues to stare at the ceiling. "So I'll have to own up to hitting Xorvian. Do you think the fact that it was Xorvian will weigh in my favor?"
Tuval snorts. "Given that everyone around here /knows/ Xorvian, I can't imagine that it /wouldn't/ weigh in your favor," he replies dryly. He finally goes to sit on the edge of his bed. "Should probably have a care for how this is sprung on Xorvian, too."
"Yeah," Brady says. He makes a small face. "We were telling people we got mugged. But... well, I was the one at fault. Mostly. The dick really wasn't giving me much choice. But I think he was drunk, and I swung first."
Tuval grimaces and shakes his head. "I can't say I don't understand the desire to beat the snot out of Xorvian," he replies. "Someone clearly didn't beat manners into him as a child, which makes it awfully tempting to make up for lost time." Of course, Tuval hasn't hit him, so he is at least partially sympathizing with Brady.
Yeah, Brady is probably serving as proxy for the feelings of at least a few people around Healer Hall. He exhales long and slow. "I should just get up. Walk down the hall. Talk to Master Taree."
"Yes," Tuval agrees. He decides silence, after that, is the best way to rachet the pressure on Brady to do the right thing without being a jackass.
"And yet I am sitting here," Brady says.
Tuval says, "So it seems."
Silence lingers. And then Brady says, "Aw, hell," and pushes to his feet. "Being an adult sucks." And off he heads, towards the door.
Tuval smiles wryly at Brady's commentary. "Yes, it really does," he agrees. "Good luck, Brady," he says, levering himself off his bed again to finish his puttering.
Just in case anyone is secretly reading my journal: I'm kidding. I'm sarcastic in my journals, too.
Tuval's Room
Tuval's room is neatly packed with belongings. If it were not so neatly organized, it would give the impression of bursting at the seams. The stone walls are almost entirely covered with paintings in watercolors. Mostly, they seem to be landscapes of somewhere with a climate colder than Ista's, but there are a number of semi-impressionistic portraits as well.
Technically, Brady knocks. However, since he can hear Tuval puttering around in the room already, he doesn't actually wait for a response before pushing the door open. It's early afternoon, and Brady is well-groomed, if battered and bloodied. "I need spiritual guidance," he announces, closing the door behind him.
Tuval is rearranging some of his paintings around the walls, so puttering is a good word for it. He looks around and doesn't quite get to inviting Brady in. He makes an open handed gesture in the direction of the room's seat. "Mm-hm," he says, looking over Brady's rather colorful face. "So, what's up?"
Brady moves across the room and drops himself into the chair heavily. "I'm floating in that nebulous area between right and wrong," he says. "The floating, nebulous, shadowy region where everything in wrong-land looks all appealing, and right-land is so bloody hard."
Tuval looks a little bit blankly at Brady. "Uh-huh," he replies. "So. How /did/ you and Xorvian wind up with matching bruises?"
"Oh, it's /so/ much more complicated than that," Brady says. He pauses and leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees so that his elbows splay out. "Okay. Neana." He pauses. This is going to be fun. "She's been flirting with me. A lot. And Celeste is very... not here. And I kind of... like the vibe of having someone like Neana flirting that obviously. So I haven't made any real attempts to stop her."
Well, it looks like Tuval's not going to get an answer to that question. Which doesn't really bother him that much, but it does surprise him. "Uh...oh. Shells, I'm not really the best at this side of things. I don't think enjoying a little bit of...attention is necessarily a horrible thing. The problem is the directions that kinda thought can lead you in, yes?"
"Yeah," Brady says. "Directions that lead to chatting with her on the beach while she's wearing a bikini. Directions that have Xorvian walk in and make some really low-brow comments that force me to punch him in the jaw. And then encouraging her to lie to join a coverup, and potentially giving her -- and this is Neana we're talking about -- blackmail material."
Tuval nods slowly as Brady launches into this explanation, which does cover quite a few of his questions. "Oh. That's, um. It might be a little late to put everything back the way it /ought/ to be. Problem is that Neana hasn't really done anything way outta line."
"Yeah." Brady is using that word a lot. He leans back in the chair again, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. "I should just come clean. Go talk to Master Taree or something."
Tuval hesitates for a minute, then nods. "That is definitely the right and hard way to go," he replies. "Just...bear in mind that if you go to Master Taree, she might press you on other topics than Neana's flirting, like, you know, the current state of your face. But it might be the easiest way to get some space between you and Neana."
Brady says "Yeah," again. Anyone surprised? He continues to stare at the ceiling. "So I'll have to own up to hitting Xorvian. Do you think the fact that it was Xorvian will weigh in my favor?"
Tuval snorts. "Given that everyone around here /knows/ Xorvian, I can't imagine that it /wouldn't/ weigh in your favor," he replies dryly. He finally goes to sit on the edge of his bed. "Should probably have a care for how this is sprung on Xorvian, too."
"Yeah," Brady says. He makes a small face. "We were telling people we got mugged. But... well, I was the one at fault. Mostly. The dick really wasn't giving me much choice. But I think he was drunk, and I swung first."
Tuval grimaces and shakes his head. "I can't say I don't understand the desire to beat the snot out of Xorvian," he replies. "Someone clearly didn't beat manners into him as a child, which makes it awfully tempting to make up for lost time." Of course, Tuval hasn't hit him, so he is at least partially sympathizing with Brady.
Yeah, Brady is probably serving as proxy for the feelings of at least a few people around Healer Hall. He exhales long and slow. "I should just get up. Walk down the hall. Talk to Master Taree."
"Yes," Tuval agrees. He decides silence, after that, is the best way to rachet the pressure on Brady to do the right thing without being a jackass.
"And yet I am sitting here," Brady says.
Tuval says, "So it seems."
Silence lingers. And then Brady says, "Aw, hell," and pushes to his feet. "Being an adult sucks." And off he heads, towards the door.
Tuval smiles wryly at Brady's commentary. "Yes, it really does," he agrees. "Good luck, Brady," he says, levering himself off his bed again to finish his puttering.