[Log] A Real Conversationalist

[brazenbronzer]

Who: G'thon, Sakher
When: Day 11, Month 5, Turn 3, 7th Pass
Where: G'thon and Miniyal's Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: G'thon and Sakher have tea. And talk. And talk. And...

G'thon and Miniyal's Quarters
     The floors of the two rooms that make up these private quarters have slightly faded, woven rugs laid out upon them to protect bare feet from cold stone. The blues and reds mingle and make up most of the color in the main room. A broad, tall bookshelf dominates one wall and is filled with many bound volumes collected by the rooms' occupants. Near a small iron stove is set a small table with four chairs arranged around it. By this is a tea cart with all required accoutrements upon it. A red divan waits opposite the bookshelf, a bit worn but still in good repair, ready for an evening's reading or conversation. Near the divan is a small work desk where writing implements share space with a small sewing basket.
     The bedchamber is as neat and tidy as the main room. The bed is made with a dark blue blanket folded neatly at the foot atop the furs. Two wardrobes vie for what little space there is and perhaps it is the lack of space that makes things tidy. Or maybe the occupants are just neat. The rugs match those in the main room.

Contents:
G'thon

Obvious Exits:
Out

Teatime is still, on occasion, reserved for students new to Caucus. This is such an occasion, and in anticipation of his guest from Nabol, the ethics instructor has had brought in a few extra accoutrements for tea: sweet pastries and cheese-cream ones, syruped canned pears, and some sort of dark cordial in a bottle on the table, accompanied by its appropriate little glasses. The man himself stands just now behind the tea-tray, which itself adjoins the edge of the table where no one generally sits; the rest of the things are on the table, but the stove whispers away its fire-burning hisses and the room is warmer, to be truthful, over by the divan and desk.

The door hangs quite open, so all of this may be seen; in addition, tea, rich with coriander and sweeter stuff, may be scented. Gans is humming, softly; even without words his voice is formal, prim. Since the words would belong to a bawdy fisherman's epic, the humming is probably for the best.

At the proper tea time, Sakher makes his way through the inner caverns with a sense of ease: either he's already scouted out his destination or had someone give him very good directions just a few minutes ago. Either way, he arrives shortly at the doorway, and steps into it to knock on the frame, offering a broad smile to the host of the day. Under his left arm he's tucked a smallish box, ornately crafted. "Good afternoon, sir. How are you? Will Miniyal not be able to join us this afternoon?" he offers opening questions quickly as he studies the room and then G'thon, intently.

"Ah, you must be Sakher." G'thon departs the tea service to stride over and with slim-handed gestures indicate hook and stand, should the other man have need of place for coat or other accessory. Another gesture welcomes him in. "Please, come in and be at home. Miniyal no doubt sends her regards, but she knows how I like to have tea with our new students, and how likely I am to bore her with talk of classes when I do so - she's gone to work a bit, for now."

"Yes, sir, I am," affirms Sakher as he steps inside and extends his box toward G'thon. "From my cousin Lord Sorel and myself," he tells the former Weyrleader upon offering it. The box itself would make a nice gift, but within, G'thon will find a couple of small packages of Nabolese tea, of the sort that's rarely tithed because of its high value. "I did hope she would be here--Miniyal, I mean--we met the other day in records, I assume she mentioned. She promised me she'd try a cup, just for me," he notes then, with a gesture to the box of tea. "Do give her my regards when she does return, of course."

"You are too kind," replies G'thon, taking the box from Sakher's hand into his own slender pale one, glancing down at it before turning to lead or accompany his guest farther into his room. "She has not mentioned. But I shall put on a pot for us and remind her of her oversight." This is delivered in only the fondest of tones, the old man's one-sided smile his signature of affection and most anything else. "I beg you convey my thanks to the Lord Nabol also, then, of course."

"Of course," agrees Sakher again, nodding quickly as he follows G'thon further in. "It's quite a lovely brew, if I do say so myself--I've a personal stash among all my belongings. How, sir, are your classes going?" Curious, he slips a sideways glance at G'thon, then pauses to look at him directly again. "I recently decided my own schedule for the term, and, on the advice of several people I've spoken to, slipped myself into yours. After so many people telling me it was difficult but fascinating, well. I could not resist."

"Ah, you take tea, then. I can never have enough acquaintances willing to share my habit," glows G'thon, his own glance mostly sideways as he pauses to hear out this part of the conversation. "Ah, good," he says then, and sounds earnest enough in his approval, turning to look on this new student of -his- now with that lopsided smile at its dry best. "I had been hoping some of the most eminent and interesting of our current new crop would join in - enough to make up a subsection of four, with any luck - and as you fit that bill so well, I am most pleased." No sarcasm; plenty of bemusement, his words perfectly knowing of their absurd flattery. He gestures, then, the graceful host: "Would you like to sit at the table or by the fire? I have tea started - but perhaps you might like a cordial, first."

"A staple of my upbringing," Sakher notes with an impish grin. "Mother could almost live on it, I believe, though she prefers more Istan varieties, to be honest. By the fire, if you don't mind--?" Another glance from fire to former bronzerider, and Sakher tilts his head slightly. "It's such a dreary afternoon outside, I could use a little extra warmth. And a cordial sounds lovely, too, thank you, sir." As he moves toward the fire, the seats around it, and starts to sit down, he notes, "Indeed--that's rather what the Weyrwoman said, when I spoke with her recently. She seemed to think I could enliven the class, though I can't say anyone has given me the idea that it /needs/ more enlivening," he notes, grinning still.

"Any class can use enlivening, Sakher. No modesty - " G'thon waits to see his guest seated, whether on divan or chair, by the stove; then turns away to tend to the pouring of the cordial and, while he's over there, checking on the steeping tea. "It's a simple statement of fact. Any instructive situation becomes more instructive if the students bring to it their own - personalities and - well, liveliness, then." The cordial is dark enough that its red hue is barely telltale, and glints ruby-black in the wee crystal goblets; G'thon's pale hands take on waves of red cast by the light through the glass onto his skin while he carries them over. "Here you are. I am rather proud of this blend: it's from Tillek's orchards, but Benden's craft."

"You've a point, sir," agrees Sakher, nodding slowly in answer to this. "In which case I hope I can bring my own spark into it. I'm enjoying my other classes very much--it's very different from the Hold, and it's absolutely amazing. Oh, thank you," he pauses to note as he accepts the cordial and lifts it to his lips to enjoy the first sip. "Ooh, it is wonderful. I can't say I've ever enjoyed anything from Tillek; its offerings aren't typically imported to Nabol. As I was saying, though--" he gets back on topic after that brief derailment "--at the Hold I had a private tutor, and I quite prefer having other students with me. They're fascinating themselves, though I've not had occasion to meet them all yet. I am looking forward to doing so, however."

After retreating to a chair himself, Gans murmurs some sort of agreement about Tillek's wares, at least in the form of cordial, not finding their way to Nabol. He indulges in a sip of the cordial himself while Sakher describes his experience in having been tutored and the alternative presented by Caucus. "There are quite the number; meeting them all is a pursuit that may take some time. Even I have not done so, despite my efforts over tea."

Sakher nods quickly. "But it's my ambition, nonetheless," he notes. "The purpose of the Caucus, no--to bring us all together? I am, of course, looking forward to classes--some more than others--I have had enough training in proper etiquette now that I could leave that one off my schedule--but really, I'm more intrigued in getting to know the people. Nabol can be so... isolated, sometimes, at least in its worldview. I've learned much of numbers and economics there, but people?" A shake of his head answers that question. "And that is, I believe, what intrigues me so much about your class, too, among others."

"Etiquette varies from one location to another," muses G'thon, but leaves aside any further remark on the topic for now. He tends instead to the subject of Nabol, with a twist of his half-made smile and a tip of his glass before another little sip. "I would imagine that Nabol is currently one of the best of all places to learn about people - if not on the cultural scale, certainly on a humanist one." He rises then and strolls over toward the table and tea; he puts down the cordial once there and asks, "Which of my students - those in my class, I mean - have you spoken to thus far?"

"It does," Sakher agrees, but only in passing; most of his attention is on the older man's latter words, to which he attends intently. "Yes, sir--the region is," he concedes that much. "The hold itself, less so. We've had our share, of course, of troubles, but we've stores, and shelter enough that we have, at least, survived. The outlying holdings, however... Those would be the places to learn about people, but of course I'm not allowed to visit them--it's far too dangerous now, and we've only begun to reestablish order in some parts. There's... There is, to be honest, quite a large disconnect between the main Hold--especially its upper crust--and the other areas of our lands," he explains wistfully.

"Not allowed." G'thon glances up from the teapot; his hand on its lid holds the pot open, so he can check the color of the brew within, but suddenly Sakher has the old man's absolute attention. "How curious. Word we've had here is that your Lord has been doing his fair share of travel - " Oh, there, then. Understanding brightens the former weyrleader's face and softens his smile, all of the curiousity and concern draining away. He's left even able to glance into the teapot, and to infuse his voice with a trace of a chuckle. "I suppose that's all the more reason for him to want to keep the rest of his close kin safe at home, then. A pity for you, though, not to see the whole of the landscape as it is now!"

"Closer family than my cousin would object," admits Sakher with a wry smile, "if I suggested it. My mother, my sister and brothers--" A shrug. He takes another sip of almost-forgotten cordial, aiming to finish the drink before tea, though some lingers at the glass's bottom when he lowers it, and he studies that instead of his host. "I have seen enough of it," he notes, shaking his head. "My window opens onto the main courtyard. A very messy affair--I am content with not having seen more of it."

"Not quite what I meant," replies G'thon, and Sakher might not know the man well enough at this point to identify the brief moment of smug in his tone as what it is - but it is easy enough to guess that the ethics instructor is not someone who says things by accident, meant or not. "I was thinking of the social landscape; the economic one, even; and to some small degree - " His hands overturn teacups, adjust them on saucers, add tiny spoons and so forth, then pour tea. The ritual requires no attention on his part, though he keeps his eyes mostly on it; a sparing upward glance punctuates this last bit. "- if you will forgive me some romanticism - the beauty of the struggle to recover. Sweetener or cream for you, Sakher?"

"The beauty of the struggle," says Sakher, brows arching. "I can't say I've ever thought of it that way, myself. There's no beauty in scorched earth and dirty farmers, if you'll pardon my saying so, sir. And oh, no thank you--I prefer it straight," he notes to the latter offer. Continuing onward: "I suppose it would be interesting to study those other landscapes you mention, but really. It sounds so depressing! I'd rather be here, if you will not think me shallow for saying as much."

"Farming is dirty work; that hardly makes it ugly. Its beauty depends on whether they're succeeding, those dirty farmers," muses G'thon, still smiling, voice too serious. "Although not as much as our Lords might percieve." The bend of his shoulders is slight, just enough to let him tend tea, but he gains some small and wholly needless increasement of height in straightening his spine, saucers each in a hand. His own tea has already been slightly amended; he carries both over, and offers the unedited cup to Sakher. "Evidently, we would both rather be here, sir. - I did not catch you on which of my students you might have yet spoken to?"

"Oh! I slipped right past that," says Sakher, looking abashed. "I met... Let's see. Reyce and Laelle--both of them are in it, are they not? They were the first I really met. I understand that the Weyrwoman was previously part of the Caucus--she gave me the impression she had been part of it, too? And of course I've met..." He goes on to list several more names, ticking them off on the fingers of one hand, while he takes the tea with the other. Curling fingers about it, he takes that first sip and smiles delightedly. "It is wonderful, thank you, sir."

"They are, and they are in fact in subsection together," Gans replies, of Reyce and Laelle. He backs up once the tea's out of his hand, so as to set aside his own cup and saucer on an end table so he can return to the table for the pastries. While he walks he reflects on a few of the others Sakher names, finishing with, "And the Weyrwoman was in my class, yes. I am sorry to lose her, but she has greater challenges and pressures upon her schedule now. - The tea? It is an Igenite blend, one I haven't indulged in for - some time now." He says nothing about the pastries, but brings them back and puts the platter somewhere within reach.

"I do hope the others in their subsection are capable of talking?" Sakher asks, amused. "I had little enough luck with either of them, myself, though Laelle was at least more forthcoming after our initial get-to-know-yous." He leans forward slightly to accept a pastry as G'thon offers them wordlessly, though he leans back again without initiating the first bite. Instead, he notes, "Igen, really. I've not often had the privilege of enjoying their offerings, but I do like this one. The Weyrwoman, though--yes, I'm sure you're correct on that matter. I was thrilled enough she could take time from her schedule to meet with me not long after my arrival."

"Ginella is able," replies the ethics instructor, "and Neiran, with the right topic, truly able." Of talking, he must mean. He makes no other effort to tuck replies in among Sakher's speech; instead he retreats to his seat, stashing a cheese-cream pastry in one palm along the way, and folds himself into repose with legs crossed at the knee, saucer balanced on the arm of the chair and held steady by two fingertips. "Roa is still greatly interested in Caucus, I'm sure - and takes trouble to make time for meetings, as far as I have seen. Did you enjoy yours?"

"I've not made the acquaintance of either," admits Sakher, frowning briefly, then nibbling at his own pastry idly. "I shall have to make a point to do so. They must be very interesting people themselves, to be thusly capable." That grin is shortly back, never vanished for too long, and he nods enthusiastically to the latter question. "Oh, I did. We discussed my classes as well, and various personages of the Weyr--the headmaster, particularly. And of course, she had questions about Nabol and our current sitation--Five Mines and my brother the former Lord Odern. It was very interesting indeed."

"Ah," replies G'thon, between a sip of tea and a bite of pastry; he puts it down on the saucer after that and holds the cup alone in the cradle of his hands. "Five Mines. Somewhat an odd place, I suppose, though remote enough. You have assurance he's - doing well enough?" A pale brow slides up, but the old man still smiles his half-smile, for all the wry, curious treading-softly he's doing.

"You want him to be well?" Sakher's brows slide upward in surprise, and he peers at G'thon intently over his tea and pastry. "I haven't heard from him myself--he's effectively broken off contact with us, more's the pity. He... Well. My brother does not care to listen to the things he doesn't like, and our entreaties fall firmly within that category. But as I gather from the gossip, he manages well enough, considering, but I doubt his sulking will last much longer. He is not a man made for that sort of tiny hold, even if he can direct its affairs."

"I do not wish him to be ill," provides G'thon with wry ease from above his half-lifted teacup. He lifts it the rest of the way then, to sip and watch Sakher from behind the tilted rim. "Ah. You expect he'll return to the Hold and offer his services, then, to Sorel?"

"His services?" Sakher smiles again, shaking his head. "Oh, no; I'm not that blind. That would be too much for him to ask. In fact, I am, unfortunately, the only member of my family willing to set aside enough differences to work with my cousin the Lord Sorel. But, as I told the Weyrwoman, at least my prodigal brother can come home and do his scheming at home like everyone else does." A grin, joking.

The half-smile does not twitch, but nor does the lofted brow come down, and for a moment G'thon regards Sakher a little too unevenly from behind his teacup, not joking. Then: "Ah, of course. Well, the comforts of home, and all." To which he nods a little, twitches up both brows, and sips tea, like a toast.

"Indeed, sir," agrees Sakher with a quick nod as he half-lifts his own teacup in answer, mouth twisting wryly as he enjoys another sip then. He's silent in the wake of that, content to drink, and eat, and watch G'thon idly.

"Indeed," agrees G'thon, and drains his teacup pleasantly enough, enjoying silence as readily as he seems to do conversation. But in a time he must put down the cup and finish with the pastry and renew speech between them, or they will have no reason not to be here forever, and -that- would be inconvenient. "I suppose, then, you are forbidden to visit your brother?"

"No, not really," admits Sakher, glancing down at his tea and swirling it slowly around the cup before he takes another sip. "But to do so would be to throw in my lot with his, and I've little enough desire to do that--contrary to what my family sometimes believes, my loyalty to my lands precedes mine for my relatives. And, undeniably, my cousin Lord Sorel is better for Nabol itself."

"Undeniably," echoes G'thon, perhaps slightly rueful, but then - Odern's choices were disastrous, so rue is appropriate, even sympathetic. He gathers his teacup into the saucer, then gathers that up in turn into his hands, and sits there, regarding his company in a moment's silence before going on. "He was not, if you will allow for a moment an old man's opinion, a poor Lord before the Pass. We all have our foibles, of course. But he never seemed - well." The smiling side of his mouth twitches, and he glances up from an inspection of his empty cup, wry. "I certainly would not have predicted the situation Nabol now finds itself in. I have been a little surprised, actually, not to see it touched upon - at least in some roundabout way - by my students."

"He is my brother," admits Sakher, wryly, "and for that much, at least, I love him. But--foibles. Indeed." His shrug is vaguely helpless--a what-can-you-do shrug. "I certainly didn't predict it myself," he notes wistfully. "Such a shame--we were on the verge of making larger profits that turn than we had in any since my father died. I do hate to see us laid so low. But... No one has mentioned it at all? A shame! You should suggest it to some of the more enterprising ones--I would grant interviews," he notes, brows arching. Another sip of tea; then: "I've heard something of the assignment you've given your class of late."

"I see you have," replies G'thon, bemused, one brow twitching but resettling quickly enough. "Assuming I do come up with a group large enough for a subsection - three would do, four is ideal - I might like to begin a somewhat compressed version of the assignment for the new members of the class. Perhaps you could tell me what you've heard of it, so I am less inclined to be repetitive?"

"I should like, very much, to be able to participate in it myself," agrees Sakher, nodding enthusiastically to that prospect. "I have not delved too deeply into it yet, though it sounds deceptively simple as I understand it. One is to choose an injustice of some nature, and from there extrapolate why it is an injustice and argue that case. A few of your other students have mentioned to me the ones they have chosen, and we discussed those at more length then. You seem to have quite the range of injustices thus far: from the truly trivial to sweeping denouncements of our world order." A grin.

"I do. Unfortunately, one of the sweetest and smallest of the injustices proposed went aside when our Weyrwoman acquired that title," G'thon confides, amused enough to twinkle about it. "You might ask her, if you had not, what she chose. For the original assignment I asked my students to limit their original injustices to twelve words or less; by this I intended to force a certain level of simplicity - and inspecifity."

"I have not," confesses Sakher with a small shake of his head. "I had not become familiar with the assignment when I previously met with her, but I shall be certain to ask her when I see her again. But twelve words--" He breaks off thoughtfully, brows knitting slightly while he busies himself delicately taking the last bite of the pastry he's been nibbling on. "I see. That's very interesting indeed, a word limit. I imagine that was very difficult for some of the more, ah, verbose students." He has to smirk, the irony of his noting that certainly not lost on him.

"There were two for whom the primary assistance I gave was in trimming and narrowing," G'thon admits, drily. "I have not yet decided if I will impose the same limit on the new subsection, assuming of course that there is one. You have a bit of an advantage, perhaps, in discussing it with me before it's actually an assignment - have you any thoughts on the matter?"

Sakher's features contort into sheepishness for a brief instant before he can't hold back that smug smirk. "I have," he confesses. "The idea intrigued me enough I felt compelled to discover what I would choose, given the opportunity. I decided it should be something personal, for me and my present situation... Beyond that, however--" A pause to congeal his thoughts into form, and then, confident: "Within twelve words, an injustice: The firstborn is autmatically judged most fit to rule. I believe that is... nine words, yes? Three quarters of my allotment."

"Efficient," agrees G'thon, drier by the moment. He rises, then, and starts toward the table and tea again, though along the way he lets down a hand by Sakher and offers, "More tea?" Then, "Have you given thought to what the social standard or ethic defied and defined by that injustice might be?"

"Please, sir," says Sakher as he offers the teacup back toward the elder man. "I've inklings, but little order to my thoughts yet. I believe the injustice is that that /is/ the social standard--and I say this not as a youngest son (or at least not entirely thus)," he concedes the latter with a flash of smile, his head ducking slightly. "It goes against the Hold's right to have the best possible leader, is the thought that first came to my mind."

The ethics instructor takes the cup and saucer from his guest and goes to see about having both of them poured refills. "Ah, then - you would say that it -is- a right of, say, a Hold - to have, that is, the best possible leadership?" It takes him only a moment to get both cups poured, so in hardly any time he's heading back to offer Sakher's back to him. "Is that also a right of any other place?"

"The people have certain rights--to food and shelter and to their health--and, as in the case of my homeland," says Sakher, nodding once, "the confirmation of a less than ideal Lord can have disastrous repercussions on the protection of those rights. Thus it extends that they must have the right to the best Lord--the one who will protect best their other rights." Pause. He adds, after accepting anew his cup with another 'thank you', "And, logically, this right to the best leadership extends worldwide, I believe, but Holds are my particular expertise, and other locations have their own ways of choosing their leadership."

"So the method of choosing Lords," G'thon supplies, retreating again to his chair, reposing himself again within it, legs crossed, saucer on seat-arm, "is itself injust?"

"When one's chief criterion in selecting a person is their birth order," affirms Sakher, nodding once.

"I am not sure that is -actually- the chief criterion," muses G'thon, wry, but he nods as if he agrees enough with Sakher's remark and raises his tea to drink.

"Not always," Sakher will concede that much, "as the Conclave was willing to prove with my cousin the Lord Sorel. But it is, at least on occasion, the deciding factor, or am I entirely mistaken, sir?" He tilts his head slightly, brows sliding upward inquisitively. "I have not, of course, been part of Conclave myself, or privy to its inner workings, so perhaps I misjudge them, or let some bias of my own color my perceptions."

"I would suspect it is often the deciding factor when a Lord decides upon his heir himself," allows G'thon with an inclination of his head, another of those perhaps-agreeing nods. "One's first child, or first son to be quite specific, might have a place in one's heart that a Lord might not be willing to admit colors his perceptions as much as it could. And - " The hand that steadies the saucer risks a motion to wave off business of Conclave and bias. "-I- have certainly never been part of Conclave," though he does not touch upon privileged insight, "So please, feel free to make suppositions. I could perhaps suggest some interviews - ?"

"Perhaps that is the case," agrees Sakher, nodding soberly, lips downturned in thought. Though, at the latter offer, one corner of his mouth twitches up again, bemused. "Is this to be a true assignment, then, sir?" he asks. "I should appreciate your suggestions."

"I find it difficult to resist assigning it upon you when you have already given it so much thought," replies G'thon with more twinkle than wry now, mouth twitching in the lifted corner. "Let's see. Reyce, of course, if you don't mind abrupt and to-the-point responses. The Headmaster, if you can get Aida to schedule you in. Laelle, perhaps... It's sort of a shame that Greenfields departed. If he returns - ah, you might try Auree, she's a smith, in his absence. Perhaps Fienne as well? I might place her in your subsection, and she could give you a less, ah, Blooded perspective, yet an intimate one."

Sakher's expression keeps its thoughtful bent, as he fixes each name into his mind. "Reyce, the Headmaster via Aida--his assistant, I assume?--, Auree, Fienne, and (should he return), Greenfields. I do believe those are enough to keep me busy for some time, sir; though I will be certain to return should I be in search of additional perspectives--or simply perspective," he notes with a smile and a nod of his head toward G'thon. Then, another sip of tea, idle. "I should probably be on my way, though, sir," he finally confesses, wistful, reluctant. "Else I will have spent all dinner at tea, and kept you from more important things, as well, to be sure."

"His assistant," affirms G'thon, of Aida, and lets the others go without further comment save the note, "If you exhaust those options I am sure I could invent more." Then he sets his cup aside, ascertains that the saucer won't slip off the arm of the chair, and rises to put out a hand as final greeting and initial farewell to his guest. "And I should not busy too much of your time with talk, Sakher! But thank you so much for coming by. It is a delight to meet in Caucus a - " A pause, his smile wry for a moment, brow lofted. "- ah - real conversationalist.

"My chiefest skill in the world," confesses Sakher with a laugh as he moves to finish his tea and then set aside the cup so that he, too, can stand. Then, he offers his own hand to G'thon, with a bright smile. "It has been a delight--truly, all my pleasure, sir. I shall have to visit you again, at some point in the future, and perhaps then Miniyal will be able to join us. Do give her my best, sir, and have a good evening yourself," he offers in parting.

The handshake is brief but easy; the ethics instructor's palm and fingers quite cool, smooth, aged. "Perhaps we shall have dinner some time," he suggests. "I shall ask her about it, unless, of course, she beats me to it - as she sometimes does. In any case we shall have to meet another time soon." He turns then so as to accompany his guest to the door. "Thank you again, Sakher, and welcome to High Reaches."

"Thank you for having me," says Sakher, backing a step toward the door. "And I would enjoy that, very much. Good evening." And, with one of those half-bows that is so characteristic of him, Sakher makes his exit, slipping back out into the hallway.