Expectations
Location: Living Cavern
Time: Wee hours of Day 15, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Neiran, Miniyal, Roa
Scene: Three people can't sleep. A lazy little discussion is helped along by a drunken Miniyal, and the weyrwoman is alarmed to consider previously unconsidered possibilities.
It is only eight hours or so since Fall fell over Sattle hold, and four Wings rose to meet it with only one rider amongst them suffering an injury. By any standard, that's a Fall well flown, and the living cavern has been filled until only minutes ago with riders observing the rituals of celebration in their own little ways. Some dicing, some drinking, some both, some neither - but many until the wee hours that have now arrived, when there's no more food on the tables but for a few nibblies put out as a courtesy, and a kettle full of klah or water is often hard to find. The atmosphere of the living cavern is subdued as much of the Weyr now sleeps, and the slate grey skies outside continue to unleash their misty rains over the entire High Reaches region. Despite having warmth, dryness, and several hours of work and study to his name this day, rest isn't coming easily for Journeyman Neiran. Or perhaps he's deliberately keeping it at bay. His industriousness is obvious at first glance, hides strewn before him along with a few books, his own quill working rapidly on the cross-hatch shading of a dragon's thigh bone on the page in front of him. His face is downturned and oblivious to the world; so oblivious that in fact his self-consciousness is not present, and bits of his black hair frame his face without him heeding them and fastidiously tucking them away. He gives the illusion that the cavern's ceiling could cave inwards, and so long as no rubble touched his task, he would carry on.
This time of night she's not often found outside her room. Especially not alone. However, this time on this night Miniyal is stepping out of the kitchen alone. In one hand she has a pitcher and in the other she has a still warm pastry that she nibbles on. On an errand then and she found something to reward herself with on her way back to her room. The trek into the kitchen went without notice but on her way back with pastry and pitcher she has a bit less luck and perhaps she should have considered slipping on shoes and not coming out in the middle of the night in nothing but garish yellow and purple socks that clash, when seen, with the dress she still wears. So as she nibbles and carries one foot comes down just slightly wrong and water sloshes out from the pitcher and down the front of her dress. The curse is not very loud, but the room is very quiet so the muffled oath is not entirely able to missed.
From the misty not-yet-morning comes a small slight figure who looks significantly more sleepy than the busy healer. The little weyrwoman trudges inside with a yawn and drifts over to where a few clean mugs remain. She fills one with hot water and squeezes a wedge of citrus into it. But there's nothing else mixed in. Just lemony hot water. Mug cradled in her hands, she looks around the near-empty cavern. So many vacant tables, but she starts to move towards the occupied one. Until a pair of yellow and purple socks appear with Miniyal attached. She winces at the slosh. "Are you all right?" Her own voice mst be lifted a bit to carry the distance between herself and the other woman.
Neiran's pen pauses at the sound of the oath. While his face remains slanted downward, his dark eyes slide up, and he surreptitiously becomes aware of the two women. This angle of viewing, unbeknownst to him, casts the lines of his face in a somewhat sinister light; the flickering amber glow of the hearth fire to his right does little to dispel the aura of a madman leering at women from afar. But the Journeyman corrects his posture and lifts his chin, and it's simply Neiran again; cool and aloof, but certainly not ominous in any fashion. He blinks faintly bloodshot eyes once or twice, and squints them. Only now that he's looked away from the page does he realize how overworked they are. His lips become a thin line, and with the dazed slowness of a dreamer suddenly woken, he makes to clean up his workplace.
Having stopped where she was when the accident happened, Miniyal allows the water to puddle at her feet and soak her socks as well. A heavy sigh as she looks down at herself. Followed by a larger bite of her pastry because a little water got on it and she must consume that part before it gets soggy. She's busy chewing when she hears the question and her head tilts up. Drat. Someone saw. "Fine," is mumbled around the remains of the bite she just took and after she swallows there is elaboration. "Slipped. Only spilled part of it. Just water." Neiran has been noticed, likely was noticed on her first trip through the room, but since he seems busy she doesn't send a greeting his way. She just focuses on Roa and gives the other woman a brief smile. Very brief, but still, she's clearly trying.
"Here..." Roa heads over to Neiran's table, because it's midway between points A and B, and because she wants to offer the Journeyman a nod. Her own mug is set down and she walks toward Miniyal. "Can I take something? You want some towels or...?" Or a nebulous something else than Miniyal will be left to describe.
"If I can be of assistance, Weyrwoman, please do not hesitate to call on me." That's from Neiran's quarter, of course, voice distinct despite its softness. He doesn't rush to his feet just yet, assuming that the rider of a queen dragon can capably deal with a little water spillage. Having done the polite thing and offered nonetheless, he nods in acknowledgment of Miniyal, and returns to the task of cleaning up with sluggish, precise gestures. These hides are stacked, here, and bound in string once again before being set aside. The page he was on is left to dry. The ink is stoppered, the quill cleaned with a blotting cloth. It's about then that he realizes his hair is all awry, when his own movements cause the little tendrils to brush against his cheeks. A cautious look at his hands shows them to have smudges of ink on certain parts of them. So, careful not to touch any such part on his skin or hair, he attempts to put his coiffure to rights again while looking dignified.
"No, I'm fine. I'll just be changing when I get back to my room." Changing sounds much more polite than anything else she might have said regarding the state of her dress in her room. Miniyal just lets out another sigh. "I'll need to brave the kitchen again, of course." This statement is followed by her finishing off her pastry and this has her nodding once. "Ohh. There's still pastries in there though." Cheered up by this thought once she has licked her fingers clean she steps away from the puddle and looks down at her feet. "Drat. But my socks are wet. I like these socks and they'll get- Oh." Halfway seems to work for her so she heads towards Neiran's table as well and takes a seat a decent distance from him. The pitcher is set down and then she lifts her feet, one at a time, to remove her socks. Barefoot seems better then getting her wet socks dirty.
"I think we're all right," Roa says to the Journeyman and his thoughtful offer. Then she's left to watch Miniyal move towards the door...no, the kitchen...no, Neiran's table, where the weyrwoman's mug of lemon water still steams. So, she heads that way as well, nudging back a chair and sinking down. She cannot help a smile at the peeling of socks, and then she says to Neiran, "you look exhausted, you know."
By the time the two women join him, Neiran has managed to get the table organized, while his hair is still giving him a bit of trouble. It's the slightly inky fingers, you see. He tests the smears by rubbing them with a fingertip, and after all his fuss discovers them to be old and dried, in no danger of getting on his skin. Roa's remark forestalls his further primping efforts, however, reducing the Journeyman to an expression of mild dismay, brows raised and lips pursed. "I did not realize the hour," he says pithily. Gathering his composure and his presence, he squares his shoulders once again and looks past Roa and Miniyal to the interior of the living cavern, finding it empty. "I...come to realize that it must be beyond the midnight hour. ...and that I am famished." Slowly, mechanically, he rises from his seat, presumably preparing to embark on a quest for food. "I must beg pardon of you both, Weyrwoman, Miniyal. But if I do not procure sustenance at this point in time, I believe I would suffer from undesirable consequences."
Once the socks are off her feet, Miniyal rolls them together and then sets them on the table. "Watch these. Don't let anyone take them. They're some of my favorites." She has weird taste in socks. She also might have had a bit too much to drink at dinner and after dinner and, well, yes. It would, if nothing else, explain the overly cheerful mood even when drenched in water and barefoot in the living cavern. Taking up her pitcher once more she stands and then sits back down. It seems if Neiran is going to excuse himself she'll sit with Roa while he seeks out food. Pulling her feet up off the floor she tucks one of them under her and lets the other hang above the stone. As one hand wipes at the water on her dress which does nothing at all really she looks at Roa. "Up early or late?"
"Time is sneaky like that," Roa chuckles as Neiran explains his sleepiness. She nods as he rises and heads off for sustenance, and then the too-chipper Miniyal is observed. Roa's hand comes up to cover a yawn and she sighs. "Just...up. I -was- sleeping, but then I woke up and just couldn't anymore. Which is a bit annoying, considering I've spent the last couple days having a hard time staying awake." She rolls her eyes. "If I'm about to break with a cold or a flu or something, I wish it would just happen and be over with."
Neiran wanders off by his lonesome to the food tables, and finds them bereft of much beyond petty meats and starches, as he expected. He vocalizes no complaint, however, and promises to satisfy his sudden appetite by en-massing a considerable portion. A considerable portion by the Journeyman's definition is not the same as another's; his forthcoming meal is perhaps half a plate comprised of jerked beef and buttered bread. He makes his way back to the table without as much crispness in the connection of his heels with flagstones. He slips into his seat again wordlessly. Once settled, arranging his napkin on his lap, he looks to the two women and murmurs, "my apologies." For being so discourteous as to see to eating immediately so as not to faint - that occupies the mouth, you see, and prohibits him from making any small talk. The next moment the Journeyman's mouth is full of bread and jerky, and he chews.
"Maybe you're pregnant." Miniyal offers this thought with a grin. "That can make people tired and so on and so forth." This thought is given and then dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Or you might want to be checked out. I mean, after all, it's not like we haven't lost. . .well, I'd make sure it's nothing." Nodding her head at this she then looks at Neiran and bobs her head once. "Should have gone into the kitchen. They keep good stuff hidden in there. Just have to know who to ask. Oh. I should have gotten you something since I need to go in there anyway. Water. For tea. I really am not overly fond of tea but it's much easier to just drink it when wine is not available." Tapping a finger against the side of the pitcher she looks at Roa more carefully. "You don't look pregnant."
The weyrwoman laughs at this multiple and varied diagnosis by Miniyal: inebriated healer. "Oh no. I'm certainly not. As far as all that's concerned, I think I'm right on..." then she stops, brows drawing sharply downward, gaze falling to her hands and the table. Her lips move, but she's only mouthing whatever's flitting through her thoughts, and then she looks up again, still frowning. "Hang on. It's the -fifteenth-?"
While Roa laughs, the actual healer present looks like he has something to object to. Too bad he has bread in his mouth at the moment. He doesn't hasten his chewing to clear his mouth to protest, but simply follows the back-and-forth with his eyes. He swallows the masticated mouthful, cleans his teeth behind his lips with a swipe of the tongue, and remarks, "Weyrwoman, it is unlikely that you need to be concerned at this very moment. I was taught that many factors can cause slight variation in even a regular woman's cycle. If, however, in three days you are still concerned, perhaps a visit to the infirmary would be prudent. ...if it is not intrusive and presumptuous of me to say so." One can never tell how women are going to react to one piping up about their plumbing and giving them advice about it. Wisely, he takes another bite of bread, sliding his eyes to Miniyal, belatedly acknowledging her own advice towards him about the kitchen.
Blinking several times, Miniyal peers at Roa and then frowns as she scratches her head. "Oh. Umm. I think so. Wait. Was yesterday the fourteenth. Yes. It was. So, yes. Today is the fifteenth. Of course, it is just barely." Shaking her head slowly she grabs her balled up socks and stuffs them into one of her pockets. Clearly she doesn't trust them to keep an eye on her socks should they still be around when she has to refill the water. "At least it's too late to be R'vain's." Good news, see? She even smiles brightly at Roa after delivering it. Then she glances to Neiran. "That's a good idea. We should be keeping an eye on her anyway. Last thing we need is to lose another weyrwoman when things might be settling down." Cheerful and helpful.
For all of this clinical and helpful advice, Roa has only this to say: "Bloody hell." She breathes in slowly, closes her eyes, and opens them again, nodding faintly. "I suppose I'll do that, Journeyman. Thank you for the offer. Do not be offended if I hope I needn't take you up on it." Neiran is offered a nod and then the weyrwoman rises from her seat and looks over at Miniyal. "Fate does offer us tiny favors now and again," she notes a touch dryly. "I shall do my utmost not to..." but she cannot quite finish whatever horrible joke she started, and there is only a small headshake and a wry smile. "Goodnight, Miniyal. Journeyman. I think I'm best off just trying for sleep again."
"Good evening, Weyrwoman Roa," Neiran murmurs when next his mouth is free of bread. "Rest well." The gaze that slides silkily to Miniyal expresses subtle disapproval at the intimation that they ought to be watching Roa 'anyways.' He either chooses to say nothing or musters up nothing to say, for the next time his mouth moves it's only to chew again. He already apologized for being asocial, you see; he's preoccupied enough as it is chewing his food and trying not to squint like a photosensitive tunnelsnake what with the latent eye strain setting in.
"Good night! Well, morning! It is late. Oh. I shouldn't be here much longer." Miniyal rises to her feet and looks around for a minute. "What was I-oh! Water. Right." When it comes to her mind, and it takes a moment, she calls after Roa, "I won't tell anyone." Isn't she so kind. Looking back to Neiran she smiles at him. "I should let you eat. And rest. You should get some rest too I suppose. It's amazing how few people sleep around here. I never have, not since I was a kid, but still. Anyway. I don't want you to feel as if you're socially obligated to entertain me while you eat because that is not very nice so I'll just take my stuff and go get water and maybe a few pastries."
Time: Wee hours of Day 15, Month 4, Turn 3
Players: Neiran, Miniyal, Roa
Scene: Three people can't sleep. A lazy little discussion is helped along by a drunken Miniyal, and the weyrwoman is alarmed to consider previously unconsidered possibilities.
It is only eight hours or so since Fall fell over Sattle hold, and four Wings rose to meet it with only one rider amongst them suffering an injury. By any standard, that's a Fall well flown, and the living cavern has been filled until only minutes ago with riders observing the rituals of celebration in their own little ways. Some dicing, some drinking, some both, some neither - but many until the wee hours that have now arrived, when there's no more food on the tables but for a few nibblies put out as a courtesy, and a kettle full of klah or water is often hard to find. The atmosphere of the living cavern is subdued as much of the Weyr now sleeps, and the slate grey skies outside continue to unleash their misty rains over the entire High Reaches region. Despite having warmth, dryness, and several hours of work and study to his name this day, rest isn't coming easily for Journeyman Neiran. Or perhaps he's deliberately keeping it at bay. His industriousness is obvious at first glance, hides strewn before him along with a few books, his own quill working rapidly on the cross-hatch shading of a dragon's thigh bone on the page in front of him. His face is downturned and oblivious to the world; so oblivious that in fact his self-consciousness is not present, and bits of his black hair frame his face without him heeding them and fastidiously tucking them away. He gives the illusion that the cavern's ceiling could cave inwards, and so long as no rubble touched his task, he would carry on.
This time of night she's not often found outside her room. Especially not alone. However, this time on this night Miniyal is stepping out of the kitchen alone. In one hand she has a pitcher and in the other she has a still warm pastry that she nibbles on. On an errand then and she found something to reward herself with on her way back to her room. The trek into the kitchen went without notice but on her way back with pastry and pitcher she has a bit less luck and perhaps she should have considered slipping on shoes and not coming out in the middle of the night in nothing but garish yellow and purple socks that clash, when seen, with the dress she still wears. So as she nibbles and carries one foot comes down just slightly wrong and water sloshes out from the pitcher and down the front of her dress. The curse is not very loud, but the room is very quiet so the muffled oath is not entirely able to missed.
From the misty not-yet-morning comes a small slight figure who looks significantly more sleepy than the busy healer. The little weyrwoman trudges inside with a yawn and drifts over to where a few clean mugs remain. She fills one with hot water and squeezes a wedge of citrus into it. But there's nothing else mixed in. Just lemony hot water. Mug cradled in her hands, she looks around the near-empty cavern. So many vacant tables, but she starts to move towards the occupied one. Until a pair of yellow and purple socks appear with Miniyal attached. She winces at the slosh. "Are you all right?" Her own voice mst be lifted a bit to carry the distance between herself and the other woman.
Neiran's pen pauses at the sound of the oath. While his face remains slanted downward, his dark eyes slide up, and he surreptitiously becomes aware of the two women. This angle of viewing, unbeknownst to him, casts the lines of his face in a somewhat sinister light; the flickering amber glow of the hearth fire to his right does little to dispel the aura of a madman leering at women from afar. But the Journeyman corrects his posture and lifts his chin, and it's simply Neiran again; cool and aloof, but certainly not ominous in any fashion. He blinks faintly bloodshot eyes once or twice, and squints them. Only now that he's looked away from the page does he realize how overworked they are. His lips become a thin line, and with the dazed slowness of a dreamer suddenly woken, he makes to clean up his workplace.
Having stopped where she was when the accident happened, Miniyal allows the water to puddle at her feet and soak her socks as well. A heavy sigh as she looks down at herself. Followed by a larger bite of her pastry because a little water got on it and she must consume that part before it gets soggy. She's busy chewing when she hears the question and her head tilts up. Drat. Someone saw. "Fine," is mumbled around the remains of the bite she just took and after she swallows there is elaboration. "Slipped. Only spilled part of it. Just water." Neiran has been noticed, likely was noticed on her first trip through the room, but since he seems busy she doesn't send a greeting his way. She just focuses on Roa and gives the other woman a brief smile. Very brief, but still, she's clearly trying.
"Here..." Roa heads over to Neiran's table, because it's midway between points A and B, and because she wants to offer the Journeyman a nod. Her own mug is set down and she walks toward Miniyal. "Can I take something? You want some towels or...?" Or a nebulous something else than Miniyal will be left to describe.
"If I can be of assistance, Weyrwoman, please do not hesitate to call on me." That's from Neiran's quarter, of course, voice distinct despite its softness. He doesn't rush to his feet just yet, assuming that the rider of a queen dragon can capably deal with a little water spillage. Having done the polite thing and offered nonetheless, he nods in acknowledgment of Miniyal, and returns to the task of cleaning up with sluggish, precise gestures. These hides are stacked, here, and bound in string once again before being set aside. The page he was on is left to dry. The ink is stoppered, the quill cleaned with a blotting cloth. It's about then that he realizes his hair is all awry, when his own movements cause the little tendrils to brush against his cheeks. A cautious look at his hands shows them to have smudges of ink on certain parts of them. So, careful not to touch any such part on his skin or hair, he attempts to put his coiffure to rights again while looking dignified.
"No, I'm fine. I'll just be changing when I get back to my room." Changing sounds much more polite than anything else she might have said regarding the state of her dress in her room. Miniyal just lets out another sigh. "I'll need to brave the kitchen again, of course." This statement is followed by her finishing off her pastry and this has her nodding once. "Ohh. There's still pastries in there though." Cheered up by this thought once she has licked her fingers clean she steps away from the puddle and looks down at her feet. "Drat. But my socks are wet. I like these socks and they'll get- Oh." Halfway seems to work for her so she heads towards Neiran's table as well and takes a seat a decent distance from him. The pitcher is set down and then she lifts her feet, one at a time, to remove her socks. Barefoot seems better then getting her wet socks dirty.
"I think we're all right," Roa says to the Journeyman and his thoughtful offer. Then she's left to watch Miniyal move towards the door...no, the kitchen...no, Neiran's table, where the weyrwoman's mug of lemon water still steams. So, she heads that way as well, nudging back a chair and sinking down. She cannot help a smile at the peeling of socks, and then she says to Neiran, "you look exhausted, you know."
By the time the two women join him, Neiran has managed to get the table organized, while his hair is still giving him a bit of trouble. It's the slightly inky fingers, you see. He tests the smears by rubbing them with a fingertip, and after all his fuss discovers them to be old and dried, in no danger of getting on his skin. Roa's remark forestalls his further primping efforts, however, reducing the Journeyman to an expression of mild dismay, brows raised and lips pursed. "I did not realize the hour," he says pithily. Gathering his composure and his presence, he squares his shoulders once again and looks past Roa and Miniyal to the interior of the living cavern, finding it empty. "I...come to realize that it must be beyond the midnight hour. ...and that I am famished." Slowly, mechanically, he rises from his seat, presumably preparing to embark on a quest for food. "I must beg pardon of you both, Weyrwoman, Miniyal. But if I do not procure sustenance at this point in time, I believe I would suffer from undesirable consequences."
Once the socks are off her feet, Miniyal rolls them together and then sets them on the table. "Watch these. Don't let anyone take them. They're some of my favorites." She has weird taste in socks. She also might have had a bit too much to drink at dinner and after dinner and, well, yes. It would, if nothing else, explain the overly cheerful mood even when drenched in water and barefoot in the living cavern. Taking up her pitcher once more she stands and then sits back down. It seems if Neiran is going to excuse himself she'll sit with Roa while he seeks out food. Pulling her feet up off the floor she tucks one of them under her and lets the other hang above the stone. As one hand wipes at the water on her dress which does nothing at all really she looks at Roa. "Up early or late?"
"Time is sneaky like that," Roa chuckles as Neiran explains his sleepiness. She nods as he rises and heads off for sustenance, and then the too-chipper Miniyal is observed. Roa's hand comes up to cover a yawn and she sighs. "Just...up. I -was- sleeping, but then I woke up and just couldn't anymore. Which is a bit annoying, considering I've spent the last couple days having a hard time staying awake." She rolls her eyes. "If I'm about to break with a cold or a flu or something, I wish it would just happen and be over with."
Neiran wanders off by his lonesome to the food tables, and finds them bereft of much beyond petty meats and starches, as he expected. He vocalizes no complaint, however, and promises to satisfy his sudden appetite by en-massing a considerable portion. A considerable portion by the Journeyman's definition is not the same as another's; his forthcoming meal is perhaps half a plate comprised of jerked beef and buttered bread. He makes his way back to the table without as much crispness in the connection of his heels with flagstones. He slips into his seat again wordlessly. Once settled, arranging his napkin on his lap, he looks to the two women and murmurs, "my apologies." For being so discourteous as to see to eating immediately so as not to faint - that occupies the mouth, you see, and prohibits him from making any small talk. The next moment the Journeyman's mouth is full of bread and jerky, and he chews.
"Maybe you're pregnant." Miniyal offers this thought with a grin. "That can make people tired and so on and so forth." This thought is given and then dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Or you might want to be checked out. I mean, after all, it's not like we haven't lost. . .well, I'd make sure it's nothing." Nodding her head at this she then looks at Neiran and bobs her head once. "Should have gone into the kitchen. They keep good stuff hidden in there. Just have to know who to ask. Oh. I should have gotten you something since I need to go in there anyway. Water. For tea. I really am not overly fond of tea but it's much easier to just drink it when wine is not available." Tapping a finger against the side of the pitcher she looks at Roa more carefully. "You don't look pregnant."
The weyrwoman laughs at this multiple and varied diagnosis by Miniyal: inebriated healer. "Oh no. I'm certainly not. As far as all that's concerned, I think I'm right on..." then she stops, brows drawing sharply downward, gaze falling to her hands and the table. Her lips move, but she's only mouthing whatever's flitting through her thoughts, and then she looks up again, still frowning. "Hang on. It's the -fifteenth-?"
While Roa laughs, the actual healer present looks like he has something to object to. Too bad he has bread in his mouth at the moment. He doesn't hasten his chewing to clear his mouth to protest, but simply follows the back-and-forth with his eyes. He swallows the masticated mouthful, cleans his teeth behind his lips with a swipe of the tongue, and remarks, "Weyrwoman, it is unlikely that you need to be concerned at this very moment. I was taught that many factors can cause slight variation in even a regular woman's cycle. If, however, in three days you are still concerned, perhaps a visit to the infirmary would be prudent. ...if it is not intrusive and presumptuous of me to say so." One can never tell how women are going to react to one piping up about their plumbing and giving them advice about it. Wisely, he takes another bite of bread, sliding his eyes to Miniyal, belatedly acknowledging her own advice towards him about the kitchen.
Blinking several times, Miniyal peers at Roa and then frowns as she scratches her head. "Oh. Umm. I think so. Wait. Was yesterday the fourteenth. Yes. It was. So, yes. Today is the fifteenth. Of course, it is just barely." Shaking her head slowly she grabs her balled up socks and stuffs them into one of her pockets. Clearly she doesn't trust them to keep an eye on her socks should they still be around when she has to refill the water. "At least it's too late to be R'vain's." Good news, see? She even smiles brightly at Roa after delivering it. Then she glances to Neiran. "That's a good idea. We should be keeping an eye on her anyway. Last thing we need is to lose another weyrwoman when things might be settling down." Cheerful and helpful.
For all of this clinical and helpful advice, Roa has only this to say: "Bloody hell." She breathes in slowly, closes her eyes, and opens them again, nodding faintly. "I suppose I'll do that, Journeyman. Thank you for the offer. Do not be offended if I hope I needn't take you up on it." Neiran is offered a nod and then the weyrwoman rises from her seat and looks over at Miniyal. "Fate does offer us tiny favors now and again," she notes a touch dryly. "I shall do my utmost not to..." but she cannot quite finish whatever horrible joke she started, and there is only a small headshake and a wry smile. "Goodnight, Miniyal. Journeyman. I think I'm best off just trying for sleep again."
"Good evening, Weyrwoman Roa," Neiran murmurs when next his mouth is free of bread. "Rest well." The gaze that slides silkily to Miniyal expresses subtle disapproval at the intimation that they ought to be watching Roa 'anyways.' He either chooses to say nothing or musters up nothing to say, for the next time his mouth moves it's only to chew again. He already apologized for being asocial, you see; he's preoccupied enough as it is chewing his food and trying not to squint like a photosensitive tunnelsnake what with the latent eye strain setting in.
"Good night! Well, morning! It is late. Oh. I shouldn't be here much longer." Miniyal rises to her feet and looks around for a minute. "What was I-oh! Water. Right." When it comes to her mind, and it takes a moment, she calls after Roa, "I won't tell anyone." Isn't she so kind. Looking back to Neiran she smiles at him. "I should let you eat. And rest. You should get some rest too I suppose. It's amazing how few people sleep around here. I never have, not since I was a kid, but still. Anyway. I don't want you to feel as if you're socially obligated to entertain me while you eat because that is not very nice so I'll just take my stuff and go get water and maybe a few pastries."