sprent | INBOX

Mornings in the dining hall are usually the best time to catch up. Jude comes out with a plate of breakfast to sit next to Gela, and between them he places a few still-warm slices of bread, along with a little pot of jam.

"Don't know if you like rhubarb," he says, "But this is the first batch."

The dining hall is not as full as it might be at the peak of dinner hour—a steady churn of people coming and going, broken off conversation, chairs scraping and clay plates and tin cups. If Gela had started her meal in company, she is now set to finish it alone as the table clears.

And then she isn't, a plate set down on opposite her at the same table.

It wouldn't occur to Marcus to ask to do so, or sit down just after, despite that he never has before, certainly hasn't since the Dirthamen temple. He makes for a more ordinary shape out of his armor, less bulk about the shoulders in grey linen, greyer cotton, the faint scent of horse and hay about his person, and also he isn't half-cowering in a simultaneously waterlogged and dust strewn sunken temple bleeding from the leg.

He also has a tankard, and this stays in his hand as he says, "Evening," before taking a swig.

It's probably a little weird, when Clarisse slides into the spot across from Gela at the dining hall.

It's not strange that the two of them are both there at the same time—Clarisse almost never skips meals, and Gela seems to like hanging out in here—but while Clarisse isn't opposed to sitting with someone if they invite her to, she's not typically rushing over to initiate conversation.

Maybe she's overthinking this.

"If you had to apologize to somebody, how would you do it?"

Also, hello.

Gela? It’s Jayce. Quick question— got a few minutes?

Lia approaches Gela in a corridor off the dining hall.

"Good day!" She says warmly. "Are you--" Lia holds up the note that Gela left in her pigeonhole. "Gela?"

Lia knows for certain that she is, but it is only polite to feign ignorance if they haven't formally met.

Edited (i forgot to say it was an action even though its obviously an action) 2023-11-14 22:33 (UTC)

( a sampler selection of teas from a specialty shop (shoppe, even) in hightown, in a fine wooden box with segments for each tea. tied to the box, with ribbon, a brief note: )

Mademoiselle Baynrac,

I wish to express my sincerest apologies for both my behaviour during the debacle immediately after our first experience of Granitefell and the inexcusable delay in my acknowledging it. During a difficult time for us all, you were kind and patient; I regret that I was not. My treatment of you was wholly undeserved and will not be repeated.

Sincerely,
Madame de Cedoux

[ Let's say their date was interrupted by a sudden rainstorm or something (and not in a sexy way). mea culpa. ]

What do you think about bears?

[ There is context for this question. She was just busy at the time, and forgot to ask until now. ]

What's a tailor's favourite tree?

( it's not hard to bring to mind who in their company is nevarran; the accent is distinct. so: )

You speak the Nevarran language, ouais?

Mlle. Baynrac, I've been told that you're a skilled tailor. Do you take very small commissions?

Trademaster Baynrac, Quartermaster Tavane speaking. [ does she sound very fancy and formal, she's trying to. she's also laughing, a little, because it's silly, but they are very serious business people doing very serious business, hmph. ] Are you as fed up with this paper shortage as I am?

She and Gela have managed a few knitting lessons, here and there, though both of them are busy enough that meeting regularly has been somewhat haphazard. Today, though, she has her (metaphorical) Division Head hat on when she goes to track Gela down. Her demeanor isn't stern, or even worried, but the subject on her mind is a bit heavier than how to purl through the back loop.

She tries a few of Gela's usual haunts, in no rush. (She could always use the sending crystal if it was time-sensitive.) Given the autumn weather, Cosima may even be keeping her fingers crossed to find Gela outdoors where they can talk in the sunshine.

"We are going to label this,"

Standing before one of the haphazard shelves, hands set on her hips (at least one broken bobbin in her sheets that morning). They don't need to get rid of anything, but —

"It will have a place."

Hand loose in her hair, unwinding a tangle of curl,

"S'pose it wasn't such a bad dream."

Hers. There are things he doesn't tell her, and nightmares are only one: Magic makes her nervous. Home seems fraught. And it's easier, anyway, just talking on the here and now. Last night's dream. Some stupid letter they both read, another supply disruption, the rat he saw run off with a whole and steaming slice of pie. Or that joke they tried to tell Gwen, the one that didn't translate. The weather. The meaning of a rock.

If he's careful, he can pretend that here and now all there is. That they both woke up this morning in their separate rooms, ordinary clerks, and nothing outside. His breath is steady. Maybe tomorrow, it'll snow.

"I got a strange question," Not the sort you ask, if you think the answer's yes. "And y'can say if you don’t want to say. 'S just… d'you feel safe here?"

In Riftwatch, or with him, or in this crowded little room — blessedly empty, for a few hours, of all those who share it.

Messere Baynrac, [ this isn't a business call, so it isn't trademaster today, ] do you have a moment? I have a question, but it shouldn't take very long.

Action;

action, backdated to [mumble].

no subject

crystal;

action

delivered to gela's room.

crystal.

crystals;