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Post by Omnia Munda on Sept 28, 2008 14:03:50 GMT -8
J'fel had, over the months passed since moving into it, learned from watching the results of the efforts of the headwoman's staff how to make the place seem casual, formal, friendly or simply clean. It was the lattermost of these he aimed for today, on account of the profession of the crafter whose visit he expected. It was on account of her gender, too - though he did not dwell on that consciously.
He ran the dry towel over the low table and straightened, the damp rag still in his other hand from the initial wash. He had dusted the mantel, which was the worst of it - in winter, keeping a fire on all the time guaranteed there'd be dirt there - and wiped down the leather chairs beside the hearth, too. Folding the towel and rag together into a tidy bundle, he considered taking down glasses and brandy, and wondered if he should have had a bottle of wine sent up instead.
No matter, and no time to think of it now. He expected the healer any moment, so used the last of the time he had to disappear the rag and towel into the alcove behind the drape, atop the pile of laundry there waiting for some girl from the bowels of the weyr to fetch it in the morning. J'fel left the drape drawn: his imperfectly tended bedchamber was hidden behind it.
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Post by blueaid on Sept 28, 2008 14:46:39 GMT -8
The good news and the bad news.
The good news was that Rivaly was near-sighted, so she wasn't likely to see anything that wasn't within two or three feet of her, including dust. The bad news was that she had allergies, and recently disturbed dust was sure to-- yes, there she went, with a loud sneeze right on the threshold of J'fel's weyr. It was not the most dignified way to announce her presence, and she looked surprised with herself while she swiped a plain white handkerchief under her nose, but done was done.
She stepped inside with her hands folded behind her back, the handkerchief held in her fingers just-in-case, and took a look around the room with no attempt to hide that she was making assumptions about J'fel's character based on the quality of his personal accommodations. By the time her eyes had loitered on the furnishings and made their way to the Weyrleader's person, she raised a slight smile and a twitch of her eyebrows-- deductions made but unshared.
For her part, she'd done nothing to dress for the occasion. The infirmary smell clung to her, redwort and numbweed and herbs, and she had at some point pulled her hair into a hasty bun that unraveled without concern. To really drive home the bookworm look, her spectacles sat round-and-proper on the end of her nose. In a perfect healer's tone, she inquired from the entrance, "How can I help you, Weyrleader?" Any nerves she might have about being summoned by J'fel were carefully stowed beneath her serene veneer; he was, after all, just another head-case.
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Post by Omnia Munda on Oct 5, 2008 16:44:56 GMT -8
J'fel showed no sign of discomfort; the burden of unknown assumptions about his habits and character was long since a familiar one. He smiled, and murmured "good health" on account of the sneeze, and offered one-handed the way to one of those comfortable if overdone leather chairs.
"I have a request to make of you," the weyrleader replied, moving to the shelves and reaching up. Fingertips loitered at the edge of a shelf that bore flasks and glasses. "Can I get you a drink?"
J'fel was, at this point, just taking in the healer's relative disarray, and wondering if he might have timed his summons a little better, for her purposes at least. "If you have time to dally, that is. If it's a bad time, I could send the details by letter." So long as I can skip sending the name.
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Post by blueaid on Oct 5, 2008 17:32:42 GMT -8
"You can." Rivaly's eyes were bright behind the spectacles, and her smile appeared-and-disappeared in rapid succession to herald her own (very) little joke. "But I won't drink it, so perhaps it's better if you save it for someone else. Yourself?" The innocuous little question from this particular woman was threaded with a further intimation that she didn't even have to say, her expression so wholly open with the query: do you drink a lot? Let's talk about it...
By-letter sparked a shake of her head, her hand come to rest on the back of a chair into which she sank a moment later. Her hands studied the play of leather beneath them in a momentary silence before she caught on to the study of J'fel's own attention. To answer for her state-of-being; "The other option is antiseptically tidy, sir, and I've always thought disheveled puts people off less." As if it was his comfort that ought to be maintained. "I never have time to dally, did you not know your Weyr is full of madmen? Which I assume is why you have a request to make of me. Into whose head shall I peer, Weyrleader?"
His? She might enjoy it. He probably wouldn't.
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