Ariele, Ibrahim


Ariele has more questions for Ibrahim. This time, he has questions back (not to mention a certain amount of flirtation).


It is before dawn of the twenty-eighth day of the third month of the fourteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Nighthearth, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 15 Jun 2018 23:00


ariele_default.jpg ibrahim_default.jpg

"Hmm, yes. Perhaps we shall be ambassadors of two warring cultures, finally bringing the two sides together to face a greater menace."



A comfortable nook, this natural extension of the living room is cozily attired with overstuffed chairs and a couple of well-worn loveseats. All have been covered in various shades of green, giving the very incongruous appeal of a miniature forest hidden away inside… a grove of man-made proportion. Fish stews and spicy white-wherry chili are often kept hot on the minor hearths east and west of the main, for those whose hours defy when meals are kept. Ornate, the largest hearth towers high, rich with carving and utilitarian in fashion: it holds court by providing the weyr with rich klah, the air thick with the scent of cinnamon wafting.

Early mornings are for suckers, or so say the lazy and the overworked. However, there is one small slice of folk that actually enjoy it — the overnight worker, those men and women whose workdays begin when everyone else's ends. These folk usually have time to enjoy the sun's rising brilliance, to spend a little time awash in the beauty of all those changing colors. Not today, however for the autumn rains make early morning as dreary as the haters suggest it is. And yet, there is that chance that someone will be out and about anyway, and there is! Ibrahim, fresh from his shift in the Infirmary, still in his working clothes of a slim-fit shirt — brownie points for having kept it on long enough to reach the nightheath, though it's unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder. Soon enough he'll have it off, whether the scandalized among the Weyr like it or not. So, too, are his trousers still on, though his shoes seem to have gone missing on the way. His long hair is loose, and he looks altogether rumpled and sleepy. Must have been a boring shift he mostly slept through. To the klah with him, for he obviously needs it.

Ariele walks, in the morning, before work. She doesn't run, but she always aims to get in a good, refreshing power-walk. Perhaps not this morning, though, because although she's dressed in the more casual (but still exceptionally tidy) attire that generally accompanies such walks, she's only mildly damp rather than soaked through, and fidgety rather than post-walk relaxed. She's coincidentally only a few steps behind Ibrahim, though perhaps doesn't register this until she's stepping up alongside him at the klah pot. "Oh!" she says, though whether it's because of Ibrahim himself or just the unbuttoned state of his shirt is more difficult to tell. And: "Good morning."

Sounds about right — most don't know what to react to most about this particular wildling. "Oh, indeed." And: "Good morning." Wait, should he button his shirt now? Klah in hand, he looks down at his bared chest and smoothly pulls the shirt closed. Whoops. Er. He's been caught being undignified — quick, distract her! "The rain has disrupted your walk, I see." For he's noticed that she does these things every morning; it is an unusual occurence to see someone who does not run for exercise, at least among the Weyr residents and riders. They seem fiendishly dedicated to racing about, for the most part. "How are you?" Other than damp and fidgety, that is.

Look. That particular reaction? The supposed lack of dignity? It draws amusement from the assistant headwoman, visible in her eyes and in the twitch of her mouth. To her credit (perhaps), she doesn't comment on it, and allows the distraction, instead. "I took about three steps," she agrees, "and realised I'd probably drown before I made it thirty more. It's not fit weather for anyone out there." She pours her own klah, bypassing all additives: she drinks it straight, though for now she'll merely hold the mug between two hands, giving them - at least temporarily - something to do. "I may need half a dozen circuits of the caverns, but I'll survive, I'm sure. Night shift?" She gestures towards Ibrahim himself. "But not, I'm guessing, an especially busy one?"

Ibrahim will share her amusement. He's well abl for a little laughter at his own expense, especially when he knows he looks a bit — silly. Ah, well, most Caverns folk have already seen him wandering around in little more than a pair of shorts by now, as it is. They shall both survive the day. "Yes… I am, for once, dreading going back to my tent. I like to go into water, but this is ridiculous." There's apparently such a thing as too much water, even for Ibrahim! As for the state of mild half-dress, he'll shrug affably. "So dull we slept much of the time. Even the usual hypochondriacs stayed in bed for a change."

"Your tent will still be dry, I hope?" Ariele's curiosity is genuine, her brows lifting quizzically as she considers this. "I'd worry about things flooding, or being swept away, in a mess like that." A slight exaggeration, and yet. "I suppose the idea of living indoors isn't as comfortable for you? I'm guessing." And, because she seems to want to offer a way out of her own curiosity: "Perhaps it's the rain that kept everyone in their beds, last night."

One hopes. "It's likely to have survived." If not, Ibrahim will simply have to redo the thing — fortunately, he has places to store anything of significant value within the Weyr itself. A perk of being willing to work with the Weyr. "I've managed to secure things so that my home isn't easy to sweep away. It could happen, though." He considers with a chuckle. How well he remembers learning how not to lose one's tent through the simple expedient of losing his tent when he was much younger. "Living within stone walls… it's unncomfortable. We make use of caves when we need to, but prefer the open sky and the cover of the trees whenever we can." And then, he laughs, delighted. "Probably. Lest they be struck with more illess by the deadlie rain."

Ariele's nose wrinkles just slightly - not, it seems, with distaste or disapproval, but with thoughtfulness. The shiver that follows, however, comes with an admission of, "I fear I'm too holdbred: the idea of sleeping without the safety of walls is as uncomfortable for me as living within them is for you. All that openness, all that room for who-knows-what to sneak up on you, not to mention threadfall. But I imagine that which feels like safety to me, feels constricting to you. Different experiences." She lifts her mug towards her mouth again, but stops short of taking a sip. "We've at least one wildling— I've never asked. Do you use that term for yourselves, or is that something we've imposed upon you?"

A point, that: walls have so many meanings, within the eye of the one who beholds them. Safety, or a cage? Ibrahim is undecided. For the right price, he is content to have a bit of both worlds; the constriction of walls when it's needed, and the freedom to go without them when he wishes. Lately, it seems, he has begun to consider staying within the Weyr proper more, though the idea still makes him shudder, on occasion. "It's a term we do not use for ourselves, or among ourselves. We have names, even as you do." His gentle smile hopefully takes the sting out of that. "For instance, my family clan are known as the Chayeeli." There's both pride and pain in naming that identity, for the time is coming where he simply must choose who he is: Chayeeli, or Weyrman?

"I will do my best to remember that," promises Ariele, faithfully, her lips forming the name several times, but silently, as an aide-memoire. "And not impose our northern norms upon you." Despite these so-prompt words, she's studying Ibrahim, and there's something hesitant in the way she does so. "I feel like I always end up quizzing you on things, for which I apologise. It's not my intention to make you feel like I'm… studying you, or using you as my personal educator or anything, Ibrahim. You can tell me, if my questions become annoying. Or if they already have."

"On the contrary, Ariele," Ibrahim assures her softly, "The very fact that you wish to know is something I appreciate deeply. It means something to me." What, precisely, he does not expand upon, not yet. Soon enough will she find that out! "So. No apologies needed for asking. I can see you wish to understand." He offers Ariele his most charming smile. "Besides, having a pretty woman asking me so many questions gives me an opportunity." Mischief sparkles, boyish and not at all dignified. "It would be inexcusable of me not to answer you, or to look at you while I answer you, would it not?"

Relieved, Ariele's expression softens: she's clearly pleased by Ibrahim's response. That she's not bothering him with her curiosity can only be a good thing! Of course, then there's that charming smile, and the rest of what he has to say, and that, perhaps unsurprisingly, makes her blush. Clutching her mug just a little more tightly between both hands, and lifting it just a little further so that it hides (ok: attempts, and badly, to hide) her pink-cheeked face, she accuses, albeit good-naturedly, "You're a terrible flirt. But thank you, for reassuring me." And for the compliment too, probably: she likely doesn't actually mean 'terrible' to mean 'bad'.

"So they tell me," Ibrahim will agree cheerfully. He is a terrible flirt; he's developed a certain pride around that small feature. "And you are very good to put up with it. For that, my thanks." It's just fun to make a woman blush; it would seem Ibrahim is very, very good at aking northern girls turn pretty colors. He's harmless, really. "Seriously, you're welcome. I'm of th firm belief that understanding between our peoples will ease the political tension somewhat. We must share this continent. And I have simply been dying to know more about you." Ariele in particular, or northern folk in general? Who can say; Ibrahim is exceedingly curious about both..

Ariele snorts, but good-naturedly. At least this allows her flush to subside, inch by inch, and lets her take a moment to actually sip from her steadily-cooling klah. "I think you're right," she agrees, electing to focus on the safer (and less blush-making!) territory of politics. "The Weyr isn't going anywhere, but neither, I think, are your people, or any of the other tribes. I know things aren't as tense as they've been in the past, but people like you are vital to helping us understand better, and that's important. I can't imagine there's a great deal I can tell you about us," clearly she's choosing to interpret that last comment in the more general sense, "that you don't already know, but I'm happy to do my best."

Oh, good, for Ibrahim realized too late how that could have been interpreted. Not that he would be adverse to knowing more about Ariele personally — he's just not entirely certain that she would welcome more serious advances as yet. But he shall find out, little by little. He's a patient man. "No, I don't believe the Weyr will be going anywhere, much as many tribes wish otherwise. I do wonder, though: Does the leadership wish to force upon us a northern style of living? It's a fear of ours, you know — that we should be forced to live as Holders do. Some wish it; others much prefer to remain nomadic. It's difficult to understand, I suppose, but…" He shrugs, unable to quite explain it. "… there's something… freeing in being able to move through the seasons, to care for the land in the way that allows it to recover properly, as opposed to overusing it. And claiming patches of it as though it's… a possession to wear out."

"I'm not privy to the strategic plans of our Weyrleaders," admits Ariele, though there's determination in her tone that adds an unspoken but authoritative 'yet', "But I can't believe that would be the intention. The continent is enormous, and the Weyr itself doesn't need land, not like that. I…" She hesitates, mulling over her words, and chewing on her lower lip as she does so. "I can understand the fear, though. And," she makes a face, "it will probably get worse, after the Pass. It would make sense to have firmer agreements in place, before then, making sure that your right to move through the land remains, before too many people attempt to step in and claim 'unclaimed' land." That is a serious and depressing thought indeed.

A good point, that. Ibrahim stills, mulling over the idea of further invasions of people, all wanting to claim parts of the land, and pushing his people into ever-smaller territories. "And my people with their distrust may well find themselves without that right in their stubborn refusal to at least treat with the Weyr on any level." Bar his own efforts; he has even less access to such things than Ariele, for he carries neiher title nor importance as the Northern breed sees it: he's a mere assistant and from a group much marginalized by a culture whose rhythms are built on different Traditions entirely. He looses a sigh, then, for the tense state of life forn the folk of Southern's jungles. "Perhaps if we are seen as northern Traders are, it might alleviate some of the strain. They move freely through the land, do they not?"

Ariele sucks a breath in through her front teeth, and nods her confirmation. "They do, you're right. Perhaps that's what you need to make sure of: a better understanding, for the Weyr, of what your people, all of the tribes, want and need. I would hate to see you pushed further and further from your traditional homes. You ought to have the same ability to live your lives, on your lands, as anyone else. Even if you don't claim them in the same way that northerners do. If there's anything I can do to help…"

Ibrahim smiles. "Yes, I do believe you can. How, for instance, would I become an acknowledged trader among your people? It's acknowledged that I have skill as a healer and a hunter. And I am… slowly… gaining that distinction from my own people, resentful as some are. I cannot tell you what theother tribes think, though I am considering a trip among them to find out, and perhaps consolidate what our territories are, and place them on a map for the Weyr to know and honor." That much, he's sure he can gain as a concession, considering Amani, herself, is of the Traders of the North.

"To be honest," Ariele admits, "I have no idea. But I can try and find out. I think that's a good idea, though, and— talking to all of the different groups, mapping out your territories. Not to confine yourselves, but to try and illustrate what is not up for negotiation. I hate to say it, but using the traditions of the northerners definitely makes it easier for them to take you, and your territories, seriously." She twists her mug in her hands, and makes a face. "I feel like I'm portraying my own people as terrible. They're not, and I don't believe anyone is out to deliberately take things away from your people. We just need to improve understanding. We talk about misunderstandings between those who came forward and those born and raised here, but… that's nothing, in comparison."

"It's certainly the best way to demonstrate our ways in a clear fashion to a different culture. There have to be similarities…" Ibrahim mulls over these things with a faraway gaze. And then he returns to the here and now, to Ariele's worried face. "No, Ariele, you are not. You are providing understanding. Information I can use among my own, to show them how best to deal with this. And in the doing, we can better protect our way of life without disrupting yours. We would do well to understand and get along, that way." Mischief returns, then, in spades; Ibrahim decides, somehow, that today would be a good day to get to know Ariele, the person. "So, Ariele, shall I ask many improper queestions about you? Like how you came t be here, rather than in the North?" He's all innocence, here. Never mind that hint of an ulterior motive, there.

Ariele's smile returns, at least about the corners of her mouth, though much of that is hidden behind the mug that she lifts to her mouth again. "I can't argue with that," she tells Ibrahim after she swallows her klah, presumably talking about the provision of information on the Weyr and not herself, as she seems more diffident about the latter. "It's not a particularly interesting story. None of the questions you can ask about me are likely to result in anything interesting. Southern had a double clutch, and it seemed a more interesting and progressive place than Telgar, and I was eighteen and frighteningly naive."

"Are we not all so at eighteen?" Ibrahim laughs, finally takinng a swallow of his own cooling klah. He'd quite forgotten he was holding that mug. "And… you may be surprised at what I find interesting, Ariele. Somehow, I believe you are a very complex woman." Complexity draws him like a moth to flame, ever a beacon for his deep-seated need to know, to understand. "I admit to a deep interest in knowing about you, the person, as well as you, the assistant headwoman. You have a vested interest in helping we of the jungles in retaining our way of life in these new and challenging times. Where does it spring from? What are your goals for yourself?" His eyes sparkle, brightly interested. "Ah, there is so much to know, I think." Were he a cat, he'd be wriggling in anticipation of the knowledge he may attain.

One fine, red-brown brow lifts, amused and perhaps slightly bemused by Ibrahim's proclaimed interest, though there's a hint of pleasure about the corners of her mouth, too (and a renewed flush about her cheeks, for that matter). "I'm afraid you're in for some disappointment," she tells him, her low, nearly-husky voice ripe with amusement. "I intend to be Headwoman, and I'm interested because… well, because part of my interest in coming south was that whole melting pot of people in the first place. Somewhere new, where we can try and do things better. Not so interesting, I think. Besides, a headwoman's responsibility is for the non-riders within a Weyr, yes? That makes you part of my responsibility." A deflection.

Ibrahim chuckles softly at her. Oh, Ariele is a wily lady, despite the sweetness of those blushes. He sees he shall have to work hard indeed to get past that clever, carefully constructed wall of hers. "Ah, but such things are part of my responsibilty to my people. As a healer, to be sure, but we often spend as much time worried about food supply as we do illness, and how many blankets and other things ouor people have. Not quite the same as a headwoman, but close enough in that it is known that the better fed and adequately protected from the elements we are, the healthier we are. Perhaps not as interesting and heroic as Threadfall," Ibrahim shrugs, affable now. "And yet… interesting. I find you highly intelligent. Motivated to do more. And you're obviously quite curious. What motivates you to wish to do better? What does that mean to you?"

Ariele has honed that wall, thank you very much. A decade's worth of failed attempts at Impression, and a holder's upbringing challenged daily in a Weyr environment have both made their contributions to her psyche. "I won't argue that point," she allows. "There are obvious links between your life's work and mine. Wellbeing comes in many forms." Despite herself, she's clearly mulling over his question, that tongue running over her lip thoughtfully before it finally withdraws and she says, "I suppose… I didn't like that, at Telgar, I felt less worthy than my male peers. At home, too, where I was raised to be a wife, where 'wife' meant… subservience. Those who came forward brought new and interesting ideas, but also their own prejudices. I'd rather convince people to change subtly than tell them that their ways are outright wrong. There are reasons for conservatism. There are reasons why it made sense for women not to Stand for fighting dragons, for instance. You can't just dismiss people as being sexist and terrible. You have to understand where it comes from. And then… be open to change, as circumstances change. Does that make sense?" She's blushing again, this speech having ended up significantly longer and more detailed than no doubt she anticipated it being.

"It does," Ibrahim considers. "You cannot effect change where you do not understand why things are as they are." And his sympathy for her predictament grows: she has had struggle in her life, obviously. It's part of what led her to be the woman she is now, rather than someone entirely different. To know that shis sharply intelligent, highly capable woman had at one point been relegated to such a limiting role gives him a fit of the horrors. He can understand wanting to escape such a limited existence. "Is that usual, among the folk of the north? That a woman's worth is limited to subservience, as one expects of a beast of burden?" So obviously distasteful to him, to treat a woman so. He lowers his cup again, leaving the sip he'd intended to take undrunk. "I…admit to no real understanding of such things — and thus speaks my predjudice." he smiles, a little grimly amused by that. "How does limiting half one's potential fighting force help?" These things he must know — it will further open the window of knowledge — and change. For among his own, the reverse often has held: men are rarely leaders, bar a few exceptions where their skills and knowledge are deemed worthy of due consideration and acceptance. Fortunately, they are not so deeply limited that they cannot take on more vital roles inn the tribe.

"Babies," is the bland answer. Ariele's mouth twists in a way as to suggest dissatisfaction, though she pulls back from that. "Our populations dropped dramatically, remember. A woman riding a fighting dragon is less likely to successfully bring a baby to term. That's demonstrably true. Better, then, to keep women safely on the ground where they can contribute via breeding. I'm not saying I agree," she's quick to add, "But I can see where it came from. After a generation of that… well, it's inevitable, isn't it? Breeding capacity starts trumping all. I understand that this was not the case, always, and I'm grateful for those who came forward and forced the change, though I might have been… more subtle about it. But perhaps sometimes it's worth making noise, I'm not sure." She gives Ibrahim a wry smile.

Ah, babies: the stuff of life, were it to be asked of the tribes. "Yes, I can see where one might not wish to be forced to have one's sole purpose determined by that." His own smile is as wry. "Cold between, I've seen, does affect fertility. And threatns the delicate balance required to successfully bring a child into the world." He sees, all too well now, why such archaic notions have come to light, and stuck. He nods to Ariele, focused and thoughtful. "Hmm. Sometimes a man or woman must be beaten over the head with the obvious: choice matters. There are ways to produce more children that do not relegate a woman to nothing more than that. And, sometimes, you bury the otherr skills she may be able to contribute." He grins at her. "See? already you expand my knowledge, and my interest. Not so dull as you might have imagined, Miss. Shall we further explore these things over breakfast?" He raises his eyebrows at her inquiringly. "I believe it would be quite enlightening to get to know each other much more…"

"I hadn't realised that, as foreign as your people seem to me, despite living amongst us for some time, my people, their history, and their reasons, are foreign to you too." The idea seems to have struck Ariele, perhaps moreso than she must have anticipated, because she's distracted— distracted enough that she only seems to register the invitation (and what she must take as rather more blatant flirtation, given her abrupt flush) somewhat belatedly. "You're not wrong of course," she adds, perhaps to fill in space. "And I'm grateful that I've ultimately had that opportunity, my potential fertility aside." Fertility: a great topic of breakfast conversation. "Yes. All right. Breakfast. We can have breakfast."

Trust a healer to even consider such a thing a topic of conversation at all, let alone this early in the morning. "Hmm, yes. Perhaps we shall be ambassadors of two warring cultures, finally bringing the two sides together to face a greater menace." Smirk. "Or some such heroic drivel as that, should the Harpers ever deem us worthy of writing about." What? Ibrahim likes hyperbole! And yes, he's making bold to flirt with Ariele — he makes no bones about his interest in a woman when he takes it. What she does with it, he shall see. In the meantime, he shall offer her his arm gallantly, as always. With a sideways look, he murmurs softly, "It is naughty of me, I know, to enjoy flustering you. And yet, I do." He'll escort her to a table, should she allow it, and as he does, he'll explain, playfully, "It's because I do like you, Ariele. As a person."

"That sounds awful," complains Ariele, no afficionado of the Harper's craft. What she does seem happy with is that offered arm, and indeed she seems relatively comfortable - even with all that so-obvious flirtation - with that. "You're a terrible person," she says, apparently quite calm. And, "Well, I would hate to think you liked me as a thing. Or as an 'assistant headwoman'. Or 'a northerner', if that is indeed what we're going with as a descriptor for my people compared to yours." Her tongue is tart, but there's a challenge, and perhaps a very subtle flirtation of her own, in the way she lifts her brows towards him. There may be some false bravado involved.

"Doesn't it?" Ibrahim laughs. "And al the details would be utterly wrong. We'd look like a pair of headless wherries, or something." Or whatever else one might come up with. "I am very terrible." He agrees, brightening at her subtle encouragement of his flirtation. He is all boyish invitation, now, and slightly bashful in the face of it. "And how, dear Ariele, would you like me to see you? As a beautifl lady reading by the river? As a wrangler of mischevious children, bravely risking life and limb to keep them under control? Or — and I like this one especially well — as the most challengingly independent woman I've met in many a Turn." He tilts his head, considering Ariele thoughtfully. "It's the last, you see, that is the most inviting."

The bashfulness, however slight, is endearing. It's enough that Ariele, now without a mug in her hands to distract them, sits quite still, palms resting flat upon the table, and leans backwards in her seat. "I think," she says slowly, "that you will end up seeing me however you choose to. All, if you'll excuse the conceit, have at least some basis in truth, though the first and last are at least more about me than my profession."

Ibrahim grins wryly. "I would ask many more things about you, but I don't wish to alienate you." Ibrahim admits quietly. "So far I see a woman worthy of admiration because you're determined to make a space for yourself on your own merits, with or without the approval of tradition. The strength it takes to break from one's raising is worthy of admiration." He shrugs, settling into the table on the other side so that he might see her better. Such a lovely face to look upon, if his steady regard is aany indicator. "And, well… I'm not quite certain how to go about getting to know you apart from your profession without making a balls of it. I know you like to read, for entertainment. Do you like music? Dancing?" Clearly, Ibrahim is not as experienced a rake as he would have folk believe; playful flirtation, he knows, will only get him so far. After that, he too must lower the stalwart, self-protective walls he's learned to build.

Ariele is silent for probably longer than is strictly necessary: long enough, perhaps, that it may be uncomfortable. But her expression suggests thoughtfulness rather than uncertainty or distaste, as if she's working through something inside her head and is not yet ready to express it. Finally, slowly: "I like music, but mostly as background noise. I'm a terrible dancer, though perhaps that's due to lack of practice. I like talking to people. I like the outdoors, but in controlled ways, because I burn, and I'm a beacon for insects. But mostly, I've had very little by way of personal life for some time, and that has made it significantly easier to define myself by my job alone."

Ibrahim is comfortable in that silence: he appreciates the need to gther one's thoughts, to mull over questions and answer them as fully as one might. "We shall have to do something about that." Defining oneself solely by the job can have disastrous effects on one's wellbeing, he's notied from patients he's seen. But he doesn't mention it, not to Ariele. "As a healer, I am prescribing daily walks in the gardens, weather permitting. I'll mix you something appropriate to repel insects, and help protect your skin from the sun." As for the lack of a personal life, he has no idea how to help with that, although he'll certainly find excuses to create spae for free time for her, should the opportunity present itself. "I wonder… would you be interested in taking a day to… I don't know, escape this place for a little while — not today, of course, but at some point in the near future? I believe there are sufficient headwomen about to allow you some time." Again, tha t flash of bashfulness asserts itself before he regains his bravado. "I would show you something, if you're interested."

Again, Ariele is silent - but not for so long this time. "All right," she says. "I took an unexpected day off a few days ago, so no, it probably can't be this seven, but… soon. I do get days off." Abruptly, there's that smile of hers: not a beaming smile, but solidly present. "You have me curious, now."

That will be juuust enough time for Ibrahim to set certain things in motion, and gather supplies. "Well, good. But I won't spoil the surprise." He tilts her head, debating asking what caused the need for an unexpected day free — but it's too soon, he hinks, to go so personal. "I do hope it restored a sense of peace, the time off." He's certain that the reasons are due to collecting onself again. He's had those days, himself. He's been gone for a week or more when that restoring of peace and serenity was sorely needed.

"It helped," allows Ariele. "I had an… unexpected reminder of something. It helped to get away. I think we all need that, sometimes." Those details can definitely wait for another day, if at all. She's calm enough, equilibrium restored enough, for now. "Now, I think we were speaking of breakfast. Shall we fetch ourselves some food, before it's all gone?"

Getting to know a person is hungry work! Ibrahimm will readily agree to gathering in some food before his belly does something embarassing like growl loudly. "Good. Self-care, and all that. I'm sure you know all the homey adages by now." He twinkles at her before he manages to rise from their claimed table to go and collect food, Ariele hopefully near.

Dryly; "I've heard them once or twice." But Ariele is not opposed to their message, and food, it seems, is the order of the day. Breakfast awaits!

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