Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Welcome to the Gardens: one of the most tranquil areas of the Tower Grounds.
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Welcome to the Gardens: one of the most tranquil areas of the Tower Grounds. Birds sing in the trees which line the wide paths between beautiful flower beds and serene lakes. There are benches to sit and listen to the waterfall, and there is neatly trimmed grass to lie on and rest. Novices and Soldiers as well as Warders in Training can be seen, sweeping the stone paths as Accepted and Dedicated study from books and relax under leafy trees.
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Matty
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 964
Joined: December 16th, 2015, 8:19 pm
PC: Murdock Mather, Keeper of the Archives
SC: Nathaniel Carridus, Asha'man (Blue)
TC: Maever Donovan, Asha'man (Yellow)
Location: Plain of Lances, UK

Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Matty » February 19th, 2018, 1:30 pm

Maever Donovan
The sun was out this morning. It was a pleasant change from the days of light drizzle and clouds; Maever didn't really care for the wet, and the pathetic fallacy of it all. It was too dismal, and too close to home with it.

That being said, Maever couldn't be too enthusiastic. Cyrus was on a bit of a jaunt with some other Gleemen... women... Gleefolk... and Maever wasn't keen to Travel all the way to Tear to see him. He was well aware of the opinion most Tairens had on Illianers, and he didn't actually know whether Cyrus was interested enough to appreciate a visit in the first place? Not to mention, his little bittern had gone missing a few days prior, and he hadn't been able to find it. It was most distressing.

But it do be your fault for leaving it somewhere it could be stolen, Maever reminded himself. In a locked office in the Infirmary. In a chest.

Now that the weather was a little nicer the man supposed he ought to go look in Hama Valon and purchase a new one, an expense the Yellow could afford but he was reluctant to do so. He had a fair bit of coin saved thanks to his generally frugal nature, and not much to actually spend it on. A bittern wouldn't eat into those savings really but no small part of the man wished that the sale wasn't necessary. His bittern was like a small pet he had grown attached to, and learning to love another one would be difficult, and bittersweet.

There was nothing else for it. The man washed up, dressed in his neat uniform with the yellow shirt, and set on out on a quest for a new instrument. The sun shone down, the wet ground glistening and already drying out. The scent of dewy grass lingered and Maever took one of the more windy paths away from his rooms outside, past the trees and flowers he enjoyed looking at, and smelling (where appropriate - one did not sniff at trees). It was difficult to feel too sorry for himself when the ducks were waddling around nibbling at grubs, and a butterfly landed on a nearby flower.

Someone else was enjoying the outside as well. Maever didn't normally interrupt people when they were up to their own devices, they didn't normally appreciate his company and it was just awkward to come to that realisation later than everyone else there. But Maever appreciated the soft lulling of the music from behind some of the hedges, a quiet location Maever and Cyrus had spent time in before. It was good to think that someone else was enjoying it too.

But through the copse, Maever realised he didn't know who this Soldier was. The Illianer squinted a little at the long hair and generally pleasant demeanor, but the lad looked like he was more focused on his instrument than on potential company. It was nice to be able to get lost in the enjoyment of the music; Maever was no Gleeman himself but he appreciated the joy that such creation brought, and seeing it in someone else was pleasing to him as well.

But then he realised that the instrument the lad held was remarkably familiar. Why, should he turn the bittern over he was sure that he'd see the nicks along the edges that he sometimes ran his finger over. Could it be that somehow, his precious instrument had fallen into the hands of a sticky-fingered Soldier? In his Infirmary, no less! "Oh no!"

To the Soldier it might have looked like the shrub in front of him was responsible for this exclamation, but shortly afterwards Maever's head popped up over the bush, and the thin man shuffled into the small clearing as if his body was trying to catch up with his floating, all-knowing head. "Soldier, where did you be finding my bittern?" It was difficult for the Illianer to comprehend that anyone would have stolen it, never mind the lad before him, but the fact was that someone had, and for that reason the Illianer's worried expression was replaced by a lowering of the eyebrows and a frown aimed specifically at the lad. He was no Ravak, instilling fear into the hearts of men with his scowls and his gruff gravelly voice, but he had a cold sadness of his own that he could share.
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
Posts: 3757
Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
PC: Jaryd Kosari
SC: Dakson Torellion
TC: Finn
QC: Owen Andarin

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Sunny » February 24th, 2018, 6:29 pm

Owen hadn’t actually intended on stealing the bittern, but the Pattern had certainly made the crime an easy one to carry out. He had been helping with clean up in the infirmary, the door had been open, the chest had been there, and...well, he didn’t have a great track record in the face of overpowering curiosity...especially when it came to music and art. Why would someone store a bittern in the infirmary, of all places, anyway? The hall had been clear, his nearest hideaway empty...all the pieces had lined up perfectly for a few minutes of beauty and bliss.

When he returned from his experimentation, however, the chamber had been locked up. In retrospect, the soldier knew he should have just asked for the owner, explained the situation, and accepted whatever small penance he was given for being so disrespectful of private property. That would have been the simplest solution under the circumstances, and he knew every day he delayed in doing just that would make the inevitable consequence that much worse. He knew this, and yet something held him in check, some abstract fear he could hardly acknowledge, let alone define.

To someone a little better versed in the workings of the human mind, the connection between his irrational fear and his subsequent behavior made perfect sense. That person would understand that while the Shienaran couldn’t consciously turn himself in, he could engage in behavior practically tailor-made to get himself caught--such as carry the bloody thing around with him during his free periods instead of leaving it well and truly hidden.

On that particular day -bright and pleasantly warm, the perfect day to sit in a tree and sketch wildlife, or chat with Valentin, or visit the kitchens for a much more pleasantly illicit honeycake- Owen took the bittern to the Gardens. He had a number of haunts there, places infrequently visited by others and practically invisible to the casual visitor. He settled in one of those, bittern across his lap, and contemplated the sick, guilty feeling in his stomach.

Being young and distractible, it didn’t take long for that feeling to dissipate in the face of the gorgeous day. The boy was much more interested in the contrast of pink tree blossoms against blue sky, the sound of birds and the nearby waterfall, and the wind rustling through his hair. Soon enough his mouth began to move silently as he put words together to describe the scene, and his fingers found the strings to pick out a simple tune to match the verse.

It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t exactly perfect, either. Frowning, he focused his attention on the bittern and began to pick out a countermelody, lips pursed in concentration. So focused was he that he didn’t notice he had company until said company spoke.

"Soldier, where did you be finding my bittern?"

Owen jumped, his fingers crashing across the strings of the stolen instrument in a discordant array of off-key notes that perfectly reflected the state of his nerves. He silenced the unpleasant sound with his palm, then peered through a veil of long, dark hair at the man who had joined him. Tall. He was tall, and big, and Asha’man. Of course he is Asha’man, who else would have an office in the infirmary? Well, besides Aes Sedai, but the Head of the Yellow Ajah is a man, so- oh Light! How many tall Illianer Yellows could there be, really? Just my bloody luck.

The Shienaran scrambled to his feet, red-cheeked and wide-eyed in horrified acceptance of his fate. To his surprise he found he stood eye to eye with the other man, but that really didn’t help matters much, just made him feel even more awkward than usual.

“I’m sorry Asha’man Maever, didn’t mean to steal it!” he blurted. “I just wanted to play, and then the door was locked when I came back, and th- then I- I-” he stuttered, biting his tongue on further frantic babble. Despite his discomfort, his grip on the bittern was reverent as he held it out to its owner. “Here,” he said, “I won’t take it or anything again, I swear.”
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False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

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Matty
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 964
Joined: December 16th, 2015, 8:19 pm
PC: Murdock Mather, Keeper of the Archives
SC: Nathaniel Carridus, Asha'man (Blue)
TC: Maever Donovan, Asha'man (Yellow)
Location: Plain of Lances, UK

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Matty » February 24th, 2018, 10:43 pm

Le Maever The Soldier was on his feet so quickly Maever was almost startled right back into the shrub he'd scuttled around. He wasn't afraid of confrontation but the lad had suddenly stood, all arms and legs and hair, lines upon lines of person. He seemed to be made of them, these lines. Maever stood his ground though, not deterred by what looked to be a very apologetic soldier. It seemed sincere enough and the generally unassuming Illianer was honestly surprised that the Soldier knew his name. Even as the Head of the Yellow Ajah it took the man by surprise when people knew who he was. Why would they? He was just Maever.

I must have left my room unlocked, the man thought, and the Soldier's story lent itself to the idea. He was normally so careful. Was it really the lad's fault if Maever wasn't careful enough with his things? When the long-haired lad held his instrument out Maever wasted no time in taking it back, inspecting it to check that it was indeed his. It was, he could see that now he was holding it, but it didn't feel like his any more. Cyrus had given him this instrument and he'd been happy to own it after another, but now it had been stolen and gone on adventures Maever wasn't aware of. He lost out on those experiences, and it made the bittern feel like it wasn't even his any more. It do be an instrument, no a child, the man reminded himself, but that didn't make the instrument feel any more at home in his hands than it did before. He loosed his tight grip on the wood.

Unsure of what to say to the Soldier in that moment, Maever simply got his bittern into the correct grip and sat down, intent on testing it there and then to see how it sounded. He ran practiced fingers along the strings, and instantly made a face of disappointment. It sounded just fine, but it didn't feel fine. The instrument he had before was gone. This was supposed to be perfect. It was a lovely day, he had his bittern back, and he didn't need to go buy a new one. Nobody was hurt and he ought to have been happy to have found what was his, but instead all he felt was tainted, like a rude thieving shadow had clouded over his positive experiences, undoing everything he'd learned to love about his time with Cyrus. It was more than just a pity.

No longer was the Illianer simply irritated. He exhaled and stood again, looking at the Soldier who was still standing there like a boy caught stealing apples from the kitchen. Good. "My friend did give me this bittern. It did mean a lot to me and now- it does no feel right. Because you did take it." Maever spoke quietly, but in their little clearing his voice easily carried. "I did work very hard for everything I do have, but I do no have much that does mean a lot to me like my bittern. Stealing do be wrong, because it does no stop at making people sad at losing what do be theirs. It does extend to making people sad at losing their privacy, their comfort, and any happy future memories they did plan. This was in a chest! In a private room! It do no be right!" Maever couldn't help but be indignant, but he was well within his right to be.

"You did ruin my instrument, and my happiness with it." Maever held the bittern out. "I do no be wanting it any more - you can keep it. What do be your name, and do you have anything else you did take from anyone in the Tower? What do be your motivation for taking things that do no be belonging to you?" He left the Soldier little opportunity to refuse the bittern, all but thrusting it into his hands. He wiped them on his coat when he was done, as if he'd been holding a dead animal.

Despite how unhappy he was, punishment wasn't at the forefront of the Illianer's mind. No, instead he wanted to know why this Soldier had performed the deed in the first place, and maybe he could assist in preventing this from happening to anyone else in the future. That being said, there would be some probable element of chores involved somewhere in the Soldier's near future, as long as Maever remembered to administer them.
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------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
Posts: 3757
Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
PC: Jaryd Kosari
SC: Dakson Torellion
TC: Finn
QC: Owen Andarin

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Sunny » February 25th, 2018, 8:29 pm

Maever knew how to play. Owen could see it in the way he held the bittern, the flicker of fingers as he checked, as any good musician would, for damage or any other changes. The sight was captivating; for a moment the aura of ‘Asha’man’ fell away and Owen could see the man beneath: simple, probably kind, and appealing even if he hadn’t been cradling the bittern like a baby. Regret and shame flooded the soldier and he contemplated apologizing again and asking who had taught the other man.

The moment passed quickly...very quickly. As soon as the Yellow looked up it became clear that common ground was nowhere near existence. Owen wilted back from the lecture, gnawing on his lip and toying with his hair nervously as his shoulders slumped. What Maever had to say about theft was correct, and he knew it- it had been wrong to go into that room--his office?-- in the first place, let alone take anything from it. Keeping it after had simply been insult to injury.

He took the instrument with a hand that felt numb and detached from his body, but it wasn’t until Maever fell silent that he realized the Asha’man meant him to keep it permanently. What? That made absolutely no sense and his mind spun trying to find the words to articulate his reaction. He turned the bittern in his hands slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he went over the Illianer’s speech, contemplating each separate statement with care.

Somewhere along the twisted paths of his thoughts he began to hear Maever’s words in his father’s voice. Along with that experience came a familiar surge of both comfort -this was familiar territory, he could handle this even if it continued to go poorly- and frustration. Owen squared his shoulders and straightened, chin lifting defiantly.

“My name is Owen Andarin. I don’t actually make a habit of stealing other people’s possessions, although I comprehend that you have no reason to trust me under the circumstances.” He realized his fingers had tightened on the neck of the bittern and he carefully loosened them lest he damage the fine wood in his distress.

“As for why? Oh Light, do you really want to know? Much to my father’s disgust, I find comfort and joy in the making of music, Asha’man. It gives me a shield...a place to hide when words cut, looks burn, and the cold grinds bones to dust. When I came here the Master of Soldiers took all my possessions, including my guitar and flute. He says I will get them back when I am raised, but to my understanding that could be years from now and forgive me for being selfish, but I needed a flaming moment of peace.

He was too annoyed to cry, thank the Light; that humiliation would have been unbearable. Instead he stuttered for a moment, swallowed, then glared at the Yellow, shoving the bittern back into his hands. “I admit I took this without your permission, but in what world does that mean the object itself has lost its worth? That doesn’t even make sense, sir! This clearly has value to you above the money paid for it, I saw it in your eyes when you took it back. Deciding it doesn’t mean anything and throwing it away just because a stupid stranger touched it is absurd. The only one who suffers with that choice is you, so what’s the purpose in doing it?”

And then realization of exactly how far he had overstepped with that diatribe hit him, and Owen paled, bracing himself for what was surely going to be a very, very bad time indeed.
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False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

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Matty
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 964
Joined: December 16th, 2015, 8:19 pm
PC: Murdock Mather, Keeper of the Archives
SC: Nathaniel Carridus, Asha'man (Blue)
TC: Maever Donovan, Asha'man (Yellow)
Location: Plain of Lances, UK

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Matty » February 26th, 2018, 12:56 pm

El Maevero Maever understood very well the need to have that bit of comfort in what was really a difficult and trying time. Trainees didn't have it easy, and some had it harder than others. For a moment, just from the sound of Owen's voice alone, Maever recognised those problems, because he'd had a lot of them himself. Oh, they wouldn't be the same exactly, but there were expectations for Soldiers, and even something like having long hair would be enough to bring unwanted attention. Maever, with his thick accent, placid demeanor and sensitive nature, practically had a target on his back as a student.... er, and as an Asha'man he supposed.

It didn't take much for Owen to strip down Maever's words and mock the meaning behind them. The Soldier thought to tell Maever that how he felt was stupid, invalidating everything that made the Illianer not want to touch the bittern again. When it was shoved back into his hands he caught it by reflex, and even in his agitated state he was aware of just how ridiculous it must have looked for the two of them to keep passing the instrument between them constantly. Well! If Owen didn't want the bittern then he would give it back to Cyrus, and buy a new one for himself. Cyrus would understand, Maever was sure of it He just had to wait for him to return from Tear that was all. And add some more locks to his doors.

Any other Asha'man in his position would have come down on the lad harder than Rodric on a trolloc. He'd be scrubbing dishes for a year, tending a farm until he had grey in his hair, or tending to Maever's every need for the indefinite future. And that impulse was there, that childish need to assert his authority. But there was a difference between punishing and being petty, and Maever's loathing for pointless penances managed to refine and hold back his sorely bruised ego, preventing him from spouting off all manner of petty tasks. Besides which, he was used to being spoken to like he didn't know his own mind. This was nothing new; after a while of being beaten, the soul simply got used to it, making but the smallest of noises every so often when it thought he had gotten a little better. Maever had no doubt in his mind that the Soldier wouldn't speak to a different Asha'man how he spoke to him - it was because he wasn't cut from the same cloth. They were silk, and he was farmer's wool. It was plain for everyone to see.

"The Grey Tower does no allow Soldiers to have possessions of their own so they can concentrate on their studies," Maever said. "I would suggest you do be more careful. I do be knowing that some peace do be nice, but that may no go down so well with Asha'man Jaryd." Maever spoke quietly, his voice full of disappointment. Most of it was for himself. "Especially if you do be losing your temper with him."

The Illianer offered no dismissal, no acknowledgement that he agreed with anything the lad said - because he didn't. How dare the boy assume he knew Maever's heart better than he did? Trampling over how he felt like it was stupid and it didn't matter. Like it wasn't okay to be upset that someone had stolen his personal belongings and not even brought them back. "We do be making our own merit," he said, imitating something he'd heard from a Cairhienin some time ago. He straightened up his posture, something that had curled in on itself without him realising, and he met the Soldier's gaze with sad, pale eyes. "A good place to practice do be behind the stables, in the direction of the wall. People do no tend to go there and the animals do make enough noise that you will no be noticed. People do no tend to go that way."

With that Maever took the bittern, and turned away from the Soldier to leave him. Gone were any ideas of helping the lad, or seeing what his motivations were. His own ego, small and vile as it was, needed some time to reset itself and removing himself from the situation seemed like the best idea.
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------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
Posts: 3757
Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
PC: Jaryd Kosari
SC: Dakson Torellion
TC: Finn
QC: Owen Andarin

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Sunny » March 11th, 2018, 12:13 am

Owen didn’t say a word. Not as the lecture continued, not when Maever offered a suggestion for a quiet place to practice (although seriously, why he would do that, Owen couldn’t fathom) nor even when he took the bittern and turned away. He certainly said nothing as Maever left him alone in the Gardens without a backward glance. There didn’t seem to be much call for further words, all things considered.

The soldier felt...strange, as if he floated outside of reality. It wasn’t the same feeling as what he had experienced so far in seeking the Void; this was more like his heart and mind had decoupled from his body and all three participated in a stand-off for priority within the confines of his soul.

Body: I am going to be sick.

Heart: I hurt him. Make it better.

Mind: It is so not my job to fix whatever his issue is.

Owen didn’t know how long he stood arguing with himself before a cloud passed before the sun, bringing a chill with it that called him back to earth. The birds had returned to singing and whatever chance he had had to change the outcome of his idiocy was long gone.

---

Owen managed to avoid crossing paths with Maever for three whole weeks. In that time another soldier, Alec al’Lorna, seemed to make it his particular mission to bring the Shienaran as much misery as possible. Between hours spent picking tree sap and burrs out of his hair, getting locked in a closet in an empty classroom for what turned out to be nearly half a day, and performing penance for a series of increasingly nasty pranks he could not prove he hadn’t committed (and also for failing to complete his homework due to aforementioned closet), Owen had little time to think about his encounter with the Asha’man.

Somewhere near the end of that third week, however, Owen checked his schedule and found that his chore roster for the next day had shifted from the kitchens -a place he covertly enjoyed no matter how pruny his fingers got or how greasy the pots were- to the infirmary, and his supervisor was none other than Maever himself.

All his confusion and annoyance came crashing back, then, and Owen took himself to an empty classroom in the White Quarters where the likelihood of being observed by his peers seemed minimal. He wasn’t sure he would survive Alec’s reaction if the other soldier saw him cry.

---

By the next afternoon all outward sign of his emotional response to the assignment had vanished. Owen had even braided his hair and scrubbed his hands until all trace of charcoal and paint had been stripped away. Cleanliness was imperative in a place of healing. He had never been drawn to such work, but one did not grow up in the north of Shienar without some grasp of infirmary etiquette...and it seemed all the more important to observe those rules for this specific task.

He bowed to the Accepted on duty when he entered, and when prompted, said “I am to...report to Asha’man Maever for the afternoon?” It did not come out as smoothly as he had hoped, but the blonde woman didn’t seem to notice.

“He’s just down the hall. You can leave your bag here; you won’t need it.” Reluctantly, the soldier handed her his satchel and went where directed. It can't be worse than Alec’s harassment. He hoped.
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False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

User avatar
Matty
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 964
Joined: December 16th, 2015, 8:19 pm
PC: Murdock Mather, Keeper of the Archives
SC: Nathaniel Carridus, Asha'man (Blue)
TC: Maever Donovan, Asha'man (Yellow)
Location: Plain of Lances, UK

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Matty » March 11th, 2018, 6:14 pm

Le Maever Maever set the incident aside just as he had his bittern. Away, in a box, out of sight and out of mind, because it was easier than looking, focusing, feeling. The Illianer convinced himself that putting his bittern away and waiting for Cyrus to return from Tear was the only option at his disposal, and as far as he was concerned that was what he was going to do. It could be in a few weeks, it could be in a few months, but Cyrus would be back, and Maever would confront his bittern then.

He didn't think much about the Soldier either. It wasn't the first or last person who had sharp words for Maever, and he normally deserved them so such incidents only imprinted themselves in his mind with their words and their ideals, not the "who" or the "why". He might not remember a face, but Maever would recall the uneasy churn of his stomach when he passed the man in a corridor, or the insults to his character made just days after Healing the person in question from a rather serious illness. Who was Owen, on top of that? Just another reminder that Maever was a nobody. Because he didn't have enough of those.

This particular day three weeks later was no different to any other, at least not from the outset. Maever was just looking at some reports he'd received from a couple of the Accepted and Dedicated who had been Healing in the Infirmary, frowning down at the page as he read over the accounts slowly and deliberately. He was in his office, neatly tucked under the table with his reports in front of him and a glass of juice to his left. Maever took a sip as he read the records. It was mostly trivial matters, nothing Maever needed to worry about, though he did have an exercise in place where they counted incidents and tried to find trends based on various criteria. Some Brown with a head for statistics was overseeing that exercise. No, Maever dealt with the strange queries, the issues that needed looking at in more detail. There had been a spate of pranks and other tomfoolery taking place and he didn't like them, mostly because they reminded him of his own days as a Soldier and Dedicated. Sometimes Asha'man, though rarely now.

His door was ajar, so when the Soldier knocked the Illianer only had to look up at to his right, smiling at the figure there. "Good morning Soldier," he said. He tended to supervise people in the Infirmary when they needed to be kept out of trouble, and apparently this Soldier was a bit of a handful. Maever didn't care for details, as long as they were nice and did their best in the Infirmary that was the main thing. But he hadn't realised that the Soldier he was supervising today was actually the one who had taken his bittern. Owen, that was his name. Maever didn't change his smile, he was well versed in the art of pretending to be happy, but there was a crinkle of worry in his eyes. No matter. Maever was the Head of the Yellow Ajah, an Asha'man in his own right, and a good Healer. He didn't need to be worried, that was what he told himself anyway. "You do be working with me this morning?" It was always best to check.

"Yes Asha'man," Owen replied.

"Okay." The Illianer gestured for him to come into the office, the same one where his bittern had been stolen. "Please, come in and wash your hands." Though compared to their first meeting Owen looked quite clean and presentable, both important for folk in the Infirmary. "This morning the Infirmary do be quiet, so I do no be thinking I will be needed outside. If I do be then you will come with me but otherwise, we do be staying here this morning." Maever didn't grow up with servants, and he was used to doing things himself, but he'd come to learn that one had to give the children things to do, and there were also things he didn't have to do for himself now, because he was more important than that. Not better, never that, but he had more responsibilities to take care of then rearranging shelves. "There do be a box by the bookself - there, that do be the one - if you could please bring it over. Inside there do be reports, which do be needing to be arranged in the correct order. They should have the date in the top corner so you do no be needing to read everything, but they do be needing to be organised by date, each separate pile sorted by week." It was a simple exercise, and most of them were in the correct(ish) order anyway, but it had to be exactly right for the Browns. "You do be allowed to sit and use half of this table, and also the top of the chest over there. Please do no open it, it do be Warded." So nobody could take his bittern without receiving quite the shock. "When you do be done they can be put into sleeves by week, then put back in the box."

Being a rather straightforward exercise Maever didn't expect there to be any questions or problems, so he went back to reading his reports and scratching his head about some of them. He accepted that people were going to get into mischief no matter who the Master of Soldiers was, but that didn't stop him from feeling a little sad at the thought of some of the people in the Infirmary not necessarily leaving any happier than when they went in, even if they were Healed. "Do you be familiar with the Infirmary?" he asked, after rereading his report three times. "It can be intimidating the first time. It do no be so bad if you do be in an office instead." The Yellow gave Owen a small, sad smile, and picked up the next report. "Oh, this one do be finished and can be put away too." It was the second most recent month, and it contained several accounts of prank-related incidents in which the Infirmary was needed. Not the worst report in Tower history, but it was hardly what Maever wanted to read.
Image
------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
Posts: 3757
Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
PC: Jaryd Kosari
SC: Dakson Torellion
TC: Finn
QC: Owen Andarin

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Sunny » April 18th, 2018, 3:56 pm

Owen listened to Maever’s instructions carefully as he washed his hands. He took care to make as little noise or mess as possible, drying his hands carefully before putting the towel back where he had found it. He carefully avoided looking at the chest where he had found the bittern, though he couldn’t avoid the pang he felt when Maever mentioned it had been warded. I caused that.

It felt odd to sit in the Asha’man’s presence; it felt as if doing so, even by invitation, would be disrespectful. Therefore, when he retrieved the box he placed it on the chair. Then he pulled out a handful of papers and began to leaf through them with his thighs pressed against the edge of the table. Soon enough he realized that many of the records predated his entry to the Tower. More importantly, the months were generally grouped together. That gave him an easy starting point for organization, at least.

When Maever spoke, Owen continued to sort, but gave the Asha’man the remainder of his attention. The question was followed by another report, which he took and held in both hands as he considered how to respond.

“I’m not yet familiar with this infirmary,” he said after a moment. “But I grew up in Shienar, north and west of Fal Dara. When my father’s men came back from fighting Shadowspawn the entire household would pitch in to help with the wounded. I have a steady hand and don’t get squeamish,” that they could see, anyway, “so the surgeon had me do sutures sometimes. And- and I would sing to comfort the ones beyond hope. It helped...a little.” He bit his lip and glanced down at the report. Anything was better than thinking of the glassy eyes of the dead.

The paper was dated the last week of the month prior; he started to drop it on the table, but a name in thick ink caught his eye. He scanned the page automatically, taking in the details without really understanding them at first. Then he realized he was looking at a list of all too familiar incidents, each outlined with pragmatic care.

Harima din Tasai - reaction to itchoak - Healed
Natilde Nemorin - broken arm after slipping on grease - Healed
Samardis Glen - ingested hemlock, possibly at breakfast - Healed


Owen’s name was not on the page, but it didn’t have to be. In his mind every item on the list was neatly paired with a trip to Jaryd’s study, a convenient story provided by classmates who claimed to have witnessed the deed, and a penance of increasing severity. When they met about Sam, Jaryd had peered at him and asked is there something you need to tell me, Owen? He did. A world of things, in fact. But penance was better than what Alec would do if he carried stories, so Owen had shaken his head in denial.

His stomach churned as he carefully placed the report where it belonged. He stole a glance at Maever, but the Yellow had already moved on to the next report. With a sigh, the boy reached for another pile of papers and began to sort them, wondering why his fingers felt so numb.

“I consider Natilde a friend,” he said after a time, almost to himself. “She helped me with my maths homework two days before she fell and I gave her a honeycake in thanks. She wanted me to paint a portrait of her for her parents, but she got hurt before we could arrange a time.” The next ten reports were all from the same week; he shuffled them to their appropriate place. “I had skipped class to sit in the Gardens that day. No one to see me, no one to challenge the story they told Jaryd. What could I do save take the penance? Now she won’t even look at me.”

Why, oh why, did that box look as if he hadn’t even touched it?
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False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

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Matty
"The Path of Daggers"
Posts: 964
Joined: December 16th, 2015, 8:19 pm
PC: Murdock Mather, Keeper of the Archives
SC: Nathaniel Carridus, Asha'man (Blue)
TC: Maever Donovan, Asha'man (Yellow)
Location: Plain of Lances, UK

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Matty » April 24th, 2018, 7:04 am

Maever Donovan Some people came to the Tower already familiar with how an Infirmary worked, how the body generally worked, and what you did or didn't do with it. Much of these things could be taught to even the most reclusive new trainees, but there was a level of compassion that couldn't really be taught, it was just... innate. You could imitate it, and you could make a show of it, but if Maever had to be honest, that was what he looked for in his new Yellows and such aspirants even if he didn't call it by such a lofty name. Just being a nice and caring person was what it came down to.

So the smile on his face was genuine when Owen mentioned singing to patients, shy but completely Maever, lighting up his ageless face as he nodded. "I do be finding that some patients do like to be sung to," he agreed, "I do play the instrument and sing to them sometimes." He eyed the door briefly, "some of the Yellows do no be agreeing with it, but I do be knowing it does help. We do no just be fixing bodies here, but minds and hearts also. It do be hard to remember sometimes, when there do be such fights going on around the land, but we do be here to help anyone who does need it, and no just with a broken bone or upset tummy."

Maever honestly believed this (of course, being Oathsworn, otherwise he couldn't have said it in the first place). The Illianer looked back down to his reports, but then Owen started talking about one of the girls on the list. Natilde and her grease-sodden dress, crying from a broken arm, was not the most becoming Aes Sedai aspirant, but why would she be? She was just a girl still, and the thought of someone playing a prank like that on her did not sit well with Maever at all. The way Owen spoke made it sound like he was the one who got in trouble for it, though by his account he had done no such thing. The man gave Owen a considering look over the report he held in his hands, but honestly, he didn't see Owen as the sort to play a prank like that even in their limited time together. Maever might not be the most intelligent of men but he liked to think he knew a man's heart, and Owen's was a good one. He trusted his gut on that one.

"Owen, do you be saying that you did get into trouble for something you did no do?" he asked, a slight frown on his face. "And other people did say it do be you, when it was no?" The Yellow pursed his lips thoughtfully, but really Owen's response didn't much matter; he'd already decided such was the case. Hummm. "It do be ok to talk to me, I am no the Master of Soldiers. I do no be knowing anything about these things apart from what I do be reading here."

Naturally Maever was going to have to do something about this, because if he didn't then it would just continue, and these trainees would get away with it. Did Jaryd suspect anything? Perhaps it was worth having a conversation with the Red, though Maever couldn't say he relished the idea. Enigmatic, passionate, loud, Maever didn't veer towards these people through choice. But when a trainee's wellbeing was involved he lost most of his reservations in that respect, and would talk to ten Jaryd's if he had to.

Besides which, if Jaryd didn't listen to Maever he could pull on Jaren's ear a moment, and that could well deliver similar results in a roundabout way. The Illianer didn't play the Game, but he was quite sure Jaren's own compassion as a Yellow would have them on the same side as Ajah brothers in this matter.
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------ Murdock -------------- Nathaniel --------------- Maever -------

Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
Posts: 3757
Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
PC: Jaryd Kosari
SC: Dakson Torellion
TC: Finn
QC: Owen Andarin

Re: Call the sunshine to my door (Sunny)

Post by Sunny » May 3rd, 2018, 3:19 pm

Owen froze at Maever’s inquiry. Shit! It hadn’t occurred to the soldier that Maever would want to know more when Owen opened his mouth about Natilde. Why would he? I stole from him. It had just been venting, relief from rising pressure that threatened to push Owen to actually doing something he would regret. Maever had called him on it, however, had seen what Owen was really saying. Blood and bloody flaming ashes.

The rest of what the Yellow had to say penetrated his frantic thoughts and Owen felt his lips part in shock, simply staring at Maever as if he’d suddenly grown a second head. Or perhaps a third. That seemed just as likely--perhaps more-- than actual compassion coming from the Asha’man. How can he possibly care? It made no sense, and the soldier floundered in his lack of comprehension.

“I-” he inhaled sharply, looking around frantically for an excuse to change the subject. Nothing came to him, just Maever’s worried face and piles of papers. Abruptly Owen couldn’t handle standing anymore; he moved the box to the floor and collapsed into the chair in a tangle of limbs. “Yes. I'm saying that,' he said finally. When he continued, his tone was faintly defensive. "I would never purposely hurt anyone. Even my father would confirm that, though he might use derogatory language to do so. He had specific ideas about his son, you know?”

Owen stared at his hands. “I could handle the teasing, even when they got rough. But..it got worse. Natilde could have suffered far worse than she did. Sam could have died- hemlock is no joke! But...I was afraid that Asha’man Jaryd would not believe me. It’s my word against several others; what happens if they find out I tried to tell on them?”

That was the second time he had had a conversation with Maever about fear holding him back from doing the right thing. He had the uneasy feeling that he would not be allowed to behave that way much longer. Rather than squirm in his chair at the prospect, he reached for more reports. He may as well keep his hands busy.
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False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

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