27.May.19, 02:56 AM
F’drel hummed, not really intending for it to be agreement or dissent. Mylorah could interpret it as she would. Putting numbweed on a friend could hardly count as heroic, but he was sure there was no point arguing the fact. Better to just let her have her way in it, F’drel felt, stepping back to give her space to stand up.
He did appreciate that she took so much care putting the chair back, but not for the reason she might think he would. Despite his constant cleaning, it was never the mess that bothered F’drel. Putting things in order just gave him something to do, especially when there was too much going on in his head. Focusing on sweeping the floor or making the bed was a way out. Sometimes he did get twitchy if there was something F’drel felt he should be cleaning but wasn’t, but it was less about a mess or things being out of order than it was the compulsion to do something about it. But he gave people the impression that things being disorderly bugged him, and it didn’t miss F’drel’s notice when people went out of their way to neaten things in his home. He was finding that it usually meant the person, usually Mylorah or R’dal, didn’t want to inconvenience or annoy him, which, with those two, at least, meant they cared about how he felt. It was nice to know they did.
“A good idea,” he agreed, definitely wanting to get the slightly oily feeling off his hands. They had also gotten a bit tingly from having so much numbweed on them, and Mylorah was right that he didn’t want it anywhere else on his body. Did Healers just go around with numb hands? That just sounded dangerous. Did they become immune to numbweed over time? If so, that would really suck if the Healer needed some themself. F’drel set the now closed jar on his bare table. “It’ll be here when you return,” he promised, letting her kiss his cheek without a fuss. It was very much a little sister move. And then he registered that that Mylorah had invited herself to having lunch with him. Alright, whatever, it’s not like he had plans for the day anyway, he could eat a meal with Mylorah. Or two, possibly, it wouldn’t surprise F’drel if she wiggled her way into joining him for dinner as well. Fine, there were worse people. At least half the Weyr, to start with.
“Good luck with the laundry,” F’drel said, waving as she headed out, “careful with your hands and arms, the numbweed will probably come off pretty quickly in the wash water. Think they’ll let you sort or fold? Maybe wear gloves?”
He did appreciate that she took so much care putting the chair back, but not for the reason she might think he would. Despite his constant cleaning, it was never the mess that bothered F’drel. Putting things in order just gave him something to do, especially when there was too much going on in his head. Focusing on sweeping the floor or making the bed was a way out. Sometimes he did get twitchy if there was something F’drel felt he should be cleaning but wasn’t, but it was less about a mess or things being out of order than it was the compulsion to do something about it. But he gave people the impression that things being disorderly bugged him, and it didn’t miss F’drel’s notice when people went out of their way to neaten things in his home. He was finding that it usually meant the person, usually Mylorah or R’dal, didn’t want to inconvenience or annoy him, which, with those two, at least, meant they cared about how he felt. It was nice to know they did.
“A good idea,” he agreed, definitely wanting to get the slightly oily feeling off his hands. They had also gotten a bit tingly from having so much numbweed on them, and Mylorah was right that he didn’t want it anywhere else on his body. Did Healers just go around with numb hands? That just sounded dangerous. Did they become immune to numbweed over time? If so, that would really suck if the Healer needed some themself. F’drel set the now closed jar on his bare table. “It’ll be here when you return,” he promised, letting her kiss his cheek without a fuss. It was very much a little sister move. And then he registered that that Mylorah had invited herself to having lunch with him. Alright, whatever, it’s not like he had plans for the day anyway, he could eat a meal with Mylorah. Or two, possibly, it wouldn’t surprise F’drel if she wiggled her way into joining him for dinner as well. Fine, there were worse people. At least half the Weyr, to start with.
“Good luck with the laundry,” F’drel said, waving as she headed out, “careful with your hands and arms, the numbweed will probably come off pretty quickly in the wash water. Think they’ll let you sort or fold? Maybe wear gloves?”