Not sleeping is turning out to be more unsustainable than Sawbones- who is of perfectly sound mind and body, thank you very much- had initially estimated. However, sleeping in her cot seems risky, since that is where the whole dreaming business happened. And closets don't hold quite the same sort of comfort.
She switches to another old standby, sliding under beds and curling up under chairs. A perfectly sound strategy, except when someone else happens to sit on the chair or bed. Or worse still, move it. It inevitably ends with the sudden appearance of Sawbones from under the furniture, sleepy and belligerent.
"Oi. Shove off or shut up, some of us're trying to sleep around here."
Brother Gideon was in the process of flipping a mattress in the infirmary when he discovered the bed was occupied, albeit not in the usual way. He peers at the dwarf through the slats of the bedframe, exasperated and bewildered.
"It would do our respectability as healers little favor for a patient to come in and find you here," he clarifies, in his low, quiet way, "they will think something wrong with the beds."
She snorts, a slip of genuine humor breaking up her usual stern expression. "They won't be thinking about the beds at all, Brother. They'll be thinking whatever it was you were thinking when you interrupted my nap."
She rolls out from under the cot and onto her feet in a neat little motion and stretches.
It wasn't much of a question to start with. "I can be more careful about where I do things if it's fussiness." She's done enough communal living with surfacers to know some are just fussy and there's no helping that. She continues, "But if this is about who we are-" She indicates his ears and her brand with a small gesture, "I'd prefer to know."
Finally, he catches her meaning. It dawns slowly on his face, first as confusion, then mild affront, finally tempering down to quiet incredulity.
"Where we come from is meaningless in the eyes of the Maker," he says slowly, "our actions define us. As people of the cloth, I want us to be worthy of respect and trust."
"In the eyes of the Maker, that's true," she says, "But it's not only the Maker who watches us. Those eyes can watch all they want. I don't have time for people who're too worried about the cleanliness of the clothe to get down in the mud and do the work that needs doing to take care of people."
That earns him an indignant little huff and a prim "You know that's not what I meant."
But she softens in turn at the offer, shaking her head.
"Tried that a few times. Tends to make things worse." Which is about as much vulnerability as she's willing to show, "And anyway, the sleep I'm getting is perfectly fine. It's only the matter of these blasted spirits who seem inclined to drag us all into those dreams every winter or so, that'll disturb anyone's sleep."
"How should I know? Spirits and dreams and all that nonsense is surfacer business," she says, retrieving the blanket and pillow from under the cot. "But of the two dreams I've had, I was in a bed for both. I've never had one sleeping on the floor."
This is clearly a very sound rational that she's deeply satisfied with.
This finally does elicit a smile, and even a quiet laugh-- the Sister's insistence on being affected by nothing and yet actually being affected by everything is endearing, in its way.
"It doesn't sound like it's surfacer business," he points out, the ghost of a smirk still on his face, "but if it pleases you, sleep wherever you like. Just. Please. ...not in here."
She scowls at him, only catching the tail end of his smirk once she's turned around with the folded blanket.
"If it will stop you fussing, very well," she says, "Speaking of, do you have any connections to the Sisters and Brothers who stayed in Hightown?" If he's going to be here anyway, she might as well see if he's useful.
"Well, private chapels and that sort." And yes, there is judgement in both her heart and tone. "Reckon it'd make things a little easier if we had someone they liked to convince 'em to be more active outside of Hightown."
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Opener
i. sleeping arrangements
Not sleeping is turning out to be more unsustainable than Sawbones- who is of perfectly sound mind and body, thank you very much- had initially estimated. However, sleeping in her cot seems risky, since that is where the whole dreaming business happened. And closets don't hold quite the same sort of comfort.
She switches to another old standby, sliding under beds and curling up under chairs. A perfectly sound strategy, except when someone else happens to sit on the chair or bed. Or worse still, move it. It inevitably ends with the sudden appearance of Sawbones from under the furniture, sleepy and belligerent.
"Oi. Shove off or shut up, some of us're trying to sleep around here."
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Brother Gideon was in the process of flipping a mattress in the infirmary when he discovered the bed was occupied, albeit not in the usual way.
He peers at the dwarf through the slats of the bedframe, exasperated and bewildered.
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"Yes," she says primly, "I was sleeping."
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She has not crawled out from under the cot.
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A pause, as he continues to look down at her.
"Are you an animal, Sister?"
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"Depends who ya ask, Duster," she says, Casteless drawl thick and lazy in her tone.
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"I'm asking you."
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"And I gave you my answer," she says.
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She rolls out from under the cot and onto her feet in a neat little motion and stretches.
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"Thank you," he says quietly, stepping back to allow her the space.
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"Are you the fussy type."
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"Where we come from is meaningless in the eyes of the Maker," he says slowly, "our actions define us. As people of the cloth, I want us to be worthy of respect and trust."
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"In the eyes of the Maker, that's true," she says, "But it's not only the Maker who watches us. Those eyes can watch all they want. I don't have time for people who're too worried about the cleanliness of the clothe to get down in the mud and do the work that needs doing to take care of people."
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That's one way to put it.
"I hardly think of sleeping on the floor as getting down in the mud. Your efforts will be better bolstered by comfortable sleep, Sister."
There may be a touch of compassion involved here, but he'd hate for anyone to make note of it.
"Shall I mix you a draught?"
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But she softens in turn at the offer, shaking her head.
"Tried that a few times. Tends to make things worse." Which is about as much vulnerability as she's willing to show, "And anyway, the sleep I'm getting is perfectly fine. It's only the matter of these blasted spirits who seem inclined to drag us all into those dreams every winter or so, that'll disturb anyone's sleep."
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"Will the spirits not find you on the floor as easily as they would in a bed?" He turns away from her now to begin putting on a kettle for tea.
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This is clearly a very sound rational that she's deeply satisfied with.
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"It doesn't sound like it's surfacer business," he points out, the ghost of a smirk still on his face, "but if it pleases you, sleep wherever you like. Just. Please. ...not in here."
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"If it will stop you fussing, very well," she says, "Speaking of, do you have any connections to the Sisters and Brothers who stayed in Hightown?" If he's going to be here anyway, she might as well see if he's useful.
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"I don't. I wasn't aware of any-- what about them?"
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