Tisdan

[LOG]

2009-07-14T05:46:55Z

Date: 10.3.20
Witnesses: Adissa, Ofelia, Tisdan
Location: Inner Hold, Nabol Hold
Facts: Adissa and Ofelia are talking. Tisdan isn't impressed.

Two women in the hall among the landscapes. There's a faint smile from Ofelia, might have been one even if Adissa's comment had been said with a smirk. "Perhaps. I am certainly not as... outdoorsy as some, though I'll go riding now and then once we're properly into spring," says Ofelia, her eye too on the paintings with only sidelong glances to Adissa for a moment until the older woman turns. "Your father? Or have you picked up an admirer, now? I don't mean to say that you *are* a country cousin. Rather the opposite, I suppose, wouldn't it be?"

The fine cup clinks against its fine plate when Adissa places it upon the other. "I can't say I have the time for admirers, though they certainly seem to find an amusement in making time for me." Adissa only provides Ofelia with a cheshire smile as to the whereabouts of her actual origin and says instead, "I don't think I knew you rode. We should go. Together."

Unfortunately for him, Tisdan can't stay locked away in his quarters at all hours of the day and night. So he's venturing out and he doesn't look particularly thrilled about it, judging by the sour expression he wears. He might miss the presence of his daughter entirely if something didn't draw his attention directly her way, but it does and he pauses long enough to note as well who she's speaking with. He doesn't approach, but he doesn't continue either. He's probably trying to decide which would be the better decision.

"We absolutely should," Ofelia is agreeing in an instant, all smiles, and if her eye lights momentarily on the gentleman down the hall a bit, her gaze does not linger there. She's all friendliness. Like all of those years of barely noticing that Adissa existed were just a simple misunderstanding. An accident. "That would be delightful. Just as soon as it's not nearly so chill, I don't think it's quite the season yet to spend time out of doors without fur." And then, finally, the acknowledgment: "Ah, there he is. Your father." She does, perhaps, not sound precisely overjoyed.

If Ofelia will pretend, then Adissa will pretend, and they will play pretendy fun time games together. "I completely agree. Come spring, maybe. Maybe even summer." The smile she wears continues on in being the neutral sort, neither overly friendly or understatedly polite. It's been honed over several years. And it would seem she did not notice her father's presence in the same space until Ofelia points him out and she turns to see him there. Her smile falters as if being 'caught' with her present company was not the wisest thing she's done today, but her voice is steady. "Papa."

"Adissa," Tisdan says his daughter's name in a soft, almost affectionate sort of voice. But his expression holds little affection because he's watching the other woman like he might figure out something important about her if he only looks hard enough. And since he's staring, he starts approaching, gaze breaking away from Ofelia to look between the two women. "I can't say seeing the two of you together makes me a happy man," he notes. But, then, he's asking of the older woman, "How is your little Lucy?"

"Oh, spring, certainly. It's so pretty in the spring. When things first start to flower," Ofelia is continuing on blithely until Tisdan actually approaches. Until he's staring. There's a faint furrowing of her brow. "Uncle," by way of a greeting. No really good way to respond to that comment about her proximity to Adissa, so Ofelia will stick to dealing with the safer question: "Luciana is just fine. Thank you. I do hope you didn't feel they were being a bother. You know how children can be."

Adissa's dark lashes drift low, her eyes lowered to the cup and plate in her hands. It's difficult to tell what inspires her to look away like that, shame or dread, but whatever it is isn't strong enough to quell her when her father makes that remark. There's an edge to her gaze when she pins him with it but it isn't an unkind sharpness, it's only focus. Often she's given him these sorts of looks, the better to anticipate him. "I didn't think to ask," she supplies, needlessly.

"No," is the only response Tisdan gives to Ofelia's words. It might be terse but it seems to be all he thinks he needs to say on the matter. His eyes, somewhat dull today, focus on Adissa then and he asks, "What is it the two of you are planning?" Forgive him if he sounds just a tiny bit paranoid and disapproving over having to ask the question at all.

"Riding in the spring," Ofelia suggests, exactly as warmly as if this really was a happy thought. Or perhaps maybe it is. Just so hard to take these things at face value in such a place as this. "I don't do a great deal of it, but it is a good thing occasionally. I was just thinking that perhaps this turn would be a good time to get ponies for the girls. I know they're a bit young, but they are quite in love with the idea." When all other subjects seem dangerous, talk about your kids.

If Ofelia beats her to it, Adissa is only grateful. Having the second turn gives her the opportunity to smooth over if not the entire situation then at least Tisdan. She lifts up a new smile for her father and loops her arm through his to draw herself close to his side because it is important that she appears to be on it. The extra physical contact doesn't come across as obvious restraint, but there might be an implication. "Ponies are every little girl's dream I think." This is just a polite conversation, nothing more.

Suspicion lingers in Tisdan's gaze as he looks at Ofelia. There's nothing warm in his own and it might stray a little too far from her face at least once. Adissa's contact isn't exactly welcomed, but there's no apparent protest either. The chill is less so in his voice when he says as though it's not too unpleasant to join in the conversation, "I'm sure they'd like that."

"Agustin," Ofelia goes on blithely, "was a bit older. Not that he wasn't excited, but he wanted a jumper anyway. He always did want to run before he could walk. Someday, he'll have his jumper." Her attention is mostly on Adissa, far easier to look to her than to Tisdan, which might mean acknowledging that straying glance. No, she'll just be polite and ignore it. "We will see. I have told them that they need to behave like proper young ladies if they expect to have proper ponies. Did you have a pony, Adissa? I don't know how they do things, there, at the--" A flicker of glance to Tisdan. "Well, there."

There's no shortage of confidence in Adissa when it comes to her father and if he isn't going to disallow her closeness then she will carry on. While her smile is far from plastered, it doesn't change much while Ofelia goes on about her children; instead things happen around it, like her eyes narrowing or her chin dipping into a nod. When the other woman comes to that uncomfortable conclusion she's very quick to pick up the loose end and do what she can with it. "No," and the laughter in her voice even sounds easy, "no ponies. I was happy with my books, wasn't I." The look she gives Tisdan is utterly trusting.

Of course Tisdan realizes the attention that's given more freely to Adissa. It bothers him, too, but he doesn't say anything about it. Not right here and now. He's too busy tensing over the mention of the Weyr and Ofelia's insult. Or, perhaps, his perception of her words as an insult. "Are you saying that my Adissa is not a proper lady?" he growls and moves to take a step toward the older woman, though he doesn't try to pull out of Adissa's touch.

"Not at all, Uncle," and Ofelia is easy enough to deflect that, although she may draw back just a half step or so away from the two of them. "We don't all have everything we want as children. Why, I didn't have a pony until I was nine, perhaps. My parents wanted me to learn to sail. Horrid, horrid little dinghy." Only there does the smile dissolve into a well-crafted wrinkling of the nose, humorous distaste.

There is no verbal command, no syllable of control that Adissa has mastered for her father. There is only the smooth tightening of her fingers arouns his arm to remind him that she is there and so he should stay. It's utterly unnoticeable, but she adds another glance at his face that isn't, nor is the gentle clatter of her cup on its plate. She is well accustomed to this routine.

Now Tisdan does forcibly attempt to remove his contact from Adissa. But it's not to close the distance between himself and Ofelia. He looks at his daughter for a moment, searching, and then he rumbles, "Excuse me." He turns toward the stairs to the landing, moving a hand to pull the flask from his pocket almost as soon as his back is to the pair of them.

Although he's turning away, certainly Adissa is still in a position to catch that look of momentarily unmasked disgust and disapproval--but Ofelia composes herself quickly. "Well. I should be on if I hope to get any kind of needlework done before the children get back from their baths. It--" Another look after Tisdan, this one less displeased and less certain. "I *am* sorry," quieter. Although less of an 'I'm sorry for doing something wrong' than an 'I'm sorry your father is such a social reject', perhaps, in tone alone.

He is allowed his leave, Adissa wouldn't dream of torturing him by keeping him here. Still, the melancholy in her expression bleeds through so easily in her watching him leave, in watching the flask appear. She is so quick to refocus on Ofelia that she does indeed see the look on the other woman's face and where the subtle beginnings of a smile had begun there now is only a flatness. What Ofelia /says/ doesn't matter, not after she's said her sorry. In a reasonable tone of voice that holds no more of that sadness and certainly no apology, she only says, "And I'm not surprised."

Tisdan, oblivious to the exchanges between the pair of women, continues on his way to and down the stairs in his agitated stride. He probably won't be seen again for the rest of the day, at least. That's got to be a win for somebody!

[LOG]

2009-07-13T04:50:49Z

Date: 7.3.20
Witnesses: Adissa, Tisdan
Location: Great Hall, Nabol Hold
Facts: After a walk in the rain, Tisdan is stopped by Adissa in the Great Hall.

Icy rain keeps most normal people inside. Usually. It at least keeps people from walking around in it for no good reason. But it's already been pretty well established that Tisdan is not a normal person. He did have the sense to put on a jacket and a brimmed hat for his walk. And the flask that's often in his company is tucked into one of his pockets. When the soaked man comes inside from the courtyard, he earns an odd look or two, but nothing more than usual. He probably doesn't notice them anyway as he begins to make his way through the great hall.

From where she sits not far at all across the hall from that entrance her father's just come in through, Adissa can see enough of the rest of the room that an arrival like his won't go undetected. She keeps no company other than the book she reads so needn't make any excuses to stand and make her way to him, catching up the trailing end of her dress in her free hand on the way. Her stride is long and eats up the distance quickly, putting her within hearing distance at least within moments. "A walk in the rain? Really, Papa." Her tone holds far too much emotion.

His daughter's voice is enough to make his step slow and Tisdan turns partially to look back in the direction of her approach. A just noticeable smile pulls at one corner of his mouth and then he looks past her toward the entrance from the courtyard. "I needed to get out. I can't help that it's raining," he says when more of that distance has been closed and he turns to face her fully. "And you, dearheart? I trust you didn't leave some poor man's company just to chide me." He sounds lighter than he looks and he looks in the direction that she'd come for whatever fool might dare keep his daughter's company.

It doesn't take Adissa long at all to catch up and once she has she catches him up by linking arms with him. "At least you wore your jacket," she notices, proud of him. She is idly plucking at the sleeve of that article when he mentions company and looks up at him just in time to catch his cheek with her hand and pull his face back around and thwart that looking around business. "You know better. How was your walk? Come sit with me." Perhaps the small tug on his arm will help coerce him over to that bench they're walking by.

The jaw beneath his cold cheek tenses when his attention is forcibly drawn back to Adissa. "It was nice. No one else was around." Probably because no one else was foolish enough to be outside. "But cold." So he does have some sense. He balks only momentarily from moving with the woman, a glance given toward the staircase that leads to their quarters, but he doesn't actually protest. A hand lifts to undo his jacket and he'll slip it off and set it aside before he sits, his flask still tucked into one of its pockets. "I don't understand why you linger with these people," he murmurs.

Successful and smiling, Adissa slides her arm free and sits before he does to gather her hands in her lap and find her posture, all very important things. She doesn't answer until he seats himself so that she won't have to raise her voice. "Because one of us has to." Like she's said it more than once, she uses the sort of voice one uses when they're trying to teach someone something. Now she turns her solemn dark eyes on him and purses her lips. She reaches to take one of his hands in both of hers to put some warmth into it. "Did you eat?" One of the many questions traditional for any day.

There's a quick snort from Tisdan at her response and it's his usual answer to comments along these lines. He doesn't agree and he probably never will. At least not where Adissa is concerned. "Mmm," is the sound he makes when she asks if he's eaten. It's not an actual answer but more of an acknowledgement of the question. The touch of her hands is what Tisdan really focuses on and he moves his other to settle over hers.

That snort earns him a mildly reproachful but endeared look from her. That he so neatly doesn't-really-answer her question brings the first signs of a smile to her pale face. Adissa looks down at their hands and at him again. There's always been a small hesitant moment just like this one before she broaches any subject she's sure will trouble him. But still, "Did something happen the other day? With two little girls?"

"I didn't touch them," Tisdan says almost immediately and his expression darkens somewhat. Rumors run out of control and rational proportion more often than they should where the ex-dragonrider is concerned and that must be one that got back to him. "They were Denys' girls. They ran into some woman. I don't remember her name." And judging by the tone his voice takes, he wasn't impressed with her by any stretch of the imagination. The hand covering the others withdraws and Tisdan looks out over the hall.

Shock registers as numbness, her mouth gone slack and her eyes widened. "Papa--" But he continues on and she cuts herself off, looking more and more disturbed. He takes his hand away, stubborn sets her jaw and Adissa reaches for his cheek again, minus the manipulation to turn his face this time. Maybe she's hoping he'll do that part himself. Entirely fond, "Don't you shut me out, old man."

"I would never," Tisdan returns in his own fond way as he tilts his gaze back toward her. Nevermind that he shuts his daughter, and everyone else, out plenty when the desire or perceived need strikes him. He searches Adissa's face, blue eyes lucid and intense, then he opens his mouth to speak but hesitates. Whatever he might have said is replaced with, "I should go and change out of these clothes, perhaps."

As always when she believes there's a reason for his searching, Adissa pulls her mouth up into a warm smile and rubs her thumb along the rough of his cheek. When he opens his mouth she lifts her eyebrows just enough to ask him silent questions and urge him to speak. It doesn't matter that she suspects he might not have said what he wanted to, she'll take what she can get. "Yes," she agrees, a little breathless. She drops her hand to pat his and nods, still smiling. "You'll catch cold if you don't."

Tisdan reaches for his jacket and leans closer to his daughter to press an affectionate kiss to her temple before he rises. His hand slips from hers and he gestures vaguely with it toward the rest of the hall, "You don't have to linger. You're better than these people, my Adissa." He speaks even as he turns to start heading toward the stairs, voice raised somewhat so that the people nearest can overhear him easily. A hand searches with practiced ease for the flask in the pocket of his jacket while he walks, muttering further to himself.

Her eyes close, her cheek turned so she can lean into that gesture; her fingers curl around the empty space where his hand had been and when she opens her eyes she's looking up at him. His parting words inspire a quick but unapologetic glance at a small crowd seated near her, then Adissa turns her head away from them, all of them, to sadly watch her father walk away with his flask and his mutterings. She'll stay there a long time, too, to ensure that nobody dares speak ill, even if it's only for as long as she's around.