Early Evening, 38th Yaris, 2711
Jean De Silver's Apartment, the Stacks
Jean De Silver's Apartment, the Stacks
Uzoji couldn’t be sure what he’d said that struck a chord, but he saw Jean look away and take a deep drink of his brandy, saw the other man gather himself. Uzoji didn’t watch; he turned his gaze politely to the other man’s walls, admiring them, and did not press. He looked back when Jean smiled, and listened, giving the man the same courtesy he had given him moments earlier. He shook his head faintly at the question of Gior, but he listened, curiously and intently.
A child of two worlds, Uzoji thought, studying the man before him. He had Gioran looks, certainly; Uzoji had remarked upon it himself, more than once. And yet he was Anaxi enough in his mannerisms; Uzoji wasn’t surprised to learn that he had a family home in the country, nor that families might consider him a suitable enough match.
A hard adjustment, Jean called it, and Uzoji nodded faintly. He understood; he liked Brunnhold, personally. There were other Mugrobi who could not adjust; for whom the cold grated too badly, for whom the thought of the dishonesty that seemed to be endemic to these Anaxi, which they seemed to perpetuate without shame. No kofi – bland food – a harsher sort of Estuan, which to most Mugrobi seemed utterly representative of Anaxas as a whole. Several of those who had intended to take the last two years at Brunnhold had returned to Thul’Amat at the beginning of the year, even some of those who focused on Quantitative Conversation. Uzoji had not felt it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand it.
And Niccolette?
Uzoji exhaled a little, taking a moment in the silence. He loved her. If she would have him – if she loved him enough to choose him over the demands of family – then what was he doing to her? Was it right, taking her from her home? Bastia and Anaxas were twinned together; Mugroba was not. She would stand out – they would not, he thought, live in Thul Ka, but he did not wish to live entirely in Anaxas. Would it be a hard adjustment? Gior was more closed to outsiders than Mugroba. Had Jean’s mother come to resent his father? Would Niccolette come to resent him?
Uzoji took another drag from the cigar, and he sat with his lips around it still when Jean spoke again. He grinned, and set it down again, nodding, and felt that a loosening of the tension in his chest. Hulali had guided him to Niccolette; he could not but believe that. And her Hurte – perhaps She had had a hand as well.
“It has,” Uzoji said, smiling across the room at the other man, “been, truly, my pleasure. Your directness is welcome; it is not always our way in Mugroba, but we appreciate honesty in all its forms. I’m glad as well, and I hope this will be only the beginning of our friendship.” He lifted his glass of brandy to Jean, and drained the last of it.
There wasn’t much time for more than light conversation before the clock on the mantle chimed. Uzoji glanced at it, and couldn't help but smile. “My apologies,” he said, rising. “I don't want to give Niccolette cause for concern by being late.” He bowed to Jean. “Have a good night, Jean.” Uzoji grinned at the older man one last time, and took his leave, back out into the streets of the Dive, bathed in the soft, pleasant warmth of the evening as he found his way to Niccolette once more.
A child of two worlds, Uzoji thought, studying the man before him. He had Gioran looks, certainly; Uzoji had remarked upon it himself, more than once. And yet he was Anaxi enough in his mannerisms; Uzoji wasn’t surprised to learn that he had a family home in the country, nor that families might consider him a suitable enough match.
A hard adjustment, Jean called it, and Uzoji nodded faintly. He understood; he liked Brunnhold, personally. There were other Mugrobi who could not adjust; for whom the cold grated too badly, for whom the thought of the dishonesty that seemed to be endemic to these Anaxi, which they seemed to perpetuate without shame. No kofi – bland food – a harsher sort of Estuan, which to most Mugrobi seemed utterly representative of Anaxas as a whole. Several of those who had intended to take the last two years at Brunnhold had returned to Thul’Amat at the beginning of the year, even some of those who focused on Quantitative Conversation. Uzoji had not felt it, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t understand it.
And Niccolette?
Uzoji exhaled a little, taking a moment in the silence. He loved her. If she would have him – if she loved him enough to choose him over the demands of family – then what was he doing to her? Was it right, taking her from her home? Bastia and Anaxas were twinned together; Mugroba was not. She would stand out – they would not, he thought, live in Thul Ka, but he did not wish to live entirely in Anaxas. Would it be a hard adjustment? Gior was more closed to outsiders than Mugroba. Had Jean’s mother come to resent his father? Would Niccolette come to resent him?
Uzoji took another drag from the cigar, and he sat with his lips around it still when Jean spoke again. He grinned, and set it down again, nodding, and felt that a loosening of the tension in his chest. Hulali had guided him to Niccolette; he could not but believe that. And her Hurte – perhaps She had had a hand as well.
“It has,” Uzoji said, smiling across the room at the other man, “been, truly, my pleasure. Your directness is welcome; it is not always our way in Mugroba, but we appreciate honesty in all its forms. I’m glad as well, and I hope this will be only the beginning of our friendship.” He lifted his glass of brandy to Jean, and drained the last of it.
There wasn’t much time for more than light conversation before the clock on the mantle chimed. Uzoji glanced at it, and couldn't help but smile. “My apologies,” he said, rising. “I don't want to give Niccolette cause for concern by being late.” He bowed to Jean. “Have a good night, Jean.” Uzoji grinned at the older man one last time, and took his leave, back out into the streets of the Dive, bathed in the soft, pleasant warmth of the evening as he found his way to Niccolette once more.
