<Out of Character> This story was an e-mail
exchange between Karen Alfrey – Eve’s player – and
Russ – Hargomme’s player. Karen Klutzke
added comments on occasion, as GM. 95% of what is here is straight out of the
original messages, but some of it had to be cleaned up for perspective and
such. In fact, there’s probably some that I missed… </Out of Character>
Eve listens for the door to shut, the sound of Alyddia
departing for her morning run on the beach. Eve feels not the slightest bit of
envy: who'd want to run after the enormous day of feasting they had yesterday?
And there's more feasting still to come, days of it.
Hmmm, maybe a little exercise wouldn't be such a bad
idea after all....
But not that kind. Eve has a better idea. She rises
and pulls the curtains aside to let the first rays of dawn filter in to the
room, then sits on her bed, propped against the pillows.
She pulls her trump case from the night-stand between
her and Alyddia's beds, retrieves Hargomme's trump, and concentrates on the
image.
As he finishes pushing his weight up off of the
ground, Hargomme pauses, his body stretched across the middle of the room on
his toes and knuckles. Wearing only a pair of thigh-length shorts, his hair is
tied into a tight tail hanging over his right shoulder. He's obviously been
working out for a while as his body is glistening with sweat. He smoothly
slides his knees forward and to the ground, then sits back on his feet. Taking
the rag beside him, he mops his brow and pauses, contemplating. This doesn't
last long, though; he responds with a strong - and silent - "Who?"
Hargomme can feel the smirk almost before he feels the
answer: "Eve," Eve responds, also silently. As Hargomme opens himself
fully to the contact, he sees in his mind's eye that she is sitting on her bed,
still dressed in the men's-style undershirt and shorts that she has been
sleeping in.
She regards him through the contact with a sheepish
look on her face, as though she hadn't quite expected to find him in his present
state. "I, er, didn't mean to interrupt your
workout," she says, and then hides her sheepishness behind a grin.
"Man, now I really feel like a slacker!"
Hargomme smiles for a moment. At first she thinks it
might be at her comment, but she quickly realizes that it was probably just to
cover the fact that he didn't understand the word, but expected that it would
be humorous if he did...
A look of worry crosses his face for a moment.
Standing, he mentally asks, "Something wrong?" as he glances about
the room as though looking for something. Immediately, his eyes show that a
realization has hit him and he smiles again, "Or did you want a trump
duel?"
"Trump duel," Eve replies, still grinning.
"Alyddia just took off for her morning run, and I figure we've got a
little time before the Tongans start shoving food in our faces again... but if
you want to finish your workout first, or... or find a more private
spot---"
She says that last phrase out loud. Hargomme gets the
distinct impression that she did it to keep herself from thinking something
else too loudly.
"-- I can wait," she concludes, silently.
He looks at the image of the young woman that is
overlapped in his vision as though trying to understand what she was thinking.
This lasts for only a moment - it's become obvious that he doesn't try too
hard, as it just isn't worth the effort... In fact, she actually gets a
fleeting thought of "You wouldn't tell me, anyway, would you..." in a
comical, almost sarcastic tone.
Eve arches an eyebrow. There's a pause as she works
out what just happened, punctuated at the end by a smirk when she figures it
out and debates whether to tell him. Hargomme gets a sense from her, almost
simultaneously, of a mischievous "This could be fun!" and a steely
"That could be dangerous."
Then, clearly and distinctly, she replies, "I
heard that, Hargomme."
He freezes for a moment, as though time has halted.
"Hmm..." is the only audible response, but you get a brief,
"Heard...?"
Nodding slowly, as though comprehending what she said,
he silently responds with, "Well, uh..."
Then, softly, "Crap..."
Eve nods slightly, as if she's come to the same
unfortunate conclusion.
He glances around for a moment, as though looking for
something. "No, no, this is probably a good time, before Cole... Well, stops
snoring," he silently communicates to Eve.
Eve chuckles. "Lucky you," she says.
He smiles for a moment in response.
The tone of his mental voice shifts a little, as he
continues, "I'm just glad I got more of that wax stuff when we were on
board the ship - it's turned out to be very useful for more than just sleeping
through Gerard." He grins as though remembering a private joke as he
continues glancing about.
Finally, he stops, and begins walking towards the
balcony. "I have a feeling that I might be better off in the open area,
away from the doors," he tells her. Again, his thoughts seem to creep in
with, "Just in case I make too much noise..." Stepping out onto the
balcony, he takes the first seat he comes to, turning it so that it faces
inside. He grabs another chair and shoves it in front of him, kicking his legs
up on it and crossing his ankles. Relaxing, he casually lays the towel in his
lap, folds his arms, and asks - silently - "So, what did you have in
mind?" He looks very comfortable, sitting there...
As she regards him through the contact, Eve takes a
deep breath and lets it out slowly in an attempt to clear her mind of errant
thoughts. Her response is measured, heavily but shakily controlled, like a
spirited horse trying to buck out from under a stubborn rider: "I think...
our first order of business should be... trying to figure out how to do this
without... leaking everything in our heads...."
He tilts his head a little, watching and waiting.
Trapping sarcasm in Eve's brain is like holding water
in a fist: the harder she grips, the more it slips through the cracks. And so,
a moment later, Hargomme also hears: "...and this will be excellent
practice for if our attackers ever try to distract us by being HALF-NAKED AND
SWEATY!" ...followed immediately by a grumpy obscenity. Hargomme starts to
get the impression that Eve might break the contact.
"Eve!" He throws his hand forward, as though
to grab her ghostlike form, but stops short. "Don't. Please, don't break
off." In his face is a look of surprise and... Interest? Concern? Eve
senses a thought from him, a brief moment that he started to think something.
It was vague and fleeting, but it definitely pertained to her in some way...
Immediately overwhelmed by a very clear, "Did she
hear that?"
His hand still out, he moves to stand...
The contact wavers, almost as if Eve were adjusting
her mental grip, but it does not break. Eve is still there, scowling through
the contact, forcing her breathing to slow regularity and her mind to
stillness. Hargomme catches a few fleeting angry thoughts, all self-directed,
before she replies, silently and a touch grumpily, "I'm still here."
Getting to his feet, Hargomme allows his hand to drop
to his side, sliding the towel from his lap to the seat with his other hand. He
smiles a little, apparently relieved.
Then, a moment later, she adds, "But don't let it
go to your head or anything." The corner of her mouth twitches very
slightly upward.
As he starts walking back into the common room, he
grins in response. Eve catches a thought, "Too late," just at the
edge of the contact.
"Hmmph. Typical,"
comes the faint, and faintly amused, response.
There seems to be another flash of thought there, but
it vanishes as soon as it appears, giving you no idea what it was. It is immediately
replaced by another thought, one he sends on purpose, "You're right. For
right now, let's emphasize on controlling our thoughts in general. It won't do
much good to try to... defend against you learning something from me, when...
me thinking about you learning it hands it to you on a lacquered platter."
He points to the trump in her hand, as though to show what he is referring to.
Eve nods. Hargomme can sense the faint hum of her
carefully controlled background thoughts: "This is just sparring -- it is
an exercise -- we are teammates, pushing each other -- must maintain
focus" -- steady, almost meditative, but not able to block out the
occasional deeply-felt aside:
"Too close."
"...could use this against..."
"...moves like a warrior."
As he walks, he turns his head a little, looking for
something, and projects a thought to her, "Yes, focus will help. You have
a lot of other thoughts still running around in that (pretty) head of yours,
though, Eve."
"Good thing you're already in another room,"
Eve thinks -- probably on purpose -- when she catches his aside, as if she
might have to throw him through the wall otherwise. But there's no real malice
in the implied threat, and he can sense the smirk behind her narrowed eyes.
He grimaces, shakes his head, and continues walking.
Obviously annoyed at himself, he does at least smile at her response.
Inside of the room, Hargomme pauses, reaches down, and
grabs his shirt, pulling it on in a quick, fluid motion. His thoughts continue
with, "While we're doing this, we can make a point to tell each other when
we are, well... Leaking thoughts?" You get the impression that he is
purposefully rambling, to avoid the possibility of those leaking thoughts. He
is just focusing on Eve, on the topic at hand, but you get an "Hmm, odd
night clothes." This thought is immediately followed by what is obviously
an attempt to stop another thought, again something that pertains to you.
"No... I need to be thinking about the task at hand..."
Eve shifts self-consciously, sitting up a little
straighter and crossing her legs almost primly at the ankle, as if she's
suddenly become uncomfortably aware of her physical self and is unsure what to
do with it. Her toes curl and uncurl against the rumpled bed sheet.
"...don't have this problem when I'm holding a sword," huffs her
subconscious mind, indignantly and audibly.
Turning to return outside, Hargomme looks at Eve
through the contact, a twinkle in his eye, "Yes, but when you're holding a
sword, you're... one with your weapon, your body and weapon moving in concert
to achieve the desired result. How many of us can say that," he taps his
head with his finger, "up here? How many of us... really understand what
we're thinking all the time?"
Eve nods again, but gives no deliberate answer. She's
too busy quashing a ripple of sarcastic reactions to that "one with your
weapon" business. Hargomme thinks he catches a reference to his sword.
"What do you think?" he broadcasts.
"Work on the leaks?"
"I think... yeah," Eve replies carefully.
She relaxes a little, now that her mind has a concrete task to latch onto.
"I'm hearing little snippets from you, but I don't always get a full
thought."
He nods, and begins to respond.
Then, like a test thrust against a sparring opponent,
she adds impishly, "Why? What do you sleep in?"
Hargomme gets the distinct impression she's testing
her own control, her own reactions, at least as much as she's testing his.
His original response is suddenly swallowed, and he
physically misses a beat. Not enough to make him stumble, but definitely taking
him off guard. A fleeting, background thought of "Uh, whoever's..."
is immediately interrupted with another background thought:
"nothing". Then he smiles for a moment - he realizes that he's
broadcast something and Eve gets that thought from him, that recognition,
accompanied by a "Hmm... Well played."
"Thanks," Eve says, returning the smile.
He'd given the answer she'd braced herself for, but that first, fleeting part
caught her off-guard. Hargomme senses her surprise, faintly senses her trying
to complete the sentence: "Whoever's pajamas? Whoever's bed? Whoever's
convenient?" But this time she quickly regains control of her thoughts.
He smiles. "Here's my problem, Eve." He's
back outside, now, and picks up the towel from the chair. As he slides smoothly
into the seat, he continues, "When I'm in casual conversation, I have
always... Well, I consider my thoughts before making a statement. I'll think
about a lot of possible responses - even while I'm actually talking. When I'm
focused on a task at hand, on a specific goal, such as combat, orders, a
mission, these thoughts... don't exist. There just isn't time for them in that
kind of situation."
"I'm going to have to change how I think when I'm
dealing with trumps... consciously shift into that... unconscious mode that I'm
in in combat. Gareth has taught me some focusing
techniques, and I've also learned some from the Tillians back home, so I'll be
trying to use some of those, as they may help."
Eve nods. "I know what you mean," she projects,
"and I'm coming to the same conclusions." From her mental tone of
voice she sounds frustrated by her current lack of control, but fiercely
determined to get better.
He sits forward, looking her in the eye through the
vision of the trump, and says, "And you can finish the sentence however
you'd like," as he smiles. Eve senses a brief thought, something about one
of her guesses, but it was too fleeting, as it was immediately replaced.
Eve presses her lips together tightly as if
suppressing a smirk, but... "...paying," she can't quite keep herself
from thinking. It's like an adolescent reflex or something, the reflex to find
the most obnoxious answer possible.
She almost looks sheepish about it, but then...
It suddenly appears in Hargomme’s mind, a question for
Eve that he'd like to ask her, and - unfortunately for everyone involved - it
leaps to the front of his mind during the contact. He immediate decides that
he'll wait to ask it out of trump, out of respect for Eve's privacy, and - in
less than a heartbeat - it is gone as though it never existed. But it did, of
course, and Eve sensed it loud and clear. She sensed the question, she sensed
his decision, and she sensed it vanishing.
He had suddenly wondered if Eve had ever been with a
man...
Eve's reaction leaves no doubt she heard the question:
there's a brief cacophony of contradictory, but uniformly indignant, responses,
all involuntary; Hargomme hears "...is a liability," but can't quite
make out what it's in reference to.
Rolling his eyes and head for a moment, Hargomme rests
his elbows upon his knees and brings his forehead into his hands With a
definite, verbal "Crap," he looks back up, letting his hands drop in
front of him, his wrists crossing, relaxed.
As she tries to quiet her thoughts, Eve stares through
the contact with an intense gaze.
Hargomme watches her, his mind cleared. There is a
kind of background buzz of thought, there, as though his concentration has
shifted to another level. He watches her, waiting.
Hargomme senses that she's unsure whether she can keep
the answer from slipping out... so she's trying to find some way to use it to
her advantage. What he finally hears is: "Well, I'd hardly call him a man..."
He smiles, a sweet, friendly smile, for a moment.
Slowly, he glances down toward her feet and then back up again, the smile
sliding into something different, something more... competitive... fierce...
Eve's eyes glint like they do when she's fencing, and
she half-smiles like she's just scored a touch, or thinks she's about to. Her
mind is focused, her thoughts no longer so audible.
His thoughts are clear: "Well, it's your
choice." He sits back, opening his arms in a gesture of surrender.
"Tell me about the poor boy or we can discuss meditation." His eyes
glint as he smiles sarcastically, "Up for comedic or boring?" He's
focused. When he mentions meditation, Eve senses that he's already working on
it, that he's moved his thoughts into what he hopes is a more secure place. But
she did get that thought...
"Well, the 'poor boy' is scarcely worth
mentioning," Eve responds mentally in a haughty tone eerily reminiscent of
Flora. Only her irreverent smile suggests it was an intentional parody.
"Unless you have another idea?" He raises an
eyebrow at her, tilting his head to the right.
"No, meditation is good," Eve replies, then
adds, "...since I think you're already working on it." She smiles.
He returns the smile, then pauses, a flicker of
realization crossing his face. It was odd, though - there was no thought
accompanying it.
Her own thoughts turn to the smattering of techniques
she's been taught -- haphazardly -- over the years, by coaches and guest
lecturers and teammates. "Maybe that 'empty vessel' crap isn't such
bullshit after all," she adds with a smirk.
"Ah, but empty vessel will not help you as much
in this situation, although it's a good starter for someone... inexperienced in
such matters," he begins, the challenge communicated not just through his
thought, but also his smile and eyes.
Eve bares her teeth, turning her smirk into a playful
snarl. She's listening carefully to what he has to say, though.
He spends a few minutes describing some practices that
the Tillians had taught him, ways to separate the conscious from the
subconscious, allowing a person to have unconscious thoughts without having
them interrupt the conscious thought processes. "Some of these are very
useful in battle," he says, "You can allow your instincts and
training to control your actions... Yet keep psychological distractions from...
Putting your life at risk - or the lives of your comrades."
Eve nods. Hargomme can sense her weaving this new
information together with things she's already been taught; and after a moment
she adds to his lesson by describing a technique or two of her own. It is clear
she doesn't have even his limited experience with meditation, but she knows a
thing or two about quieting distracting thoughts during combat.
But, she confesses, it's still much harder when she's
trying to control her mind rather than her body. In response, Hargomme just
nods.
Settling back into the chair, he asks, "Would you
rather continue this via trump, one-on-one, or on your own?" There was
absolutely no bias to that question, in tone, thought, or expression, almost
making Eve think that he deliberately prevented it.
"I wanna try something
else first," she replies quickly.
She's hedging, and Hargomme knows it, even though he
can't clearly hear her background thoughts.
"I think one of us should try to break contact,
and the other should try to hold it open." She cocks her head. "Whaddaya think?"
Eyebrows raised, he responds, "Great idea."
There's a sense of appreciation in his voice. "I hadn't thought that it
was possible to do that, to be honest."
"I'm not sure it is," Eve replies, "but
it's worth trying."
Smiling a little mischievously, a slight chuckle to
his voice, he says, "Would you like to do the breaking?"
"Always," Eve responds with a grin.
"Yeah, that seems like as good a way as any to start. I don't know whether
being the person holding the card will make a difference or not, so we should
try it all four ways."
She takes a deep breath. "Ready?" she asks
as she moves her hand to cover his trump....
Focusing intently upon her, Hargomme mentally tries to
hold the young woman, to stop her from breaking the contact. He visualizes his
mind reaching out and holding on to hers, not letting go of it, keeping the
image visible and the contact solid.
Slowly he nods...
Eve swipes her hand over Hargomme's trump. The contact
doesn't break, though. His presence is still persistently there, like a piece
of tape stuck to her finger that she can't shake off.
"Well?" he asks, his face tight in
concentration. A bit of a smile crosses his face...
There's a pause, a sudden stillness, but it's not
empty: Hargomme can still sense Eve's presence even if he can't really hear her
thoughts. And Eve's presence is grumpy.
"Bite me," it responds after a moment.
She turns her efforts more actively toward breaking
the contact, pushing back against it like she's swatting away an annoying
insect.
Hargomme's eyes narrow with the concentration as he
focuses intently upon her image. There's no thoughts being bared and his face
shows no emotion - just serious attention.
After a moment of this contest, they suddenly
disappear from each others' views, and the world returns to singularity, the
ghost-like images of the alternative locations vanishing from view.
Hargomme gets up from the chair and walks back into
the quarters, moving in a relaxed and casual fashion, the towel in hand.
About the time he gets into the common room, he feels
in his mind the tickle of a new trump call.
Smiling, he stops and accepts the contact.
"Yes?"
He makes an effort to focus his mind, concentrating
upon the trump contact as it appears before him.
It is Eve, scrutinizing him through narrowed eyes.
"Did you let go on purpose?" she asks, cocking her head and arching
an eyebrow. The attitude she's projecting feels very like a warrior picking up
a dropped weapon for another round of friendly sparring.
Hargomme holds his free hand up in a gesture of
surrender, smiling. She senses a debate within him for a moment, but you're not
sure as to what.
"Yes, I did," he says, as he turns back to
the beautiful view outside. "I wanted... to let it drop, to see... feel
the result. Was it any different from your end? Did it feel like a normal
disconnect when it finally dropped?"
He slides back into the chair again, awaiting her
response.
Eve considers a moment, mentally comparing the feel of
it to other recent trump contacts, and nods. "Yeah. Totally normal, as far
as I could tell."
He nods a little, not surprised, but not extremely
pleased by that fact.
"Well, except for the part where the contact
didn't break as soon as I covered the card." She smiles. "That part
was a little freaky."
Hargomme smiles a little in response.
She pauses, and then adds, "On the other hand,
that could be good news. I'd wondered whether having control of the actual
trump card would confer any sort of advantage -- whether my physically
manipulating the trump could overcome your slight mental edge. So far, it seems
not... but maybe you should try cutting the contact from your end while I'm
holding it open...?" Even as she conveys that thought, Hargomme feels Eve
gearing up to hold on.
He nods again, saying, "I was thinking that,
also. I'd also like to... to know when a person is holding a contact open -
hence my question. I'd rather know before I try to break it, if you know what I
mean, so that I can gauge my response appropriately. I'd rather not have the situation
of having a second attempt. Does that make any sense?"
Eve cocks her head. "I think I know what you're
saying, yeah. That it would be useful to feel the difference between a regular
end-of-contact and a contact where someone else is trying to force it shut, or
open -- so you'll have a better guess as to the other person's
intentions."
Again, a nod. Looking at her appraisingly, he lowers
his head a little and says, "If you're ready..."
Eve nods, and her eyes narrow in concentration.
Casually, almost as though waving good-bye, Hargomme
brings his hand in front of the image of Eve superimposed over the morning sun
on the beach, and attempts to drop the contact. His eyes - and his thoughts -
show that he is trying to feel Eve's attempt to hold the contact, searching for
a difference in it that he can recognize or sense. He's obviously not trying
hard, just attempting to drop the contact as he usually would. Hargomme's hand
passes between them...and the contact stays open. He smiles. "Good job..."
he says quietly.
Eve returns the smile, though she seems a bit
surprised that it worked.
"Why the surprise?" he asks, "You're
capable, strong..." He smiles for a moment, then, leaning forward, he
begins working against the contact, slowly, gradually, pushing against the
image. He seems to be looking past Eve as he rests his arms on his knees, face
tight in concentration.
Eve, meanwhile, feels out Hargomme's presence in her
mind, trying to keep her mental fingers twined around it, octopus-like.
"Because you're..." she begins quietly in
answer to his query, but she doesn't quite complete the thought. Her
concentration is too taken with holding on to his presence.
From the look on her face and the feelings in her
mind, she finds the whole process... intriguing.
Hargomme continues working against the image, slowly,
carefully, pulling free of Eve's efforts. He visualizes much of the effort,
literally seeing - in his mind's eye - the tentacles Eve is using, and his own
efforts to remove them. His expressions - and thoughts - are more of analysis
and consumption. He is learning everything he can from this, from every little
action and reaction, with a cold, detached attitude of one removed from their
body... Eerily reminiscent of Gareth.
Eve, in contrast, seems very much in her body. She's
trying to apply some of the same principles and techniques she'd use in
physical combat to her mental sparring, so she's experimenting with keeping her
physical and mental selves in better contact with each other. Hargomme sees her
fingers move, smooth and fluid, as the tendrils of her mind wrap around his.
After a moment, he also becomes aware of her
breathing, which is strong and even and a bit too rapid.
The battle of wills continues for a few moments. It
can be likened to Hargomme and Eve playing tug-o-war, where Hargomme is
increasing his pulling force slowly. It is hard doing it this way, very tiring
against someone so closely matched with him and very tiring for Eve as well.
When he finally manages to overcome her will and disengage, both find they're
sweating, breathing heavily, and mentally fried. It's been a tiring session,
and this last battle was the worst of them, being at the end of the session as
it was and so deliberately strung out.
Wiping his face with the towel, Hargomme breaths
deeply, slowing his body as he recovers from the exertion. He sits back, moving
the towel down his neck, and smiles a little. His thoughts quiet again, he
allows them to wander for a minute, thinking about what they just did and how
it could be used. The smile quickly vanishes, however, as he realizes that the
elders are likely far better at this than he will ever be.
He sits and waits, contemplating and considering...
Worrying... A few minutes later, the door to the girls' room slides open and Eve
emerges onto the balcony. Her hair is wet -- she probably cleaned up at the
basin in her room -- and she has changed into the Tongan dress she will wear
for the day's festivities. She looks tired.
Hargomme turns and looks, a smile creeping across his
face, replacing the concerns he was mulling over. She comes to stand near where
Hargomme is sitting, leaning on her elbows against the balcony railing with her
gaze focused far out to sea.
As she moves past, he just watches her, waiting.
After a long moment, she says, "So, I guess the
'grab Brand by the throat' plan is still our best option." She casts a
sidelong glance at Hargomme and her lips quirk into a slight smile.
He chuckles, shaking his head a little. His eyes never
leave hers, though. "Yes... Yes, I think we should... We should avoid
trump contact with Brand." He stretches for a moment, then stands wearily.
"Not that either of us are surprised by this."
"Y'know, I'd just as
soon avoid all contact with Brand for the time being," Eve agrees,
"but he hasn't exactly been making that easy." She mutters something
under her breath, some colorful deprecation that seems to call into question
her uncle's sexual prowess with barnyard animals, and shakes her head.
Tilting his head a little, looking at her askew, he
smiles.
He casually walks to a position beside Eve, just a
little to her left (close, but not touching), and looks out at the view for a
moment, thinking, then turns back to look at her. Even though he's taller, Eve
doesn't get that impression; it's as though she's looking at him eye to eye.
His posture, leaning down on the rail, and the way he is holding his head give
her a feeling of equality, of respect.
Though the light sea breeze hasn't really been strong
enough to ruffle her hair, Eve reaches up to tuck a strand of it behind her
ear. She has kept her face turned mostly toward the ocean, but her eyes are
fixed on Hargomme.
Looking fairly tired, himself, Hargomme says, "I
think we should... work with the trump some more, though. I especially want to
better control those leaking thoughts of mine. And there are... many things
about the trumps I don't understand, things I want to... figure out." A
mischievous smile flickers on his face for a moment, as though a thought
occurred that he ignored. "You?"
"Yeah," Eve says. "Definitely. All of
it. I know I need a hell of a lot more practice -- and if I'm gonna keep leaking thoughts in the meantime, better to you
than to ol' Pigf***er, you know?" She smirks and bumps her shoulder
playfully into Hargomme's.
He chuckles a little, his gaze drifting out to the
ocean. His hair is slick with sweat, brushed back out of his face, leaving his
face clear for her to see. He appears happy in some way, content.
"You wanna try again
tomorrow, or you want a couple days to brush up on your meditation first?"
she asks.
Hargomme's quiet for a moment, thinking about the
choices. Finally, he turns his body towards her, leaning his left arm on the
rail. "Meditation, at least for the next day or two. There are many things
going on right now, and... While we don't know how much time we have until this
could be necessary... Well," he shrugs, "I don't think that we'll
learn much by moving..." He pauses for a moment as a smile flickers across
his face, "too fast."
Eve blinks and looks down at her hands -- but she's
still smiling. He releases the rail and turns toward the house, "I'd
probably better go... clean up..." His back to her, as he walks inside, he
continues, "I can tell you about some of my ideas over breakfast?"
There's a short pause, and then Eve replies,
"Yeah. I'd like that."