Day 075: Breakfast, Just Breakfast
Summary: Luther brings Galle breakfast in the Healers' Tent, so she can look at his smushed finger.
Date: 12 August 2016
Related: Pain Remembered
Luther Galle 

Healers' Tent, New Coesbur
It's a big tent with shelves and a camp table and stools.
75 Days After Landing

Arrive too early in the morning, and you're too eager. Arrive too late and you're avoiding treatment. It's a fine line that Luther hasn't thought about for… right around two decades. And now breakfast has been served out front of the barracks huts, and Luther has taken this as a secondary excuse. Despite his swollen left ring finger in its splint, he carries a bowl of oatmeal, berries, and honey in each hand, a spoon jutting out of each one. He's added a canteen of cooled tea over his left shoulder just to cover all the bases. And so he approaches the Healers' tent, tapping lightly on a stump outside the tent, waiting for a response before entering.

"Come," Galle's voice calls from inside the tent. When the flap is drawn back, and Luther enters, he will find Galle kneeling on the floor with an enormous stretch of multicolored fabric. It has been stretched taut with stakes, and Galle is carefully drawing a knife down the length to create strips of about three inches wide. She is still dressed in her woods' clothes of legging-style pants and a loose tunic that, if not for the lacing across her shoulder-blades, would be almost falling off her shoulders. It means that the matching tattooing of her deltoids is visible — intricate geometry surrounding a bloomed flower. She doesn't look up yet, focused on drawing her knife smoothly down the three feet of fabric.

Luther could be really mean here. It would probably even count as a prank. Instead, he simply steps into the tent and waits, watching her make the cuts. His eyes focus on the knife for a moment, and then shift up to that ruddy tattoo visible on her upper arm. His eyes start to drift along the loose neckline of the shirt then, and then he tears his eyes up and away, rising back up to her down-turned face. Once the knife is through the fabric, Luther clears his throat, offering out the bowl in his right hand, "Can the rest of the bandage-cutting wait until after breakfast?"

Galle looks up from her kneel over the fabric, tilting her head slightly at the offer of the bowl first and then beyond it and the arm holding it out to Luther. She offers a faint smile, but then shakes her head and scowls slightly — a playful scowl. "Except that I'm out, which means if someone stabs themselves while they are eating, I will be without bandages." She then to straighten up, tucking the knife in her belt as she starts to rise to her feet. She accepts the bowl, nodding to where a small table and the stools so they can sit. She eyes his finger suspiciously. "Have you been taking care of it?"

Luther would probably offer her a hand to get up, if he had a third one, as it is, he just sort of crooks his right arm and offers that as a handle. He makes a good handle. The playful scowl causes him to chuckle, and there might even be some relief there, "Well, now you have one. When someone does something stupid when you're eating breakfast, you'll have a bandage." He follows her easily over to the table and stools, lowering himself carefully down and then setting down his own bowl so that he can hold up his left hand for her to see. When he wiggles his fingers, the splinted and swollen finger barely moves, but at least it does move, and all the rest of them move fine. "Well, I didn't roll over it in my sleep, if that's what you mean, Galle."

When his arm is offered, the Healer easily accepts it so she can stand without much effort. Her hand only lingers there for a moment before she is walking over to the table and stools. Galle ignores her bowl once they are seated, and reaches for his hand so she can look over it. She notes the decreased swelling, looking over the bruising. "Swelling is down, but you are certainly losing that fingernail. I have some parsley ointment for the bruising… I did not bring my arnica, or that would have been far better. You will have to make due." She is getting up again, unless stopped, to fetch the ointment.

Luther lifts his brows at the medical report, accepting it without actual complaint, although he does grouse teasingly, "All of this, and you didn't bring arnica?" The chuckle that follows the question suggests that he's not taking the loss too poorly. "However will I survive… that fingernail is a close, personal friend." When she gets up, he puts the canteen up on the table and then steadies the bowl with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand so that he can stir honey and berries into the oatmeal mush. "And once you're back with whatever smelly thing," another cheeky grin, "you're fetching, you can have some breakfast before you give me the business."

Galle gives him a flat look in response to his grouse. "I can also accidentally misplace the parsley if you don't stop being an annoyance." Then she withdraws a small glass jar from the shelves, and begins back toward him. She sets the jar down between them, sliding back into her stool. She snorts. "It does not smell," she says defensively. Though she does follow his request, and turns into the bowl with a slight tilt of her head. She is silent as she eats the mush and berries. Something feels strangely… comfortable all the sudden. Quietly eating — breakfast in fact. It strikes her then. "This is how it should have ended in Polis," she says simply, without accusation.

Luther's spoon stops halfway to his mouth, the previous mouthful of breakfast caught between chews. He swallows hard, starting to lower the spoon and then letting it stop again. A little chuckle lifts to his lips, and he nods a bit, "More or less, if I hadn't been stupid and drunk — so, if I hadn't been a fifteen-year-old boy." The spoon resumes its path to his mouth, and he chews and swallows again, but even with the pause to think about it, he can't resist, "…with fewer clothes, after a second bout. Or a third."

Galle watches him react to her words, blue eyes thoughtful. She frowns a bit, worrying at her bowl as she mixes up the oats with the honey and berries. She takes another bite, over-chewing as she listens to his affirmation. The bit that follows causes her to snort however. "A second or third?" She scoffs slightly, but there is a hint of amusement in her eyes. "We didn't even finish the first. Or I should say, you finished…"

Cough, cough. Breathing is hard. Luther actually blushes, bringing the back of his left hand up to his mouth to keep from losing oats and berries from his next bite. When he gets his abashed amusement under control, he nods slowly, "Like I said, fifteen and drunk." There's a moment's pause where he considers bringing up his bleary memories of the night of the celebration, a tiny little smile touching one corner of his lips, but he forebears, instead going with, "Well, you were talking about how it should have ended, rather than how it did."

As he coughs and blushes, Galle looks momentarily vindicated, her lips quirked with a soft smile. Then she takes another couple bites of her oats, chewing and listening, and then sinking into silence as she eats a bit more. "You mean with you, passing out drunk, and me, skulking out the next morning before… whose dwelling was that, anyway?" She looks up at him, blue eyes squinting slightly.

Luther eats in silence as she does, allowing the silence to stretch out in… surprising comfort. It also gives him time to get some semblance of control over himself again. At her question, he notes, "Komfo's." A little smile touches his lips as he looks up, eyebrows lifting, "You didn't know you got drunk and spent the night in the Ambassador's quarters?" A little chuckle follows the question, "Maybe that would have made you more eager, so it didn't take as much wine to get us both in the mood." Now he's just straight up teasing her. "I knew I should have led with that…"

"It was my first time to Polis," Galle protests in her defense. "All I knew was that the stairs would have been a lot faster in fleeing that morning. I stool in the elevator, worried that any moment you were going to step in." She pauses, realizing that he might take that as an insult. "I was embarrassed." She then laughs slightly at the mention of less wine, and she shakes her head. "I don't know if being fourteen and realizing I was in the Ambassador's quarters would have made me more eager or more anxious." She shakes her head then. "It was… a long time ago."

"I was too busy filling the chamber pot with all the rose wine from the night before." Nineteen years later, Luther isn't too embarrassed to admit it. "Well if you had been more eager, I wouldn't have gotten so anxious." Laughter touches his lips again, "…or so drunk." Setting down his spoon for a moment, he reaches across the little table to touch the back of her hand, "It was a long time ago. I can't imagine you being that anxious about… well, much of anything now."

Galle laughs warmly at his words, and she feels a bit of her own deep anxiety wick away with each passing moment. "I was nervous," she says, touching her cheek as memories flood back. "I didn't want you to know how inexperienced I was. The wine made everything better." Then she looks up to him as he touches her other hand, and she releases her spoon so her hand can turn over, and her fingers curl around his hand. "I wish that were true," she says in a hush, secretive whisper.

Again, laughter rolls from Luther's lips, "The wine did not make everything better, I can assure you." The laughter quiets as she takes his hand, however, and he very carefully does not look down there. "I think we can safely say that we were both nervous, and perhaps we've both carried that nervousness within us for nineteen years." Rather than loose her fingers, he reaches up with his left hand for the canteen of mint tea, his ring finger still immobilized by the splint. He takes a swig, then sets it down again, squeezing her fingers lightly before he notes, "But besides horribly embarrassing memories of our youth, what could you possibly have to be anxious about, Galle?" The words are quiet, as secretive as her own, "You're a beautiful, capable, confident woman."

Galle just smiles at his laughing words, but it is a gentle smile rather than one that brightens her entire expression. When he mentions the last nineteen years, the Healer looks away, and her smile falters a bit. "Yes… but, perhaps we were both blessed with poor memories." She offers him a slight smile again. The squeeze to her fingers causes her to squeeze his in return, and she finds herself feeling the callouses of his skin — both old and new. His question and compliments draws her gaze back up to his, and she straightens slightly. "Nothing that needs to worry you, Luther… but, thank you."

"Apparently so, considering that neither of us remembered the details until we repeated them." Luther pauses a moment, and then adds, "With a few improvements." When she straightens, though, he frowns, his fingers tightening on hers again, "You shouldn't have to carry your burdens alone. Let a friend help."

"Only a few," Galle agrees dryly, though she is smiling a touch. "Pleasant improvements." Which is probably far better than her statement about not being unpleasant. She squeezes his fingers before she releases his hand, sliding hers back to her spoon. She reaches up with her other hand, worrying at the back of her neck for a heartbeat. Then she looks back up to him across the length of table. "But, they are my burdens…" Then she sighs. "Besides, I don't know how you could help… I have just been feeling…" She catches the corner of her lip now, hesitating before she adds, "a bit unhappy with my solitary life. For the last three years, I felt it was… what I needed to do… to honor Timore." Though she attempts to not let those words sound like nothing more than an obligation, but it is hard to hide the impression.

Luther nods his agreement on her addition, leaving it at that. When her hand withdraws from his, the Warrior's fingers curl slightly, thumb brushing over the pads of his other fingers, and then he picks up his spoon once more, stirring around the remains of his breakfast. Shaking his head at her first claim, the words that follow after the hesitation cause the spoon to stop moving, his brows lifting upward. He's silent for a long moment after she speaks, studying her features closely. When he finally speaks, his words are quiet, "You hid it well, Galle." There's something under his words, a subtle sort of tension as he continues, "You… " he cuts off whatever question he was going to ask, instead going for, "why do you think you felt that you needed to do it?"

Galle doesn't catch the slight change in Luther's demeanor, as she is too busy looking down at her oats to notice. "At first, I was lonesome because I missed Timore… and then I was just lonesome. I went from my family home to the house Timore built me. I was not accustomed to just being by myself at most hours." When she wasn't at the Healing House. Though, she has been working a lot more at the Healing House. She finally looks up to him, his question drawing a frown from her. "Why? Because he was my houmon… because not mourning him seemed to be an insult to his memory." Then she stalls her words, and she backs up a bit. "Not that I didn't mourn him. I did… but not for three whole years."

That tightness starts to sink in around Luther's eyes as well as Galle continues, but he forces himself to move the spoon around his bowl again, pushing the last bits of oatmeal and garnishes around. His eyes, however, remain locked on her features, for all that he nods understanding to her response to the question of 'why,' although the rest of her words after she reverses course answer the question he was really asking. "I could see you were grieving, Galle." One corner of his lips twitches slightly, a near-smile that fades away before it's every truly born, "But I thought it was grief, not loneliness. I suppose my jokes and jibes did not help that much then. I'm sorry."

<FS3> Galle rolls Alertness: Good Success. (5 1 8 6 1 3 1 7 8)

Galle catches the tightness that starts to form around his face, and she frowns deeper. "Again, it is not that I didn't love Timore… or that I don't love him any longer." She feels as though his expression is more about Luther being Timore's friend than perhaps other, more selfish reasons. She then shakes his head at his apology, and holds up a hand to stall him. "No, Luther… don't apologize for making me laugh, and smile, and even scold you for being too silly."

Luther shakes his head at her reassurances, "I never would have thought that at all. I saw the two of you together. Your love for one another burned brighter than anything in the world." And that is coming from his viewpoint as Timore's friend, of seeing Timore's love for her. Her chiding, however, causes his lips to quirk upward a bit more, "Oh, I wasn't apologizing for making them. Just for not making them funny enough." And then he allows a smile to blossom on his lips, for all that it is small, and his mind still churns rapidly behind his gaze.

Galle smiles in thanks at his compliment, but something in her expression looks uncertain, unconvinced. Pity is a terrible place for a romance to begin, Komfi had told Luther. She finishes what is left of her oats, and sets the spoon back into the bowl. When he offers her a fuller smile, she returns it easily enough, and it actually touches her eyes. "You will find a love like that, Luther… if you want it." Then she sets aside her bowl, and reaches for his hand. "Here… let me get this sorted so you aren't scolded for sitting in my tent all day."

Luther shrugs his shoulders lightly at her promise to him, and he looks down and away to where he's still pushing around oatmeal with his spoon, "I don't know that it's out there for everyone. Rain showers of happiness rather than soaking in it does me just fine. I wouldn't want my fingers to wrinkle up." Still, he gives up his hand to her readily enough, "Now, who is going to scold me for sitting in your tent all day? You're the only one who dares to scold me, Galle." And then he gathers up the remaining oats and gloms them in his mouth. He really is five sometimes, even down to the cheeky grin.

The healer gives him a speculative look as he dismisses her reassurances. She looks thoughtful for a moment, glancing out toward the tent flap as if she is considering… Fayet, perhaps? Or Thesda? Hmm. Certainly possibilities. She does not let that thought linger, as it does bring her a strange twang of… she's not exactly sure how to process that shift of emotions. Certainly if Luther were to become entangled, it would diminish their friendship. That must be it. His question though draws a soft laugh from her, and she begins to unwrap the cloth and loosen the splint. "I'm sure that someone will come in and say that I am taking away labor from the Coesbur efforts."

"Phaugh." Luther snorts, "Axes and draw-knives and just about everything else requires two hands." His brows lift, and a smile twitches his lips wider, "I can't even properly practice my sword skills with just one hand." That smile, and his dancing eyes, suggest that that's definitely an intentional double entendre. As the splint is loosened, he winces slightly, and peers down at the battered finger, "I think you're just ashamed to be seen with me, Galle."

Galle snorts at his double entendre, and she shakes her head as she continues to unwind the wrap and remove the splint. She looks over the fingers, touching it very tenderly. Without another word, she opens the jar of oily salve. It has a pleasant, earthy smell to it — mint for cooling and parsley for bruise care. She gathers up two fingerfuls, and then begins to spread it across his hand and forearm. Then she starts to work the hand around the finger, relaxing his digits and working at the ache and tension that is undoubtedly there. She even rolls her fingers up his forearm to his elbow, then back down. It chills his skin even while her fingers add friction to warm it. She starts to smooth the salve over his injured finger then, brushing her fingers softly across the digit. "I am not ashamed," she finally says, not looking at him as she works, and she looks up toward him with a slight arch of a brow.

Luther sets down his spoon, watching her work over his arm and hand with the salve. He gives it a little sniff, then gives a little nod of approval — it doesn't even smell bad. As she works her hand up his arm, his eyes droop closed, his shoulders relaxing and a little smile settling itself into his lips. The touch of her fingers to his damaged digit causes him to wince just a touch, but the smile remains. When she speaks up, his eyes flicker open, "Hmmm?" And then he has to track back over the conversation, "Oh… yeah. I didn't actually think so." He shifts on the creaky little stool, then shrugs a little helplessly, "Just a joke."

Galle meets his gaze when it opens, and she offers a small smile in reply. She continues to work his fingers ever so gently as she covers his finger in the salve, while also massaging his hand to release the tension. She then begins to work on replacing the splint, and wrap it securely. She doesn't speak again until she sets that hand aside, and then holds out her hand for his other hand so she can balance his muscles. "I know it was a joke," she says softly, but she smiles. "But I also wanted you to hear me when I seriously said that I was not ashamed of being seen with you. You are a strong, steady warrior… you have made your clan very proud, and I am proud to know you." She continues to work at his other hand now, a bit rougher and without concern of an injured finger however.

There are a few more winces as she works over his injured finger, but once the splint is back in place and Luther can wiggle his non-damaged fingers, his shoulders relax once again. And then she's holding out a hand, and he blinks a moment, then flashes a grin and offers out his right hand as well. Her words cause him to chuckle, "Now I think you want something from me." Shaking the words off, he leans forward in his stool, resting his weight on his left forearm as he relaxes under the influence of her fingers. "But it's real nice to hear, coming from one of three Healers in Tondc. Nice to be valued by someone valuable."

Galle is quiet as she works his fingers and hand, attempting to bring him some relaxation and healing through the power of touch. She looks up to him as he speaks, and she offers a wry smile. "I only speak the truth," she says simply, but not dismissively. She finishes with his other hand by fanning out her thumbs across his palm, working the webbing of his fingers. Then she releases him, setting down the hand with a gentle pat. Her gaze glances up to meet his, and for a moment, she finds another sense of comfort in the silence… and then gentle touch between their hands. Then she clears her throat, withdraws her hand, and offers a nod. "Thank you… for bringing me breakfast."

Luther shifts on the stool when she sets his hand down, the seat creaking softly to give away the movement. Despite that indication of possible discomfort, his eyes are nearly closed, heavy-lidded and relaxed. "mmm." And then her hand is withdrawing, and his eyes open quickly, and he draws back his own hand, "Well, I knew you wouldn't go out and get it yourself, that you would keep yourself too busy here in the tent until it was lunchtime, at least." It's a little light teasing, and he breaks it by taking a sip from the tea-filled canteen and then offering it out to her as well, "Mint." Of course it is. "You're very good at that, you know?" His downward nod suggests her literal handiwork.

Galle smirks slightly when he proves that perhaps he knows her too well. "I'm glad you are looking out for me, Luther kom Trikru." When the canteen is offered out, she takes it and indulges in the cooled tea. When he offers his compliments, she smiles. "Komfi taught me… muscle relaxation can cure all kinds of ails. And I think that there will be a lot of need for it with you all working so tirelessly on this place." Something then slips across her expression — a small apprehension. "Will you be living in New Coesbur then?"

"Oh, so you're not so upset about someone looking out for you now." Luther laughs easily, "Not when I'm bringing you breakfast, just when I'm making you drink bitter tea." To be fair, she was making herself drink the bitter tea. He chuckles softly though, "I think you may have more people chasing after you to be their niron or houmon if you greet the workers with your fingers at the end of the day." The question causes him to blink, nodding slowly, "Britt has asked me to come over, to help with the warband. To keep the people steady with the Skaikru so close." A thoughtful frown crosses his brow, "And you'll be in Tondc. A little far to go for breakfast."

The Healer offers a small wrinkle of her nose, smiling slightly. "And tell me that the bitter tea did not work… I dare you." Then she takes another swallow from the canteen, and she shakes her head slightly. "I like to think I have many other ways to attract a niron or houmon if I wished it." She offers back the canteen when he explains his purposes, and she offers a small frown. "Yes… quite a way." She drops her gaze slightly, thoughtfully, turning it away to the tent flap. "They are lucky to have you…"

"You mean like just smiling? Or even just not scowling?" Luther's words are teasing, but also honest. He takes the canteen back, taking a swig himself, and forces himself to smile, feeling a little bit of the awkwardness coming back over him, "Speaking of attracting nirons, how was the walk with Sev? Did he use his famous line on you? 'Do you want to go for a walk and maybe have sex later?'" But the dry amusement in his tone, Luther might think that's a little too straightforward. There's also a tinge of bite to the question as well, the Warrior frowning a touch in the wake of his own words as he tries to track down the reason for it.

When Luther mentions Sev, Galle's brows quirk ever so slightly. She actually finds herself amused, as if she might notice the slight discomfort in the warrior's shoulders. She shakes her head, though it is accompanied by laughter. "Yes… he did. But it was not quite so bold… he propositioned, explained my beauty… I politely declined… I believe sex is a rather dangerous endeavor at the moment." She crosses her arms across the table, engaging with the warrior with a small smile. "I did agree to dinner, though… in exchange for stories from his travels."

Luther's tension fades a little at her response, and he chuckles at the description of the situation, "Well, at least he complimented you, rather than simply suggesting exercise." Of two different sorts. A chuckle lifts to his lips, although it's just a little forced, and his brows rise, "Dangerous? Are you worried about a child, or simply more awkward mornings?" Still, he nods at the explanation, "Well, he is a lucky man, then, from what I recall."

"A child?" Galle says, looking a bit affronted, and she shakes her head. "I would be a poor healer if I didn't know how to avoid those." While she sounds all indignant, there is a hint of something there… regret, perhaps? After all, her and Timore never successfully had a child. She moves along quite easily though, offering him a smile. "You do often come skulking around for dinners." Particularly before Timore's death. She looks up then, expression surprised. "But you haven't in quite some time. Has my cooking been going downhill?"

"Well, 'dangerous' suggested that or emotions, and we all know that you don't have emotions, Galle kom Trikru." Luther's deadpan game is strong. And then he lets out a little breath, nodding slowly, "Oh no, the pies were delicious." He actually did stop by to make sure he tasted one of her pies at the celebration… before he was too smashed to remember. "I suppose I thought it might be a painful memory of the old tradition. So I didn't keep it up."

"You're right, I don't," Galle says in reply to his deadpan, and her own is quite superior. Then she shakes her head slightly, and she sighs a bit. "Memories can be happy and painful… you coming to visit for dinner was a happy one, Luther." Though she does offer a small smile. "I'm just going to assume that you felt my cooking was going sour and hold it against you."

"Well, if you want to do that," Luther's grin returns, and he chuckles softly, "I don't know what I can do about it. Except invite you to dinner." There's a beat pause, and then he adds, "Although that could be hazardous to both of our health. So I accept your invitation to dinner, just let me know the time and place and what I can bring."

Galle arches her brows high as she realizes she suddenly has two unintentional dinner dates now on her docket. She starts to laugh softly, and her head bows in gentle agreement. "I will, Luther." Then she starts to push up to her feet, reaching to touch his forearm. "You need to take care of that finger…" She hands him the small jar of salve. "Twice daily." Then she leans down, and her lips gently touch the top of his head, against his dreadlocks. "You are a good friend, Luther…" There is something else there, but it goes unsaid.

Luther looks to his left hand as the salve is proffered, and he shakes his head, holding up his right hand, "I'm useless with this hand," it's his dominant hand, "I think you'll have to handle it instead." The press of her lips to his head causes him to shift on his stool again, his hand rising up to rest his right hand on her waist for just a moment, a friendly connection to match the kiss on his hair… except it lingers a moment too long, and then he clears his throat, dropping his hand and starting to gather up the canteen and bowls, "Well, I've known you almost twenty years." Even if he'd forgotten that fact and thought it was more like sixteen. "If I wasn't a good friend, I'd have to be an enemy."

Time stands still for the length of time that his hand lingers on her waist. Then Galle clears her throat, and steps back a bit to give him room to stand. "Well, there was a gap of time there that we didn't know each other." She offers a faint smile, and then she picks up the jar. "Then come see me and I will make sure your finger heals properly, because if it doesn't, I will be most disappointed." She fixes him with a stern look.

"Twice a day." Luther heard that part, at least, and he nods his acceptance of the time-table. He stands, cradling the bowls between his left arm and his body, "Oh, I certainly wouldn't want to leave you disappointed." Did he just say… Luther clears his throat again, carefully adding his right hand to the bowl-balancing act, "And you're right, it's more like sixteen years. Maybe fifteen. I forget how long it was until Timore introduced me to the woman he said was going to be his houmon."

"Be careful," Galle warns as he balances up the bowls. His words do draw the faintest hint of a blush to her cheeks, and she shakes her head demurely — quite unusual for the feisty healer. She does not reply, but moves onward. When Luther mentions Timore again, her hands clasp together in front of her and her head bows a bit. That is all it takes to reopen the gulf between them, and she nods dutifully. "Let us say sixteen years," is all she offers, eyes downcast.

From a kiss to the head to a gulf between them in mere minutes. Luther sighs faintly, but then nods, "Sixteen years. And perhaps another nineteen more to come." He takes his right hand from the bowls, reaching out to touch her arm, and promising, "I'll be back this evening. For the salve. Or, you really can just give it to me if you'd prefer."

Galle looks up at the mention of nineteen more years, and it is impossible to hide that sadness that filters into her expression. She releases a soft sound of affirmation, but holds fast to the jar. "No… come see me… you will probably jok it up." Such language for such a refined woman! She smiles then, but it is a soft one. "Go now… before Fayet comes looking for you, demanding why you are still loitering here with me." And if Galle had known about the kiss Luther and Fayet shared, there would be so much more weight to those words than the airy dismissal.

<FS3> Luther rolls Finesse+Finesse-3: Good Success. (5 7 8)

Luther laughs easily at the cursing, doing his best to look scandalized, "What a dirty mouth." The mention of Fayet, however, causes him to start, one of the bowls slipping over his arm. And then he's reaching hurriedly and desperately for both bowls, both spoons, and the canteen. Luckily the latter item stays slung around his shoulder, but he bobbles the others, recovers, bobbles again, and ends up with the bowls in both hands (the sudden movement of the left causing him to wince), one spoon in one of the bowls, and the other spoon balanced carefully atop his foot. Let lets out a breath that actually sounds kind of impressed with himself, and thankfully he's lost the train of the conversation, grinning over to Galle like, 'did you see that?'

Galle rolls her eyes dramatically when recovers the bobbling bowls, and her gaze drops to that solitary spoon. She gives him a look that, without a doubt, teenage Galle would have given a playful Luther — a look of haughty indignance that masks how impressed she actually is. She does give him a small quirk of a smile, waving him off. "Shoo, you pest…"

Luther catches that look, and his smile spreads wide, "Aaaah?" 'look at me, look at me,' "Aaah?" He stacks the bowls again, then bends down to collect the spoon, dropping it into the bowls, "Have a good day, Galle. Thank you." And then he's turning to duck out the door without making it clear exactly what he's thanking her for — healing, conversation, dinner to come…

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