Day 067: Not So Cherry
Summary: Luther is a big tattle-tale to Galle about the actions of her Second.
Date: 5 August 2016
Related: Later in the day from Garden Chatter.
Luther Galle 


Galle's Dwelling

This small corner of the Hood is obviously dedicated to someone with a serious green thumb. While the metal and wooden house is modest and even, dare they say, quaint, it is merely the necessary dwelling surrounded by plantlife. Medicinal flowers and herbs grow in organized beds, they clumped together according to their needed growing requirements. There are also small beds of vegetables and berries that are scattered throughout. Climbing flowers twist their ways up the windows and doorframes of the house, and there is an entire wall of flowering vines that bloom violet in the late spring and early summers.

The house itself is a single-story dwelling made of corrugated metal and cedar slats. It is actually quite impressive — but those who knew Galle's houman know that he had dabbled in carpentry during the quieter peacetimes between the two Ice Wars. Windows are mismatched, salvaged from Old Earth structures. The door is handmade and intricately carved with flowers and vines, and a peekhole window is set in its center. Inside, the house has board flooring and high ceilings that show off the rafters. There is a front room that is dedicated entirely to an impressive kitchen, a dining area, and a place to curl up beside what looks to be a salvaged woodburning stove. Just behind the front room is the sleeping room, which is a smaller room with nothing more than a bed and a large chest that holds Galle's assortment of clothes.

67 Days After Landing

Luther has finished digging in the dirt, and even had himself a bath and a change of clothing since the afternoon, his dreadlocks leaving a splay of damp across the back and shoulders of his shirt. Ducking under the eaves of Galle's home, he glances toward the nearest window, listens a moment, and then leans his left shoulder against the wall alongside the door and knocks back-handed.

There is a call for patience, and Luther is left there for several long minutes before the beautifully carved door is pulled open to reveal the tall Healer. Her hair has been braided back loosely, and she has changed into a soft gown of blue mixed with natural, undyed fabric. Her arms are bare, revealing the red tattoos and some of her shoulders. Her hands are floury and there is a bit of flour at the tip of her nose. She blinks in surprise at Luther being at her door, but her eyes are quick to narrow in suspicion. "Luther…" She starts to wipe her hands on a woven towel. "This is a surprise."

"And here I thought you'd be happy to see me." Luther's eyes dance with amusement, even as he maintains a killer deadpan. His eyes drop to the dash of white on her nose, but rise up again to her eyes, shrugging his shoulders against her lintel, "Now that doesn't look like preserves. Did you decide that they could never compare to my sweetness?" The Warrior's words amuse at least one, as he chuckles lightly at them, "Is your Second here?" Less amusement there, far less.

"I'm suspicious," Galle says in an obvious tone. She tuts slightly at his accusation, but invites him in with a slight curl of her fingers. "I'm doing both… cherry preserves for the venison, and a couple of pies. My grandfather was quite skilled. I am not quite so, but I can manage." Galle's kitchen is comfortable and simple, but there is no doubt she is hard at working doing something beyond healing and tending. There are pie crusts made of acorn and wheat flours rolled out on the table, and there is a pot of reducing cherries and honey on the fire. She directs him to a seat, but hands him a knife. "You can pit cherries while you speak." She pauses then. "No, my Second is not here."

Luther looks wounded when she mentions her suspicions. It's all in the eyes, widening and softening the focus slightly. He ducks in the door — probably unnecessarily — and moves over to the table as directed, "Better than me, obviously. I tried a pie once. It was supposed to be a meat pie." He takes up the knife and starts picking through the baskets of cherries, slicing them open, removing the pit, and then plopping them into the pot, "It looked more like a mud pie when I was done." That's enough small talk, as he looks up for a moment, his eyes dropping once more to the smudge of flour on her nose, and then gets down to it, hands still busy pitting cherries, "I believe she followed your instructions too well when you left her in the Gardens this afternoon."

The wounded look causes her brow to arch slightly, but Galle tries not to linger on what that alone might mean. She is not a teenage girl, no need to worry her mind parsing the attempt subtlety of interested parties. If they are interested… hm. "Well, I'm sure you tried… and trying is more than most dare." She returns her task of shaping the dough so it can be folded into a pouch around the pie filling. She glances to Luther at the mention of Silver's tenacity to her instructions, and she smirks a bit. "She did not let you bully you, did she?" She clucks her tongue. "What were you bullying her about?"

Slice cherry, remove pit, plop cherry into pot, slice cherry, remove pit, pop cherry into mouth… scoff. "I was not bullying her. She was being a child." Luther chews, swallows, and goes back to feeding the pot instead of himself, "Insisting that the Skaikru knew more than the Trikru, and me saying that we should all start from zero was an insult. I do not know what Wren sees in her besides the breasts and the eyes."

"Luther, she is a child." Galle shakes her head. "She's not even twenty years old. Do you remember what you were like when you were that age?" The healer continues to work at the dough until she is satisfied. She then steps back up to the pot, and begins to stir up the cherries and honey as he adds more. "Whatever Wren sees in her is Wren's business…" She shakes her head then, sighing. "And she is only proving herself to be inline with the rest of her people. She is not the only one who thinks that way, nor will she be the last."

Luther shakes his head, "But she does not see herself as a child, and will not take advice or listen to reason." He hefts the knife, then sets it down, sucking the cherry juice off one fingertip after another, "Their adults are reasonable. Their children are so puffed up over having survived down here for a month. I understand that she is sondauna, but I hope that you can see that she learns sense." And then he leans forward slightly, crooking a finger, "Come here."

"Again," Galle says, almost exasperated with the Warrior, "do you not remember what you were like at that age?" She shakes her head. "I remember watching the young warriors… blooded by the most recent skirmish with the Reapers and Mountain Men, eager to show off, to prove they are just as experienced as warriors twice their age." She then arches a slight brow at him when he crooks the finger. She hesitates, but then carefully moves around the table at his behest.

"I do remember. I remember thinking I could take on the world. And I also remember my mother and my old First smacking me until I got wise." When the healer comes around the table, Luther leans forward, licking his thumb, and then reaches up to finally get that splash of flour on her nose.

Galle bristles slightly when he leans forward, but she relaxes the moment his thumb brushes her nose to clear away that bit of flour. Her blue eyes hold steadily with his, and her mouth twitches slightly — trying to remain stoic, but also threatening to smile at his gesture. She then shakes her head dismissively. "And Silver will experience that, but you are not her Mother, or her First…" She exhales slowly. "I will see to it… but in my way."

Luther holds up his thumb to show the flour there and to demonstrate that he wasn't licking her secondhand just to lick her secondhand. He nods slowly at her words, although before answering them, he notes, "And how long has it been since someone did that to you?" By the blink that follows, he didn't intend any double entendre, and he clears his throat, sitting back and reaching for a cherry, "I trust that you will. But I figured I could only do that if you knew how she was acting."

Galle's eyes flick to his thumb at the presentation, but then return to his darker gaze a heartbeat later. His casual note though causes the woman to take a sudden step back, widening the gap between them. She also clears her throat, arms crossing at her chest. She reaches up, brushes her cheek — and completely undoes his attempts to clear her face of flour as she leaves a whole new brush of white against her copper skin beneath the flowery spiral of red tattoo along her temple. "Thank you, Luther… for bringing your concerns to me."

Galle's withdrawal causes Luther to shake his head quickly, "I didn't mean…" And then he looks down, slicing and pitting the cherry in his hands, "Sorry. Timore was a good man. I wouldn't…" This is a brand new side of Luther, and a very awkward one indeed. The cherry is placed in the pot, the pit in a small bowl with the others, and the knife is set down as well before he stands, "I'll move on." And then he looks up, immediately spotting the new dusting of flour on her cheek. And even in the midst of the awkwards, he cannot hold back a little chuckle. This time he gestures to his own cheek with his pinky, trying to direct her to the new splash of white.

The mention of Timore draws a faint smile to her lips. "I know," Galle almost whispers. She straightens, digging her palms into her thighs as if to keep her hands occupied. She offers a quick nod as he sets aside the knife and stands. "Of course. You will have to tell me how the preserves and pie fair at the celebration." Then when he indicates her cheek, she catches on quickly. Grabbing a woven cloth, she starts to brush away the flour from her skin in a quick motion.

Luther ducks his head a little as he moves around the table, putting the wooden surface between them once more. He hesitates there, then reaches out to snag a pair of the cherries. One is tossed up into his mouth, and then tucked into a cheek so that he can offer up a little smile, "Good luck with your Second. I'm sure you won't let her forget she's the learner." It's not even unwanted advice, not by his tone, just an honest statement of his surety in her. And then he's headed for the door again, chewing at his stolen cherry.

Galle scowls slightly — a return to their normal interactions. "If you keep stealing my cherries, Luther kom Trikru, I will force you to go pick more." Then she turns back to her preparation, moving the pot to the fire where it will be left to bubble and reduce into a thick compote before being enveloped by the dough. She does look once over her shoulder after him, a small and thoughtful frown pulling at her lips.

Luther tucks the pit into his cheek and tosses the second cherry in after the first, offering up a broad smile with just a hint of relief behind his dark eyes, "I'm not stealing them, I'm borrowing them. You can have them back when I'm done with them." Yes, sometimes the thirty-four year old acts like he's five. It's (a dubious) part of his charm. He stops at the door, catching her look back and grinning even more broadly, "I only ate three." Four. Maybe five.

Galle crosses her arms at her chest, and her nostrils flare. "Away with you, before there are no cherries left." She waves him out the door in a dismissive gesture. "You are interrupting my work." Which is also nothing new for Luther.

"You have work?" With that cheeky comment, Luther ducks out the door again, waiting until he is outside her neatly-tended garden before spitting out the pits from the pair of cherries.

As the door shuts, there is the sound thunk of something striking the door in his wake. Whatever it was is anyone's guess.

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