And where were you? [Ysan]

[Sarge Potteiger]

Up a lift, to his office, and she'd find herself able to clean in the refresher. Once a novelty for her, but now as normal as anything else. After all, running water was a baffling prospect for a woman who'd known only huts and witchcraft. But when she returned, fatigues on, he snorted a little from where he sat behind the desk. She might have looked like him, had she not looked so uncomfortable.

That was the perfect word to describe it. But she'd been given the undershirt, so he couldn't imagine it was actually bothersome to wear. He'd rarely worn anything as comfortable as fatigues. A good fit was all it took, and the aide had gotten perfectly sized gear. He'd even gotten her boots, not that she'd have known how to properly tie them. In a way, she looked like a giant child playing at a soldier.

That put a smile on his face.

He'd been like that once.

"Perhaps if you looked more comfortable." He responds in Basic, leaning back in the thickly padded chair, skyline of Fondor arrayed behind him. Ruddy orange hued the sky, the sun dipping behind the skyscrapers and buildings. "Still, I'm sure the Queen misses you, as do the animals." He frowned faintly, staring at her. "Let's get some food before you go. You look like you've a lot on your mind."

[member="Ysanae Vela"]

 

[Loxa Visl]

Comfortable? Ysan gave him a strange look. The reasons for discomfort were aplenty. She frowned, turning his words over in her mind, translating to pacean, thinking in much the same.

She hadn't tied the boots so much as shoved the laces under the tongue and moved towards his desk with a tempered stride that seemed entirely aware of the added weight on her feet. The office posed a strange new locale for her given that in all the time he spent here, she'd never seen it before. The chiaroscuro of the office to his home was stark in ways she couldn't describe - everything here felt ... mechanical. Unnatural. Cold even.

Strangely fitting for the man who occupied it.

Ysan slowly sank into the chair opposite his desk, folding her arms across her middle, pale eyes locking on his own at the mention of a meal. Despite the feeling of lead in her stomach, she nodded. Her appetite had left her on the ride over, all that remained was the steely grit of her fried nerves still trying to repair themselves from her ordeal. She felt electric. Like a livewire stripped of all it's sheathing, burning hot and overloaded.

"I am sorry if I have caused trouble for you."

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

A faint smirk curled one corner of his lips upward. She was definitely uncomfortable. Couldn't blame her for that. Pushing himself out of his seat, he moved over to her and took a knee where she was sitting. "Here." He says. A hand motioned, beckoning her to watch. He pulled the laces out, then stuffed the legs of her pants down into the boot until it wasn't a bundled mess at mid-calf.

Humming quietly to himself, he set about tying the boots up properly. One lace over the other, pull ends together. Pull left, then right, putting intersection flush with tongue. Wrap ends of laces around the neck of the boot just below the collar, slip under, then tuck into the inside of the boot along pant leg and sock. Normally they'd blouse the legs, but what did he care. This was close enough.

This was repeated on her other boot, and while they were tight, they were comfortably tight. At least for someone like him. Probably cut off the circulation for her. "Is that a yes to food or a yes to a lot being on your mind, because I highly doubt you're hungry." Trick question. He just wanted to know if she would actually admit to having a good deal to think on. Food was a distraction.

Unconscious answer to the first question while thinking of the first.

That's how this worked in Sarge-land.

 

[Loxa Visl]

Ysan leaned to watch in silence what he did with the laces, trying not to look too discouraged by having her feet wound up in so much material.

Barefoot. Witches walked barefoot so they could feel the earth beneath their feet and connect to their surroundings. Slapping a boot on a witch was a bit like cutting off her hair - you just didn't do those sorts of things. Relenting that she had given up these small traditions years ago for sandals at the Naboo palace, Ysan gave a strained sigh as he finished.

The Windtalker mildly flexed her ankles and cringed at both the feel and sound of new leather squeaking in protest. Like nails across a chalkboard, that.

She thanked him anyways. Congenial as ever.

Her frown persisted, deepening at his next inquiry. One would think that after so much experience in dealing with the man, she'd have caught on to his wordplay. Brow furrowed, Ysan stared at him ponderously for a moment.

"Yes." Responsive ambiguity had served her well before...

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Realizing he was still on one knee, he pushed himself up and looked down at her. She was... off. Lost. She had no answer and was just repeating herself at this point. That or she was being difficult. But Ysan wasn't prone to being difficult for amusement. In fact, the ability to do that probably hadn't occurred to her at all. Really, all she'd done by repeating yes was make him a little bit worried.

Not overly so.

Just a little.

"You in there, Ysan?" He asks, jokingly waving a hand in front of her face.

Ok, so maybe he was actually worried. He'd learned how to deal with his issues on his own, but this was probably her first real, actual, traumatic experience. How she coped with this was going to be important.