Havune was deeply in his fury this morning. Dubaille zipped out of the apartment, slightly late for his second day of heavy labors as a tooth-cleaner's assistant. As part of leaving, Dubaille did not make the bed. Dubaille knocked against Havune's table and knocked the water-pitcher over and thereby drenched ... um ... lightly sprinkled the rug, since the water-pitcher was nearly empty. Dubaille may or may not have taken a three-lozen piece from Havune's purse -- Havune is very precise with his possessions, but not with his finances; he does not remember spending it, but is not certain that he did not; he is accordingly giving Dubaille one and a half lozens' worth of anger. And Dubaille kicked Havune's boots, knocking one of them onto the dampened rug, from which it will have a dark wet spot on the side for a good, oh, two hours more.
Dustweed and I produced such sympathy as we were able. Which was only so much. In our room, such iniquities as Dubaille's happen every hour, or every third of an hour now that Tethezai practically lives there. Except for the theft: when we steal from each other, it is definite and clear and unambiguous, and accompanied by the writing of a name, a date, and an amount of amber upon the larger half of a nutshell. And, so far, it has always been paid back within four days, and the nutshell cast into my bed and burnt.
This is not to say that Tethezai is clumsy or messy. I don't think she could room with Havune either, but she is, on the whole, neater than Dustweed or I -- except with charged paintbrushes! -- but the room is barely big enough for one full-sized person and me, and really not big enough for two.
The charged paintbrushes are more devastating than one might think. Tethezai has been painting Dustweed frequently, and is known for making wild gestures in moments of passionate emotion ... and passionate emotion is common enough when she beholds her true love, naked and beautiful (or, at least, less hideous than usual), and is forbidden by the drying of paint to so much as kiss her for an hour.
So Dustweed is a truly astounding Herethroy today, all covered with swirls in seventeen flavors of purple, with glass mock-gemstones glued on here and there. Somehow Tethezai has made zir look almost symmetrical, almost pretty.
For my part, I am not quite so thoroughly painted. I did get speckled and spotted with four of Tethezai's purples: three from a waving paintbrush, and the fourth from a thrown paintbrush. For safety, I should learn to be more restrained when stating the evident truth of Dustweed's appearance, or learn more Herbador and get a spell for turning aside wooden missiles.
Havune was in such his fury that Anoof smelled him from across town -- which is not actually physically possible, but Cani empathy and loyalty transcends the physically possible. (I reject as tedious the alternate explanation that they had agreed two days ago that Anoof would stop over for lunch and studies.)
Anoof was sufficiently pleasant, and Dustweed was sufficiently untouchable, that Tethezai embraced him closely and, if Dustweed and Havune hadn't scowled in unison, might well have stripped him for his painting on the spot. (I reject as tedious the alternate explanation that the families of Anoof and Tethezai have some close connection, and that Anoof and Tethezai all but grew up together. Though it does occur to me to wonder if the two of them ever have been lovers -- and if Havune knows that his husband-to-be is possibly transaffectionate.)
Of course, I'm a fine one to talk about being transaffectionate, with all these Orren about.
I rather wish there were some other Zi Ri around besides my half-sibling. I don't even know if there are any other Zi Ri within three years of my own age, anywhere.