(2023-04-15) Howdy, Neighbor

Details

Author:	inkie
Summary:	On Jonas's recommendation, Mayellen finds new lodging. With Jonas. (Not WITH Jonas.)
Rating:	T for Teen

Mayellen enters the boarding house cautiously, doublechecking her notes. For once her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and she is dressed Extra Modestly.

She looks like an Ideal Tenant, basically.

A dwarven woman with shrewd, narrow eyes, her black hair in looped braids, is standing at what seems to be a communal table in the common room, setting down a loaf of sliced bread and a platter of cold meat. A pitcher of beer already stands there beside some pint mugs. A nutritious dwarven breakfast.

The woman glances up at May's entrance and surveys her. "Mornin', lass. Can I help ye?"

"Yes, I understand you have at least one room available, and I'm looking for a place here in Ironforge."

The woman steps back from the table and raises her bushy brows. "Aye, tha's right. Ye'll have tae no' mind a bet o' noise, this close tae Military and the trainin' grounds. There's some gunfire, time to time."

Mayellen nods. "Jonas Hazan recommended the place, so I thought I'd come see if you still had space available. He seemed to think it's a good, safe place. I don't mind noise."

"Ach, Jonas. Aye. But ye'll be wantin' a room o' yer own?" The woman folds muscled arms across her chest. The question seems casual, not probing.

May's eyes widen slightly, perhaps decorously. "Yes ma'am, he's a work colleague."

The woman's expression warms. "Cobalt, are ye? Well, sure, an' I won't mind havin' another o' your lot under my roof. Angitha Inkstone's the name. And yours?"

"Mayellen Mullby, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Inkstone."

"Likewise, lass. Now, bathrooms are shared, but there's two of 'em, more than ye'll find elsewise. I've got four boarders at the moment, it'll be five with you. One's ano'er human lass, one's Jonas, the other three are dwarves: a Wildhammer, a Mountaineer lass, and a fellow works a' the Forge. Breakfast is the only meal included. That suit?"

"That sounds perfect. I'm grateful for breakfast; it's the hardest meal to get together on my own in time for work. Are the bathrooms… is there one set aside for the uh, lasses, or is it just… general?"

Angitha looks her up and down. "Et's general."

Mayellen smiles bravely. "Oh. All right then. I'll… they lock, I assume? I'm… not very used to living with men around. Besides my father, I mean, when I was young."

Speaking of bathrooms, an inconspicuous door to one side of the common room opens and Jonas Hazan steps out, looking damp-haired and freshly shaved, and toweling off the back of his neck. He's dressed in his usual much-mended clothing.

"Aye, 'course they lock," Angitha scoffs, and glances over at Jonas's entrance. "Ach, and here's the lad himself."

Jonas starts to address Angitha and then his gaze skims past her and he blinks with surprise at the young woman on the stairs. He lets the towel drop to drape loosely around his neck, and nods to her. "Mayellen, good morning."

The timing wasn't perhaps ideal; May's finger-wave is a little nervous. "Good morning." The severe way she's pulled back her hair makes her eyes look even farther apart, giving her a vague, even slightly dim look he knows by now to be an illusion.

"Lass here's lookin' tae move in," Angitha says. "Now Berthold's old room's opened up. Ye told her?"

"I did." Jonas nods absently, still looking at May. "So you're moving out of — Ben's place?"

"I did say I was coming," Mayellen says, shifting her weight and looking at him almost apologetically. "Not today specifically, but — I did say."

"Right. Right. I wasn't sure. Well. Angitha keeps a good house, aye?" He smiles, first at May and then at the boarding house mistress. Angitha nods firmly back at him. She sure does.

"I'm very excited to hear about the breakfast," May says, a smile warming her features a bit. "Trying to eat in time to get to work has been a real trial for me."

Angitha steps back from the table and gestures at it with both hands. "Well, there ye have it. Some mornin's et's porridge wi' the meat, but no' today. I have tae be off tae work mysel' in a bet. Rent's due the first o' each week. Which is Sunday, as there seems tae be some confusion wi' my other tenants on that point."

Jonas smiles faintly at the addendum.

Mayellen giggles involuntarily. "Well, I have a good memory for things like that; there shouldn't be a problem."

Jonas nods. "Miss Mullby's a responsible lass."

May looks at the table as though she is only just now realizing THIS is breakfast. She tips her head, making a mental adjustment, and moves on.

Dwarves, man.

"All right, then. I'm off in a bet and have tae get ready. Jonas here can show ye the room, I expect, and ye can have today free tae move yoursel' in, rent startin' tomorrow. No pets, no callers after the tenth bell." Angitha glares sternly.

Jonas nods solemnly. Yep. Those are the rules.

"That should be absolutely no problem, Ms. Inkstone. Thank you."

"Welcome, lass. All right, then. Help yourself, and get settled in." There seem to be no more formalities to address, and Angitha turns on her heel and marches off. Jonas watches her go and then turns his faint smile back on May.

"Well!" May smooths the front of her dress. "That was easy enough." She turns her attention to the table, carving off a bit of meat for herself.

Jonas steps over to the table too, across from May, and surveys the spread. "Aye, she's a good sort, and it's a good place. The others are a decent lot, and keep themselves to themselves, mostly."

May glances up at him; there's something in her manner that suggests a dog who has left a mess somewhere. She says to the meat she's cutting, "Didn't see you at Bruuk's Wednesday."

Jonas glances up from the slice of bread he is buttering liberally. "Oh, aye. Sorry. I was in Loch Modan on a job, stayed over in a hunting lodge there a couple've days." He considers her manner and his brow creases. "Sorry."

"Oh, no, no, it's not like they take attendance." She laughs uneasily. "I just thought — well you seemed less than pleased with me last time we were there, so I thought maybe I'd run you off. I run a lot of people off." She takes his cue and begins buttering some bread herself.

Mayellen puts butter on bread in much the way that some people put frosting on cupcakes. That is a lot of butter.

Jonas's brow crease deepens. Not at the quantity of butter, to judge by his own slice of butter with bread. He reaches for a slice of meat to arrange atop it. "I did?"

Mayellen nods at her bread. "Yes. I'm very alert to those sorts of signals. One frown from my father always told me a course correction was needed before I wandered into 'whupping territory.' "

"Oh." Jonas gives her a sharp look and then returns his attention to his own breakfast. Judiciously, he adds a second slice of meat. "Why would you think it? That I was offended?"

"Well, I was a bit cranky that night on account of those men… being… well, it's not a thing you probably understand. How it feels to say a thing and have people just… wave it aside like it's noise and go to work figuring out the facts themselves."

"Ah. Those men." Jonas considers this, still looking down at his breakfast of meat and butter garnished with bread. "I wasn't all clear on that, aye? Whether I was one of them. The men talking out of turn. You said 'men'. So I piped down." He glances up at her apologetically from beneath his brows.

"You haven't been. So far." Mayellen shifts her weight. "Growing up in a store run by a man and a woman both… you see it. My mother would say, 'that's five copper a pound,' and they'd look at my father for his nod before they'd pull out their coin purse. I thought somehow that if I became something on my own people would see me as that and not just girl, but unfortunately I picked a profession that isn't great to be… seen as, mostly."

"Ach. Well. I wasn't sure. Since 'men' was a broad category, and there were a few of us there. And I had made some off the cuff remark, you know? About people being what they set their minds to. So. I'm afraid I took a hint." The faint smile returns.

May gives him a slightly pained look. "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. I mean, if you say something that specifically irks me I'll probably just say so, we're… kind of coworkers and all and it's best to be open about it. But there's men, in general, and then there are specific men. You know? You have to know that 'men' as a category have… tendencies. But that doesn't mean each one does every single one of those things, really.

"To be fair," she babbles on, "Women as a category have tendencies too. Vanity, gossip, and so on. You and I have both been hurt by gossip. But… somehow it's not the same, because mostly men run everything in Stormwind."

Jonas nods gravely. "Aye. All right. Well, it was no harm done, if I didn't do any myself. But I really was just in Loch Modan this week." He takes a decorous bite of his cholesterol, chews and swallows it carefully before answering. "It is hard to know, though, you see. When people speak in categories. But I take your intention." He nods again.

Mayellen eats her buttered bread and meat very separately, taking turns as though she doesn't want to make either feel left out. "You really are very different from most men," she says, as though this is the highest compliment she can pay a person.

"Ah," says Jonas. "Well." He nods at her again.

"You actually listen more than you talk, mostly, and you've never made me feel like I was a commodity or somehow interchangeable. But you hear the way other men talk, right? About whether they can 'get girls' or whatnot, as though 'girls' is just a category of thing you shop for, rather than, each one being a different person who may or may not suit. And as though girls all like the same thing! You can either 'get girls' or you can't, apparently, like we're fish."

Jonas ponders his breakfast. "I wonder whether that's 'most men,' or how the actions of most men seem based on what you've heard. From your mother. But I do hear, aye. Talk of 'girls.' And I've heard girls talk of 'fellows,' as well. 'Daphne got herself a fellow, finally.'" He gestures vaguely with his food, almost apologetic again.

"It's hard to explain the difference unless you've lived it, I guess. I know there are some very influential women on the House in Stormwind now, and I love that. But still, it's a king, and a spymaster, and the men run the Cathedral as well mostly, and most of the warlocks — oh it gets so bad with the warlocks." She shudders. "One of the student 'assignments' was to track down and murder a woman for the sin of… breaking up with her teacher? No one would ever do that to a man. And especially out in Westfall, 'my woman' is a thing like 'my gun' or 'my hogs.' I hate it."

Jonas glances up at her, his eyes dark and narrow, his gaze suddenly a little dangerous. "Murder her?"

May hesitates at the look in his eyes, her endless flow of chatter interrupted. "Yes. And bring back some token he'd given her."

Jonas sets his breakfast down. "That doesn't seem the action of a man, if I'm honest. It's the action of a criminal and a brute."

"My mother always told me that most men are criminals and brutes, my father being a rare exception. And the only thing that saved him, she said, was his unswerving devotion to the Light. Have you ever heard about Stalvan Mistmantle? Who murdered an entire family because a girl he wanted married someone else?”

Jonas shakes his head, his jaw set. "I've not. Again, I'd call that a monster rather than a man, though."

He is silent a moment. "The trouble with your mother's assessment is that the more men you get to know, the more exceptions to the rule you'll find, I think, until it's not a rule any longer. Which, thank the Light, aye? You'll say I'm an exception, but I don't expect you'll see Sir Elohad, or Lieutenant Ben, or Thalstan or any of the others you've met of late, doing such a thing. Can you? See it?" He tilts his head.

"I… I don't even know anymore." She considers. "It does seem as though I'm meeting more and more exceptions, I'll admit. But some of the things she told me have really panned out, and saved me from bad situations, and it's hard to know where to draw the line."

"Well. That's fair. I expect it may be a matter of experience, though, aye? The more you're out in the world, the more people you meet, the more… nuance and perspective you may find." He shrugs, still apologetic. Sorry to argue with ur mom, May. "Horror stories and cautionary tales are… not the day-to-day, which is why they shock people so."

"Well, she lived one of those, and I suppose that's why she hasn't given herself much chance to know more people. She found one she could trust and just —" Her eyes suddenly fill with tears.

Jonas straightens sharply, concerned, and takes a step away from his breakfast and toward the corner of the table, as if to approach. He doesn't, though, stopping short. "Mayellen?"

"I hate that I can't even help her anymore. If she is wrong, if the world isn't so bad as she believes, I can't even show her. Maybe it's easier for me to believe that she's right than that she's missing out on a whole world I can never help her see." Tears glitter on her lashes, and one plonks onto the old-maid collar of her dress.

His expression softens sorrowfully. "I'm — aye. I'm sorry for that. Perhaps… she'll come around? Perhaps — isn't Aunt Niris a friend of hers? Now that you're in Cobalt, perhaps she can…."

"I don't know that Niris Ference strikes me as the kind of person to show someone the sunny side of things," May says wryly through her tears.

Jonas looks around the table for napkins. There are none. It's a dwarven table. That's what sleeves are for. After a moment, he takes the damp towel from around his neck and offers it to May. It smells like soap and, faintly, some cedary aftershave.

"Oh but speaking of your aunt. Oh my, Jonas." Mayellen's expression changes entirely as she takes the towel and dabs at her eyes, going a little impish.

"You're probably right, but she's — what?" He knits his brow at her.

"So, in an effort to better understand the Ferences, I decided to try and read one of those books their shelves are littered with. I picked the most recent Steelbloom, because mostly authors get better as they go, and they're not a series or anything."

"Oh?"

"And Jonas. It's about a middle aged priestess with lovely brown skin and a fair haired paladin, who were friends for ages and ages and then suddenly have a smoldering romance. It's about them. I mean, even the names are a little — it's them."

Jonas blinks. "I — what?"

"I knew that Ference knew Elanor Steelbloom, but apparently she knows them both, well enough to steal their love story and write it!" Mayellen’s so pleased with her deduction. "Now I want to read all her books and find out which couples she's doing 'homages' to. What a scamp."

Jonas blinks again. He may be trying to imagine the fatherly, balding paladin and the stern, pragmatic priestess having a romance that could be described as 'smoldering.' "Well."

"I suggest you don't read it unless you want to know all about your aunt's heaving bosoms. I frankly can't look at Ference the same way again after having his dimensions described so generously. Light." She laughs.

"I — oh." Jonas’s expression remains frowningly ruminative, but his ears redden reminiscently of someone else’s. He turns away politely to collect his breakfast again.

"I mean it was fairly classy, as such things go. But she left no room for doubt as to dimensions." May giggles madly. "Niris must be quite the gossip herself!"

"Hm," says Jonas, but now he's trying not to smile. "Or perhaps the author's imagination is particularly salacious."

"I mean clearly. So much heaving and heart pounding. I don't think even Mr. Bennett made me quite so breathless as this priestess seemed to be. Goodness, I don’t know how they can have that book on their shelf!"

He glances up again. "Maybe she gifted them a copy. Or, if they collect her work, they felt it would be conspicuous to leave that one out."

"Did your lady's bosom heave?" Mayellen asks very clinically. "How much heaving would you say there was? I need to know the proper amount of heaving I should be doing, if the opportunity should ever arise." She is doing almost perfectly at keeping a straight face.

Jonas gives her another narrow-eyed look. "What are the odds, do you think," he asks dryly, "that I would remark on the heaving of a lady's bosom with any specificity?" He is also very nearly straightfaced.

"Well she has made enough remarks about you, isn't she owed a little return gossip?"

Jonas shakes his head regretfully. "I can hardly break it off with her on account of gossip and then do the same myself." He has another bite of breakfast, chews and swallows, and adds mildly, "I would gentlemanly judge there was a deal of heart pounding going on, perhaps."

Mayellen considers. "I suppose I've experienced some acceleration of the pulse, in Mr. Bennett's presence, but I don't think I ever started… panting like an overheated hound, as so many women in romances seem to do."

"I wouldn't describe it as 'panting like an overheated hound,' more as —" Jonas cuts himself off and attends to his breakfast again. He's nearly done. "Ah. Would you like to see the room? Your room?"

"I think on the whole my feelings tend to run a little more orderly than most people's. My anger gets the best of me more than anything else, but I've been watching that especially closely, due to my profess– oh, certainly."

Jonas nods, finishes the last bite of breakfast, and brushes his hands off over the table. "It's this way. You're in the back, at least, away from the better part of the noise."

"I'm not saying I don't have feelings, I mean you've just seen me cry. But… they don't seem to unseat my thoughts, usually. Oh, that's nice, about the noise." She follows him amiably. "Really only two things have ever caused my feelings to disrupt my common sense — Mr. Bennett and this whole thing with trying to get into Cobalt Company. I wonder if there is a common thread…."

"Your neighbor is Katerinn, a Mountaineer. Quiet, a nice woman." He glances back at May. "A common thread? Hm."

"A woman Mountaineer!" She beams. "I must meet her."

Jonas stops before a nondescript door and leans to open it. The room inside is spare and tidy: a narrow bed, a trunk, a chair.

Mayellen peers in. "I can make do with this. Not bad at all."

Jonas surveys it himself. "No washbasin, but there are the bathrooms, so perhaps not necessary. On the whole, I find dwarven plumbing pretty civilized as compared to washbasins and outhouses."

"Yes, I have been enjoying it quite a lot. I'm glad the bathrooms lock, though. I'll probably be checking it constantly for terror some bearded dwarf will wander in while I'm bathing."

Jonas smiles again faintly. "They do lock, and sturdily. Dwarven design. But folk will knock anyway, in case of absentmindedness."

"Oh no, I didn't even think of that. Walking IN on some dwarf." She shudders and laughs. "I'll be careful not to get too drawn into a book and wander in without knocking."

May hands Jonas's towel back to him. "Here, I didn't blow my nose in it; it's fine."

Jonas accepts it solemnly and slings it over his shoulder. "Well, it would be fine either way. Though I expect I wouldn't, you know." He gestures at his towel-slung shoulder. "If you had."

"I am disinclined to hand you a quantity of snot," she says dryly. "I suppose I'll start bringing what few things I have over. Thanks for showing me the room."

He nods affably and steps away. "Let me know if you need a hand. I've no plans to run off to Loch Modan in the next day or so."

"You've only just bathed; I'm not having you haul things. Shoo!" She smiles warmly. "I'll let you know if I need anything though."

He smiles back at her. "I hardly think carrying your things counts as heaving labor —" He hesitates. Oops, Freudian slip. "Heavy labor," he corrects mildly. "But all right. I'll be back to my own, then."

She grins. "See you soon, neighbor."