Sheyra considers her next words, the difference between 'classmate' and 'coworker'. A word she didn't know, one that she did.
She was inclined to use the one he picked, but decided instead to explain. "The people that you work or train with; for your client, or while still a part of your House. I understand student-" she repeats the word, tries to anyway, as he had spoken it - then repeats it as she hears it herself: the word for coworker, "--as someone that is in training. My vocabulary may be lacking, due to our different planets."
She bows her head, a small one, in way of apology for the confusion. He may be of a similar rank as her or not - and this, she was trying to figure out when it came to this vessel known as the train - but it was better not to cause offence with presumptions.
But if he stands, then so will she in her promise to help, if unsure how to do so first. Except there's the books with recipes, and so she heads to the drawers where they're stuffed inside.
Which is just as she's asked about food, and there's a paused; remembering the last few months of her time with the professor, the conditions, the meagre meals. It lasts a few seconds, until she pulls out a book, forces herself to answer indifferently:
"We eat fehmabala, and drink mol milk; our diets do not need to change, so we eat the same food, depending on the seasons. Leftovers from the suppers of our clients may be handed around, but I...never received these offerings."
As she's spoken, she's been flipping through the books, not slowed by speaking. Pages trapped between her fingers, as she turns to the human.
no subject
She was inclined to use the one he picked, but decided instead to explain. "The people that you work or train with; for your client, or while still a part of your House. I understand student-" she repeats the word, tries to anyway, as he had spoken it - then repeats it as she hears it herself: the word for coworker, "--as someone that is in training. My vocabulary may be lacking, due to our different planets."
She bows her head, a small one, in way of apology for the confusion. He may be of a similar rank as her or not - and this, she was trying to figure out when it came to this vessel known as the train - but it was better not to cause offence with presumptions.
But if he stands, then so will she in her promise to help, if unsure how to do so first. Except there's the books with recipes, and so she heads to the drawers where they're stuffed inside.
Which is just as she's asked about food, and there's a paused; remembering the last few months of her time with the professor, the conditions, the meagre meals. It lasts a few seconds, until she pulls out a book, forces herself to answer indifferently:
"We eat fehmabala, and drink mol milk; our diets do not need to change, so we eat the same food, depending on the seasons. Leftovers from the suppers of our clients may be handed around, but I...never received these offerings."
As she's spoken, she's been flipping through the books, not slowed by speaking. Pages trapped between her fingers, as she turns to the human.
"Excuse me. Do you have a recipe chosen?"