Once a week, he retrieves the contents of his botanist’s pack from the mild stasis within, and the two of them sit down to sort through what he's gathered. Cords of branchwood, bundles of herbs, handfuls of seed– between Ori’s field experience and his retainer’s expert eye, the two of them divide up what to use, what to store and what to sell.
Jeannaut looks up from his work, although his long hands don’t stop moving. Most weeks, Ori near matches him for efficiency– today, his stack of paper packets of seeds is noticeably smaller than Jeannaut’s collection of herbs neatly tied with twine.
“...Yes, sir?” he prompts, when the rest of Ori’s sentence fails to materialize.
Ori looks back at him for a moment. “Never mind,” he says with a sigh. “We’ll have to take most of this saffron to the market, I can’t possibly use all of it. I don’t know why I gathered so much.”
“Perhaps your thoughts were elsewhere,” Jeannaut suggests gently.
Ori blinks at him, as if just returning to the conversation. “Hm?”
“I believe,” says Jeannaut, “you were about to ask something?”
“Oh,” says Ori. “That. No, it was a silly question.”
“Then perhaps it will provide us both a much-needed diversion.”
He makes a face. “Oh, fine. I was going to ask– well– have you ever been with another man?”
There’s a moment of silence, spooling out like the twine. Jeannaut ties off another tidy bundle.
“I told you it was silly,” Ori says, turning faintly pink, and quickly goes back to his pack. “Let's see, what else– figs. Plant them, do you think, or sell the seeds?”
“I recommend selling,” says Jeannaut. “Figs thrive best under an expert hand, and such an interested party would likely consider the cultivation as great a reward as the fruit itself. And the answer,” he adds, perfectly composed, “is yes.”
“Ah,” says Ori, and clears his throat. “Is it… very different?”
The other man sets his shears down at last. “If I may speculate,” he says, “I expect your first consideration will be one of– scale, shall we say, not necessarily experience.”
“I didn't say who it is,” Ori protests immediately.
“Nor, indeed, that any such specific suitor exists.”
Ori winces, caught out, and the pink in his cheeks rises higher. “I'm predictable, aren't I,” he says.
The expression on Jeannaut’s face is something approaching a smile. “You are a man of consistent taste, sir.”
“That's a polite way of saying I'm predictable.” He turns his attention back to the table, to cover his blush if nothing else. “I shouldn't have asked, it's not my business. I'm sorry, Jeannaut.”
“I pray you think nothing of it, sir. An honest man takes no offense to an honest question. If you'll allow me–” He slides the little pile of figs carefully out of Ori's hands and toward himself.
They work in silence for a while, Jeannaut as steadily as before, Ori determinedly busy. They're near finished before Jeannaut speaks again.
“If you would like,” he says, “I would be happy to offer a practical demonstration.”
He says it so calmly, so much like any other matter, that it's several moments before Ori realizes what he meant. When he does, his head snaps up immediately. “No, I didn't mean– I just couldn't think who else to talk to, I would never ask you to do something like–”
“I know,” Jeannaut says. It's rare for him to interrupt, and even rarer to offer physical contact– but that's exactly what he does, placing a steadying hand over Ori's own. “I know you well enough, sir, to know that it is not in your nature to attempt such an imposition. If I thought it were,” he adds, “I would not have offered.”
“Ah,” says Ori. “Yes, well.” The blush has taken over his face completely, but he sets his shoulders with determination. “All right, then I accept. Tonight?”
Jeannaut raises one eyebrow. “The matter is that urgent?”
“Not at all,” Ori says, “but longer than that and I may lose my nerve.”
“I see. In that case–” He considers what remains of their work. “Why not allow me to finish here, and attend to any other duties you may have? The sooner discharged, the sooner at leisure.”
“Not to mention, that'll keep me too busy to worry?”
“As I said, you are–”
“Consistent, right.” Ori sighs as he slides down from his chair. “I'll ring when I'm finished? Not that it's– official business, you know, but–”
“I quite understand,” Jeannaut says. “Try not to rush– whenever you feel yourself ready.”
“So to speak,” Ori can't help adding.
At the door, he turns back. “Jeannaut–?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Why?” says Ori.
Once again, that expression that’s almost a smile crosses his face. “Call it a botanist’s curiosity, if you will,” Jeannaut replies. “You are a charming, capable, and rather determined young man, Orishan, and I should like to observe this cultivation of yours. I believe it will prove just as interesting as the result.”
