"In Natanatan?" [ Questions beget more questions. Hopefully the queen isn't opposed to the impromptu lesson -- this is all surely something children are taught in class -- because Sciel is looking at her expectantly, the piqued interest clear.
It seems Jasnah isn't opposed, or so she assumes when the other woman offers stories, and not just answers. ]
I would. [ Sciel affirms, eyes still bright. ] I'll even share one of my own after. Only seems fair.
Natanatan was one of the Silver Kingdoms. This is one of their stories. I'll — I'll try to tell it as they would, not as a historian would, so you must forgive me where the seams show.
[ She hesitates. Storytelling isn't her strongest suit. One might think it close to lecturing, but it's not quite. ]
Once, in Natanatan, there was Queen named Tsa. Sensible, by all accounts. And one day Mishim — the cleverest of the three moons, came to Queen Tsa. You see, she was curious about the mortal world. She tried to convince Tsa to switch places with her, just for one night. She promised all the glories of the heavens, of stars that sang, of sights no human eye was meant to witness. Again and again, Tsa refused her. Such things were not for mortals, Tsa said. And that should have been the end of it.
Mishim tried one last thing. She told Tsa that one of her towers had a flaw — structural, subtle, visible only from above. A queen, the story claims, can't ignore that. And so Tsa agreed to trade places for a single night. It would be dangerous, course. Mishim warns Tsa that her brother, Nomon, must not notice. Tsa promises to behave as a moon ought to behave. And to look only upon her towers.
So. Tsa ascended, and Mishim descended.
[ Jasnah's mouth quirks. This part is usually told with enthusiasm. ]
Mishim feasted. Danced. Laughed. She forgot herself entirely, until dawn crept in and she realized too late that she had overstayed. Having to wait for night to return, she was forced to spend the day on Roshar. She hid, terrified her siblings would discover her deception.
When Salas rose, and then blue Nomon, neither scolded her. When at last Tsa rose as the moon, Mishim called out, demanding to know what had happened. And Tsa told her the truth. Nomon and Salas had noticed the swap immediately. They had welcomed her. Sang to her. Feasted with her in the heavens. Mishim — clever Mishim — had never been invited to such things by her siblings. She grew jealous. And when Tsa mused aloud that perhaps she might remain a moon forever, Mishim learned how to feel loss. She protested. Accused. Tsa had broken her promise. But Tsa replied, calmly, that Nomon himself had given his permission. Still, eventually, she agreed to return. A queen, after all, has responsibilities.
That night, as Mishim rose once more. Restored. Months later, passing over Tsa's city, she saw something so surprising. Tsa stood holding a child. A boy, faintly blue of skin. Blue, like Nomon.
Only then did Mishim realize she had been outwitted. Tsa's protests had been something of a pretext. She'd wanted one night in the heavens — not for wonder or merriment, but for a divine legacy for her lineage. The people of Natan say their blue skin marks them as Nomon's descendants.
[ Jasnah shrugs, suggesting she doesn't believe it. ]
I doubt this story is evidence of divine heredity, and moons are not...reproductively compatible with mortals in any meaningful sense. But it is a remarkably efficient way to teach children that cleverness is not synonymous with wisdom.
[ She glances at Sciel, softer now. ]
And that even gods should be cautious when they underestimate a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
[ Sciel listens with rapt, easy attention in the way of someone who really hears you when you speak: eyes bright, leaning in slightly, lips parted in wonder. It's a parable, like the kinds of things parents on any world might share with their children, and it reminds her of telling stories to the kids in her class who had likely sat with the same enraptured faces through all of the exciting twists and turns.
It helps that her teacher, in this case, is Jasnah. As she's confessed to the queen herself, Sciel suspects Jasnah could talk to her about most things and make them sound interesting, and not just because they're components of a strange, new world. ]
A good lesson for anybody. [ The former Expeditioner chuckles when it's over, leaning back a little so she can turn her eyes skyward again. ] ...I really like that story. We didn't really have gods, but...the idea that humans could trick them is inspiring, isn't it? It's also a testament to the idea that everyone -- everything -- has a weakness, no matter how powerful. Or...that everyone is capable of impossible things, if they only go about it the right way.
[ The Paintress is their closest equivalent to a god, and unsuccessful decades upon decades of Expeditioners throwing themselves at the mission of destroying her hadn't dissuaded them. ...Not all of them, anyway. Whatever the ultimate result, the 33s had managed some impossibilities.
Sciel draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and keeping her gaze above. ]
...Why are they blue, d'you think? [ She asks after a pause, finally looking back to Jasnah. ]
[ If anyone asked Jasnah — storms, even if they didn't ask — she'd say that Roshar also has no gods. Only beings so powerful that they might be mistaken for something godlike. But the Natanatans worshipped the moon as if they were divine, and the story speaks to something deep and instinctual. She appreciates it for the slanted piece of history it is.
Sciel asks her question and she hums, thoughtful. Truth be told, she hadn't anticipated she'd end up plumbing the depths of Rosharan anthropology. But she likes Sciel's curiosity, and feels inclined to meet it — meet her — where she stands. ]
Conventional scholarship suggests that, ages ago, the people of Natan intermingled with the Siah-Amians. Humanoid, but not human. And very, very blue. I tend to agree with the theory.
[ The words are all still so foreign, and she endeavors to sort through them all and find their place in her growing (and intimidating) mental guide to Roshar. It's a task better suited for Lune (she thinks, for about the hundredth time), but that doesn't mean she isn't going to make an effort. Far from it. ]
I see. [ You know, to the degree that she can. It's at least easy to picture blue people. ] It's...strange, being in a place with the kind of history that you have. All of you. [ Not just the Alethi, but everyone on Roshar. ] Coming from a world where we just had the one city-...well, unless you count the gestrals and the Grandis, which you should. One human city, then. [ With a short-lived history, considering a lot of the pre-Fracture details have been lost with the event itself. ] It makes me feel like we Lumiérans are...I dunno, babies by comparison.
[ With so much potential for growth. Now lost. ]
I wish I could bring more of what was ours here, to show you. But...I'm awful in the kitchen, so the bread's out. And I'm not a musician, either. [ Sciel shrugs, letting these minute failures be water off her back. ] All I can really share are the stories.
[ A low, thoughtful sigh. It's strange to imagine! One human city, and that's the boundaries of most lives until they're snatched away. Or they reach for more — even if that more means mostly more death, more hardship, more failure. ]
Still. The stories must be good ones. [ Desperation breeds good stories, Hoid told her. Once. ] I often find stories and folklore are the quickest, best way to understand a people. Not a popular stance among historians — but one I'm fond of.
We do still manage to have good stories, yeah. [ There's some entertainment and levity to be found even amid all of the seriousness and death. ] ...That makes sense though, doesn't it? What are the morals or bits of history that're so importnat to people that they pass them down through generations? Not everything's going to make it, so...what they put value in should be at least somewhat obvious.
[ That is: she agrees with Jasnah's stance. Not for the first time. ]
Speaking of... [ Stories, that is. ] Would you rather hear about some of those non-humans, or about some of the more celestial myths?
[ For the record: the non-humans had also been myths until Sciel and the other 33s had reached the Continent and met them. ]
Gestrals. [ Sciel confirms. If gestral figures exist on Roshar, then Jasnah will know exactly what the things look like...more or less. ] Wooden, human-sized creatures that're generally considered myth, even though the first expedition -- Expedition Zero -- talked about them when they returned. [ Those who did return, anyway. ] I don't think I really believed they existed until I saw them for myself. Spent a lot of time in their village, actually... I ended up there on my own pretty early on, and since I didn't [ want or expect to live much longer ] really know what to do next, I started fighting in their arena. Became champion, actually. [ There's a thoughtful cant of her head as she drops back into those fights, recalling her adversaries. ] They love fighting, and some of them are even good at it. But usually it's just somebody you feel kind of bad about going up against, though they'd never, ever back down.
[ It's one thing when the gestral is some big, hulking guy. It's another when it's a little one that has small dog energy. ]
So they respect those they see as great warriors, obviously. Helps that they don't actually die; they're eventually...resurrected? Reincarnated? In their Sacred River. [ Sciel shrugs one shoulder, humming. ] I've never seen it happen myself, but I know it works that way.
[ It's one thing to hear a story about creatures who aren't human. Quite another to hear about creatures made of...of wood? And as Sciel continues, she can't help but wonder if they don't sound more like spren. Because, like these gestrals, spren don't actually die either.
Jasnah's head tilts. As sometimes happens, she looks a little like she's listening to something or someone else. Ivory whispers a private word in her ear. She exhales through her nose. Looking thoughtful. ]
Curious.
[ Jasnah shifts, minutely, as if crowding a little closer to the campfire. ]
Definitely. [ Sciel replies, voice emphatic. ] Better than the myths. We traveled with one during the Expedition: Monoco. He... [ ...Is hard to describe, as evidenced by the pause in which she considers the right adjectives for their hairy friend. ] ...Was surprisingly wise, actually. He and Verso would get up to all kinds of ridiculous things, but Monoco also had a lot to say that was unexpectedly helpful. Guess that comes with living a few lifetimes.
[ Even if gestrals don't carry their identities over between those lives, she assumes some bits and pieces carry through. ]
He could also transform himself into Nevrons. Very useful in a fight. [ There's a beat; her expression twitches toward some mix of amusement and puzzlement. ] He'd have to have the leg of that Nevron first to manage it, though. Meant he talked a lot about feet.
[ Idly, she glances down at her own legs — draped under a split havah, clothed in plain fabric trousers under that split skirt. Like the scouts wear. A wiggle of her right leg where it sits, bent, on the bench. ]
Why a leg? How odd. Would a hand or a head not suffice?
The leg. [ Sciel repeats. ] He never explained and, honestly, I never asked. Somehow I think he'd just have said something like "why, indeed" in a mysterious voice, and then never actually answer.
[ Verso probably knows the reason, but that doesn't help anybody right now. Sciel shifts where she sits, returning her attention to the queen and affixing her with a relaxed smile, leaning back against the weight of her hands. ]
Far as I know, he's the only gestral who can do it. [ beat ] Could do it. Again: no idea why.
[ ...Aren't mysterious, mystical creatures kinda annoying? Her expression crinkles with a flicker of empathy. Even so, it's a fascinating topic. And she might have liked the opportunity to dig deeper. Sometimes, perception is an important factor in mysteries like these. Maybe legs meant something on an emotional, cognitive level — and that importance drifted into the physical.
Idle conjecture. The kind that just spins and wheels in the back of her mind, but doesn't quite deserve the light of day. ]
And transforming into a...[ a pause while she remembers the word, ] Nevron. That was helpful?
Nevron, right. [ There's a brief nod at that, then a slight tilt of the head. ] Mm, they're basically just...monsters, honestly. And, yes: it was very helpful. We were a talented group, but having someone with us who could make use of Nevrons' own abilities against them definitely came in handy.
[ To match their strength, to make use of certain elemental weaknesses...the list goes on. ]
Not just offensive, either. Monoco could transform into something that could increase your movement speed, or heal. Truly a jack-of-all-trades, that one.
[ If it's at all awkward or overbearing, it doesn't show in Sciel's face, or resonate in her reply. ]
You remember I've mentioned Verso, our...guide? Monoco was his best friend. [ More or less. She can incorporate Esquie into the conversation later, when they're done sorting out some of the gestral details. ] To get where we were going, Verso suggested we recruit him to join us. He didn't just turn into Nevrons; he also knew a lot about the area. Plus, it was probably best for everyone that we had someone there who could bring our mysterious friend out of his shell a bit.
[ Get him to lower some of the many masks, as it were. ]
[ A slow, understanding nod. It's hard not to think a little, just a little, of her time lost in Shadesmar. Although she hadn't had a proper guide, there'd been something of a party assembled. To keep safe. To pass time. Ivory had been indispensable.
But that's an interesting question to ask as follow-up, actually: ] Did your...group get along with one another? Generally? Were you colleagues before you left?
[ The fire crackles between them: it's some of the only sounds in the lapse between Jasnah's question and Sciel's reply. ]
Generally. [ Pleasant, concise, and intentionally vague. ] But...tensions could run high.
[ A log shifts and falls, sending up a little shower of embers. Sciel has turned her attention from the stars to the flames, momentarily transported to moments from the expedition that fit the bill.
Eventually she turns back to the queen, half-shrugging. ]
[ Sciel's repetition catches. Hooks, abrades, and makes Jasnah's attention stand up a little straighter. While the other woman buries her gaze into the fire, she leans a little to the left — head ducking, as if she might catch some direct eye contact.
Testing, testing. ]
Generally. [ She echoes. Hmm. She doesn't want to pry, it's just... ] I suppose it's hard to spend so long in the same company and not — chafe a little.
[ While her gaze is averted, Sciel still feels the curious prickle of Jasnah's attention on her face. After she turns back, her mouth twists a little as if in apology. ]
Some combination of the time, the stress. [ Sciel scratches idly at the knuckles of one hand with the other. ] Having a life-or-death mission of that scale can run tensions pretty high.
[ It's still too evasive, and that isn't her style. But...what they'd been through is still a little raw. And maybe she's let herself sink into the new reality to the point of it drowning out the what-came-before.
Maybe she's still relying on escapism more than she thought, even if its forms are a little healthier than some of her previous vices. ]
[ A quiet hum. An mmhm of agreement. Yes, yes, she can see how those factors might put a small cadre of people under so much pressure. She's read brief reports to that effect, hasn't she? About teams of three or four researchers tearing their solidarity apart from the inside out once they're alone long enough. And that's without the added weight of, well, these Expeditions.
Jasnah stays tilted, just so, but doesn't pry any harder than necessary. As if it's enough to make her interest known — she can wiggle her chisel into the crack at some later date. ]
Certainly. I recall reading a thesis about somewhat similar conditions in the warcamps.
[ Sciel nods in return, yes, like the warcamps. She assumes. And it's probably similar, to the degree that it can be. ]
I'm sure it's easier with a larger group. [ There's a huff of a sigh; it's easy to summon to mind what the entirety of the 33s had looked like, once, when there were more than four of them left. ] There'd be...more space for all that to disperse. Probably a chain of command where some well-placed orders could get everyone to calm down. [ She chuckles weakly, raising a hand as if volunteering for the role. In fact: ] Without our Commander, all we had was protocol, and...well, I guess I tried to smooth things out, when I could.
[ Mediating is a natural inclination for her, and it'd been helpful when there'd been some mild infighting. Less so for the more serious matters, when people had already made up their minds about what 'should' happen. ]
[ And just like that. As she'd hoped — as she'd expected — easing off the particulars by a breath or two had opened the field up for more information that she might have gotten simply by pressing questions. ]
And protocol's just words on a page without authority to back it up. [ Something like that. The authority needn't be absolute, but it's nevertheless an important ingredient in the recipe. ]
A bit different from classroom squabbles, I suspect.
Mm, [ Sciel hums in response, frowning a bit. ] not in this case. I'd usually agree with you, but...for most of the people who'd sign up for an expedition, it's more than that. You know going in it's a glorified suicide mission, so people are usually deadly serious about the details.
[ She hadn't been there when Gustave and Lune had argued about protocol, and they'd found records of old expeditions along the way that suggested a breaking down of them, too, but...for the most part, what she tells Jasnah rings true. ]
Definitely more intense than classroom squabbles. [ She confirms, chuckling. ] Though those could also get to be a lot when there wasn't an authority figure around.
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It seems Jasnah isn't opposed, or so she assumes when the other woman offers stories, and not just answers. ]
I would. [ Sciel affirms, eyes still bright. ] I'll even share one of my own after. Only seems fair.
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[ She hesitates. Storytelling isn't her strongest suit. One might think it close to lecturing, but it's not quite. ]
Once, in Natanatan, there was Queen named Tsa. Sensible, by all accounts. And one day Mishim — the cleverest of the three moons, came to Queen Tsa. You see, she was curious about the mortal world. She tried to convince Tsa to switch places with her, just for one night. She promised all the glories of the heavens, of stars that sang, of sights no human eye was meant to witness. Again and again, Tsa refused her. Such things were not for mortals, Tsa said. And that should have been the end of it.
Mishim tried one last thing. She told Tsa that one of her towers had a flaw — structural, subtle, visible only from above. A queen, the story claims, can't ignore that. And so Tsa agreed to trade places for a single night. It would be dangerous, course. Mishim warns Tsa that her brother, Nomon, must not notice. Tsa promises to behave as a moon ought to behave. And to look only upon her towers.
So. Tsa ascended, and Mishim descended.
[ Jasnah's mouth quirks. This part is usually told with enthusiasm. ]
Mishim feasted. Danced. Laughed. She forgot herself entirely, until dawn crept in and she realized too late that she had overstayed. Having to wait for night to return, she was forced to spend the day on Roshar. She hid, terrified her siblings would discover her deception.
When Salas rose, and then blue Nomon, neither scolded her. When at last Tsa rose as the moon, Mishim called out, demanding to know what had happened. And Tsa told her the truth. Nomon and Salas had noticed the swap immediately. They had welcomed her. Sang to her. Feasted with her in the heavens. Mishim — clever Mishim — had never been invited to such things by her siblings. She grew jealous. And when Tsa mused aloud that perhaps she might remain a moon forever, Mishim learned how to feel loss. She protested. Accused. Tsa had broken her promise. But Tsa replied, calmly, that Nomon himself had given his permission. Still, eventually, she agreed to return. A queen, after all, has responsibilities.
That night, as Mishim rose once more. Restored. Months later, passing over Tsa's city, she saw something so surprising. Tsa stood holding a child. A boy, faintly blue of skin. Blue, like Nomon.
Only then did Mishim realize she had been outwitted. Tsa's protests had been something of a pretext. She'd wanted one night in the heavens — not for wonder or merriment, but for a divine legacy for her lineage. The people of Natan say their blue skin marks them as Nomon's descendants.
[ Jasnah shrugs, suggesting she doesn't believe it. ]
I doubt this story is evidence of divine heredity, and moons are not...reproductively compatible with mortals in any meaningful sense. But it is a remarkably efficient way to teach children that cleverness is not synonymous with wisdom.
[ She glances at Sciel, softer now. ]
And that even gods should be cautious when they underestimate a woman who knows exactly what she wants.
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It helps that her teacher, in this case, is Jasnah. As she's confessed to the queen herself, Sciel suspects Jasnah could talk to her about most things and make them sound interesting, and not just because they're components of a strange, new world. ]
A good lesson for anybody. [ The former Expeditioner chuckles when it's over, leaning back a little so she can turn her eyes skyward again. ] ...I really like that story. We didn't really have gods, but...the idea that humans could trick them is inspiring, isn't it? It's also a testament to the idea that everyone -- everything -- has a weakness, no matter how powerful. Or...that everyone is capable of impossible things, if they only go about it the right way.
[ The Paintress is their closest equivalent to a god, and unsuccessful decades upon decades of Expeditioners throwing themselves at the mission of destroying her hadn't dissuaded them. ...Not all of them, anyway. Whatever the ultimate result, the 33s had managed some impossibilities.
Sciel draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them and keeping her gaze above. ]
...Why are they blue, d'you think? [ She asks after a pause, finally looking back to Jasnah. ]
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Sciel asks her question and she hums, thoughtful. Truth be told, she hadn't anticipated she'd end up plumbing the depths of Rosharan anthropology. But she likes Sciel's curiosity, and feels inclined to meet it — meet her — where she stands. ]
Conventional scholarship suggests that, ages ago, the people of Natan intermingled with the Siah-Amians. Humanoid, but not human. And very, very blue. I tend to agree with the theory.
[ She watches Sciel who watches the stars. ]
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I see. [ You know, to the degree that she can. It's at least easy to picture blue people. ] It's...strange, being in a place with the kind of history that you have. All of you. [ Not just the Alethi, but everyone on Roshar. ] Coming from a world where we just had the one city-...well, unless you count the gestrals and the Grandis, which you should. One human city, then. [ With a short-lived history, considering a lot of the pre-Fracture details have been lost with the event itself. ] It makes me feel like we Lumiérans are...I dunno, babies by comparison.
[ With so much potential for growth. Now lost. ]
I wish I could bring more of what was ours here, to show you. But...I'm awful in the kitchen, so the bread's out. And I'm not a musician, either. [ Sciel shrugs, letting these minute failures be water off her back. ] All I can really share are the stories.
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[ A low, thoughtful sigh. It's strange to imagine! One human city, and that's the boundaries of most lives until they're snatched away. Or they reach for more — even if that more means mostly more death, more hardship, more failure. ]
Still. The stories must be good ones. [ Desperation breeds good stories, Hoid told her. Once. ] I often find stories and folklore are the quickest, best way to understand a people. Not a popular stance among historians — but one I'm fond of.
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[ That is: she agrees with Jasnah's stance. Not for the first time. ]
Speaking of... [ Stories, that is. ] Would you rather hear about some of those non-humans, or about some of the more celestial myths?
[ For the record: the non-humans had also been myths until Sciel and the other 33s had reached the Continent and met them. ]
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Hmm. A difficult choice. [ In the end, she greedily intends to have both. ] Let's start with the — gestrals, you said?
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[ It's one thing when the gestral is some big, hulking guy. It's another when it's a little one that has small dog energy. ]
So they respect those they see as great warriors, obviously. Helps that they don't actually die; they're eventually...resurrected? Reincarnated? In their Sacred River. [ Sciel shrugs one shoulder, humming. ] I've never seen it happen myself, but I know it works that way.
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Jasnah's head tilts. As sometimes happens, she looks a little like she's listening to something or someone else. Ivory whispers a private word in her ear. She exhales through her nose. Looking thoughtful. ]
Curious.
[ Jasnah shifts, minutely, as if crowding a little closer to the campfire. ]
Did they live up to their myths?
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[ Even if gestrals don't carry their identities over between those lives, she assumes some bits and pieces carry through. ]
He could also transform himself into Nevrons. Very useful in a fight. [ There's a beat; her expression twitches toward some mix of amusement and puzzlement. ] He'd have to have the leg of that Nevron first to manage it, though. Meant he talked a lot about feet.
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[ Idly, she glances down at her own legs — draped under a split havah, clothed in plain fabric trousers under that split skirt. Like the scouts wear. A wiggle of her right leg where it sits, bent, on the bench. ]
Why a leg? How odd. Would a hand or a head not suffice?
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[ Verso probably knows the reason, but that doesn't help anybody right now. Sciel shifts where she sits, returning her attention to the queen and affixing her with a relaxed smile, leaning back against the weight of her hands. ]
Far as I know, he's the only gestral who can do it. [ beat ] Could do it. Again: no idea why.
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Idle conjecture. The kind that just spins and wheels in the back of her mind, but doesn't quite deserve the light of day. ]
And transforming into a...[ a pause while she remembers the word, ] Nevron. That was helpful?
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[ To match their strength, to make use of certain elemental weaknesses...the list goes on. ]
Not just offensive, either. Monoco could transform into something that could increase your movement speed, or heal. Truly a jack-of-all-trades, that one.
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How did a creature like him end up travelling with the Expedition?
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You remember I've mentioned Verso, our...guide? Monoco was his best friend. [ More or less. She can incorporate Esquie into the conversation later, when they're done sorting out some of the gestral details. ] To get where we were going, Verso suggested we recruit him to join us. He didn't just turn into Nevrons; he also knew a lot about the area. Plus, it was probably best for everyone that we had someone there who could bring our mysterious friend out of his shell a bit.
[ Get him to lower some of the many masks, as it were. ]
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But that's an interesting question to ask as follow-up, actually: ] Did your...group get along with one another? Generally? Were you colleagues before you left?
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Generally. [ Pleasant, concise, and intentionally vague. ] But...tensions could run high.
[ A log shifts and falls, sending up a little shower of embers. Sciel has turned her attention from the stars to the flames, momentarily transported to moments from the expedition that fit the bill.
Eventually she turns back to the queen, half-shrugging. ]
Generally. [ She repeats, airily. ]
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Testing, testing. ]
Generally. [ She echoes. Hmm. She doesn't want to pry, it's just... ] I suppose it's hard to spend so long in the same company and not — chafe a little.
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Some combination of the time, the stress. [ Sciel scratches idly at the knuckles of one hand with the other. ] Having a life-or-death mission of that scale can run tensions pretty high.
[ It's still too evasive, and that isn't her style. But...what they'd been through is still a little raw. And maybe she's let herself sink into the new reality to the point of it drowning out the what-came-before.
Maybe she's still relying on escapism more than she thought, even if its forms are a little healthier than some of her previous vices. ]
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Jasnah stays tilted, just so, but doesn't pry any harder than necessary. As if it's enough to make her interest known — she can wiggle her chisel into the crack at some later date. ]
Certainly. I recall reading a thesis about somewhat similar conditions in the warcamps.
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I'm sure it's easier with a larger group. [ There's a huff of a sigh; it's easy to summon to mind what the entirety of the 33s had looked like, once, when there were more than four of them left. ] There'd be...more space for all that to disperse. Probably a chain of command where some well-placed orders could get everyone to calm down. [ She chuckles weakly, raising a hand as if volunteering for the role. In fact: ] Without our Commander, all we had was protocol, and...well, I guess I tried to smooth things out, when I could.
[ Mediating is a natural inclination for her, and it'd been helpful when there'd been some mild infighting. Less so for the more serious matters, when people had already made up their minds about what 'should' happen. ]
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And protocol's just words on a page without authority to back it up. [ Something like that. The authority needn't be absolute, but it's nevertheless an important ingredient in the recipe. ]
A bit different from classroom squabbles, I suspect.
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[ She hadn't been there when Gustave and Lune had argued about protocol, and they'd found records of old expeditions along the way that suggested a breaking down of them, too, but...for the most part, what she tells Jasnah rings true. ]
Definitely more intense than classroom squabbles. [ She confirms, chuckling. ] Though those could also get to be a lot when there wasn't an authority figure around.
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