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[gramarye1971]

Merriman is seated at a table, writing industriously with a fountain pen on a pad of paper.

Not a note, not a letter. Merely a writing exercise he's used in the past to clear his mind of distractions and attempt to regain a better sense of focus.

Nominative, genitive, dative, accusative, vocative, ablative, locative.

Declining Latin nouns and pronouns is not everyone's idea of an enjoyable way to spend an evening, but the steady, formal progression of the language lends itself to meditation in a way.

Comments

[blue_ajah]

As she scans the room, her glance falls on him.

Mere moments later, Moiraine is standing before his table.

"Merriman." A beat. "Good evening-- I hope."

[gramarye1971]

Merriman looks up, and gets to his feet. 'Moiraine. To be honest, there have been better evenings...but there is quiet for now, and that seems to be all we can ask for at present.'

He gestures to the chair opposite, and sits again, replacing the cap on his fountain pen.

[blue_ajah]

"There have been worse ones as well," comes her serene-- and yet very dry-- response.

Moiraine takes the seat indicated and looks at him.

"So."

[gramarye1971]

He pushes the paper aside, clearing the space before him.

'Self-immolation. Not the Dark's work. Ending the battle on her own terms, so to speak -- since victory would not have been forthcoming.'

He's tempted to explain the term 'Pyrrhic victory' to Moiraine, but he has no real desire to delve into ancient history at the moment.

[blue_ajah]

She is very, very still, although dark eyes flare with quickly-suppressed fury.

"Who?"

[gramarye1971]

'Coyote.' Chill light glitters in his eyes. 'From what I could tell of the residual magic, she attacked the Rider...but that does not mean that the attack was by any means unprovoked. Residual magic can only leave so much information behind.'

[blue_ajah]

"I see."

Her calm now is that of rigid self-control.

"It explains much, as it happens."

[young_tmriddle]

Yesterday's happiness has carried over to today for Tom. The birthday ball went with only a few small bumps, and Ingress had the time of her life. But those bumps things are things he'd like to share with Merriman.

"Hullo, Professor Lyon. I didn't have much of a chance to speak with you last night, but thanks so much for coming. It meant a lot to Ingress."

[gramarye1971]

Merriman looks up from his work -- it takes a brief moment for his gaze to settle properly on Tom, but when it does he gives the young man a quiet half-smile.

'It was an excellent party,' he replies. 'I am glad to have had the opportunity to attend. Ingress enjoyed herself thoroughly, I hope?'

[young_tmriddle]

"Yes. She was dancing in her sleep, the dear little thing." Tom pauses a moment, eyeing the work before Merriman. "I'm not disturbing you, am I? I did have a matter of import to discuss with you, but I shouldn't think it would take up too much of your time."

[gramarye1971]

'Not interrupting, no.' He gestures to the chair opposite. 'I have a few matters I ought to mention to you as well -- but please, do go first.'

If there's any overlap between what Tom has to say and what has happened of late, it will save time to hear Tom's matter of import first.

[young_tmriddle]

"Aphelise came to the party last night. He wanted to give Ingress a gift, a 'simple bauble'. I refused it, of course, and I've checked through all of her gifts to make sure his didn't slip in amongst them. I didn't see his colleague though, and for that I am most grateful."

[gramarye1971]

Merriman hisses lightly through his teeth. (Considering an Old One's gift of languages, the sound probably resembles a fairly vehement curse in Parseltongue.)

'A sound decision. And you were within your right to refuse the gift -- there is no aspect of the Law that governs both Light and Dark that would fault you in that respect.'

A slight pause. 'His colleague, I think, was otherwise occupied at the time. There was an incident a few days ago of which I think you ought to be aware.'

[nita_callahan]

"Absorbing work?" asks Nita, pausing by his table, cup of tea in hand.

[gramarye1971]

'Quae, cuius, cui....' He breaks off and glances up -- and it takes a moment for him to properly focus on Nita.

'Dai'stiho, Miss Callahan.' He sets down his pen. 'Not particularly absorbing, but that is the point of it. Latin declensions, to clear my mind.'

[nita_callahan]

". . . You use declensions to clear your mind. Well, to each his own."

She takes a sip of tea and peers at him over the rim. "So what's the latest? I talked to Coyote a few days ago -- she said the Rider was released from the cells."

[gramarye1971]

Merriman's gaze hardens.

'She was. And there has already been an incident with her, involving Coyote.' Someone has to be the bearer of bad news, and he is too deeply involved in the situation to think to soften the blow. 'An altercation, outside the bar, ended with Coyote's self-immolation. Not the Dark's work, but...it prevented the White Rider from winning the day.'

[nita_callahan]

"--With her what?"

Nita's gone pale.

[gramarye1971]

'Self-immolation.' Said more quietly this time. 'Her own magic, in a final strike.'

[holy-oats.livejournal.com]

Before we proceed with this portion of the narration, it is important to note that Oats is by no means glancing over Merriman's shoulder.

Er.

He just happens to see what he's writing. By accident, of course. And, being the linguist that he is, he really can't help but comment.

"Is ... is that Latatian?"

It looks a little ... funny.

[gramarye1971]

'Latin,' Merriman corrects automatically, pedantically, without looking up. 'Fifth declension masculine singular, the last singular declension to develop in Latin. The only nouns that have this full declension are -- '

He blinks, seemingly snapping back to the present, and looks round.

'Ah,' he says, blinking again. 'Good evening, Reverend.'

[holy-oats.livejournal.com]

Oats is not sure how amused he's allowed to be.

All he does, however, is give a somewhat sheepish wave.

"Good evening."

He always means to inform Merriman that he really prefers just 'Oats,' but can never quite manage it.

"Latin, you said?" He peers at the page. "Curious ... it looks like a language from the Disc."

[gramarye1971]

'It may be similar enough, at that.' He picks up the paper and holds it out to Oats. There are a number of neat columns of words on the page, sets of singular and plural declensions written out in Merriman's almost impossibly precise script.

'Just a writing exercise, to clear my mind,' he says, by way of explanation.

[holy-oats.livejournal.com]

Peering is definitely easier from this angle.


... And wow, does Merriman have some good handwriting.

"Oh," he says with a nod, understanding. "I've, um, heard of that as a meditation technique, actually. Certain sects of Omnianism hold that it's the highest form of prayerfulness ... though their hands are rather cramped at this point, I imagine."

[gramarye1971]

'It does help.' He puts the paper down. 'And as far as hand-cramping goes...well, if you have marked as many papers as I have over the years, you soon learn how to adjust to it.'