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You say "Mr. Veruzac? It's Corian Treston. My apologies for calling so late." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "Ms. Treston? *surprise* It's no problem, my dear. None at all. I was just going over some data. What can I help you with?" in Terrence's voice.

You say "I was just wondering if you were still willing to spare me a bit of your time. If that's not the case, that would not be a difficulty." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and says "Ah, yes. I...I have no plans for the evening, no. To be honest, a break from this might be welcome. You would prefer to talk over the comm or in person?" in Terrence's voice.

You say "In person might be somewhat easier. I can meet you somewhere, if you like? And my quarters are available as well." Yes, she really can be that innocent, and her suggestion obviously -is- innocent." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "If you are more comfortable in your quarters, I won't object." And he won't. No, really. "If you could give me directions?"" in Terrence's voice.

You say "But of course. I am in the Complex, on the fourth floor, corridor Y, room 8." into the communit.

Your communit crackles to life and blares "I can be there in perhaps a quarter hour, then Ms. Treston. Until then?" in Terrence's voice.

You say "Until then, yes." into the communit.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Someone's knocking on the door. Maybe it's Terrence. (If you like, you can 'reply <words>'.)

Corian calls, "Come in."

Terrence enters from the Elevator Lounge.

Terrence has arrived.

Corian finishes tucking away a few papers as you enter. "Good evening," she says, with a pleasant smile. "Thank you for coming--I do appreciate it, very much."

Terrence enters politely, a small box in hand which he holds forward with a somewhat weary smile. "It's my pleasure indeed. Please, a small token of my esteem. I'm afraid it's just toffee cookies, but I'd picked up the box from the bakery today and thought it might be more...congenial to share."

Corian crosses to take the box, still looking quite pleasant. "Many thanks, but this wasn't necessary. I am the one who is inconveniencing you, after all. May I offer you something to drink?" She lifts a hand in a graceful gesture behind herself, to the cooking unit.

Terrence lifts a hand in denial, shaking his head. "No inconvenience, I assure you. My eyes were near to crossing from trying to extrapolate cultural data. I appreciate the break." He edges his hands into his pockets and offers an urbane smile. "I'd love a drink. Whatever you have on hand is fine. Water, coffee...anything."

Corian's expression is somewhat sympathetic as she heads over to the catering unit. "Please... have a seat, make yourself at home. You are here to work in the temple, yes? I must admit that the text in the entryway has me somewhat stymied. I am hoping that perhaps one of the dragons will be able to assist me."

Terrence complacently heads over to lower to the couch, hitching one ankle up to rest casually on the opposing knee. "I am, yes. Isn't it a headache? One of the most fascinating cultural cases I've seen in years, but like nothing I've ever seen, either. No reference points. You're an anthropologist as well?"

Corian returns from the other side of the room to offer a steaming mug--coffee, apparently. Her own is the spicy tea that is so popular on Kashid. "Would you like cream or sugar?" she inquires. "I have both, very easy to get. And... a headache. No, I would not -quite- term it that. It is somewhat frustrating, yes, but fascinating nonetheless." She seats herself lightly on the desk chair, now turned to face you. "And I am not an anthropologist, no--linguistics is my trade."

"Black is fine," Terrence replies, taking the mug with a murmur of grateful thanks. "A linguist, eh?" His expression turns thoughtful for a moment as he takes a long sip. "Good occupation. Phenomenally useful, particularly in such an environment as this," he muses. "Still, it's a rather...harried environment. Surely a young lady of your family status..."

For some reason, that particular statement sparks a hint of amusement in Corian's gray eyes. "I quite enjoy living in the Complex," she says, slender fingers curling lightly around her mug, as if to claim some of its warmth. "I will be here just under nine more months, for my contract. If I decide that I would rather continue elsewhere, then I will simply not accept another contract, if one is offered." She finally does sip at her tea. "And my trade is useful, yes," she adds equably, "Though that is not why I chose it."

Terrence glances around the room for a moment, taking a rather absent sip from his own mug. "I can see why, certainly. I've been holed up at the hotel the gryphons run...nice, though. Classy." He glances back with concealed curiosity, perhaps a hint of understanding. "No? Well, I admit, it's not why I chose my profession either. This is what you wished to discuss, Ms. Treston? Perhaps we can trade information on the temple in the attempt to produce some answers?"

Corian pauses a beat at the news of your housing situation, then nods fractionally, expression thoughtful. "That is," she says slowly, "Not quite why I wished to speak with you, no, though I do believe that would be an excellent idea." She turns to set her mug on the desk behind her, gaze lingering briefly on the photograph there--or maybe on the photocube behind it. Turning back to you, she says quietly, though her pleasant manner is still present, "I actually wished to discuss my mother, though it is hardly my business, and I would understand completely if you did not wish to have the conversation."

A flash of something unreadable flits across Terrence's features for a moment before being replace by the same suave urbanity as before. He regards his mug, seemingly unruffled, and nods slowly. "An understandable topic of curiosity for you. You're more than welcome to ask any question you like," he decides after a moment of thought, then looks up stoically. "I can't promise to answer them all."

Corian inclines her head. Her manner is almost apologetic as she says, "Of course. I would not expect such a promise." She pauses a beat, then says, as if to explain why she's doing this, "The situation was not explained to me, you see--though I have asked. All I know is that Mother was upset, and still is, in fact. I just wish there were something that I could do to make it better."

Terrence leans forward to set the mug on the coffee table, nodding vaguely. "I've had nearly forty years to come to that conclusion as well. I was...privileged to meet your elder brother the other night at the ball. I'm proud of him. I know...I have no right to be. But I am."

Corian, a faint smile crossing her face, nods. "Riley has done well with his life, yes. I am most glad to have such a brother, and for that I must, at least in part, thank you." Resting a hand over her heart, she performs a slight, seated bow.

Terrence has looked up again at the thanks, and manages to bit back on a sudden inhalation at the gesture so long ago familiar as he automatically returns it. "He's a good young man. Gets his height from the Edreeni side of the family, I guess." Hands folding in his lap, he falls silent again, as if at a loss for words.

Corian's brows lift fractionally at your manner, but she doesn't comment on it, instead saying, "Perhaps, yes. Though Niko is fairly tall as well, without the Edreeni addition."

Terrence clears his throat, managing a rueful smile. "Nikolaos? Another good lad. Human as they come, yeah. I couldn't have been more surprised to hear someone with the accent of my own hometown when I first heard him speak."

Corian inclines her head, both at the question and at the assesment of Niko. She pauses for a moment, then says slowly, "You should not take how he behaves towards you too much to heart, sir. He is very young, yet--in terms of both chronology and experience--and I believe there is still much that he sees in terms of black and white."

Terrence's eyes are somewhat distant for a moment in a controlled nod. "He is young...so terribly young. Just a lad. But he's right, you know. I'd not even known of his existance. Didn't stay around long," he adds with a shrug.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian considers for a moment, then inquires, "Why did you leave?" Her fingers interlace, resting lightly in her lap. She really is the picture of a lady, posture straight, legs crossed demurely at the ankles, head tipped ever-so-slightly to one side as she considers you, her expression one of thoughtful attention.

Terrence's gaze snaps up, obviously taken aback by the question. Perhaps he's never stayed around long enough for anyone to ask it. "Hellas?" The surprise is rapidly covered by a hint of grin. "Hey, it was either skedaddle or have Basilius kick the tar out of me for his fiancee and I..." He snaps off the explanation, grimacing. Poor choice of phrasing to use with a lady. "That'd we'd...enjoyed time together."

Corian's gaze drops briefly, but, other than that, she doesn't really seem all that surprised with the answer, nor does she seem especially disapproving. "I do not believe, though," she says tentatively, "That such was the case with Riley. Mother had not even met my father at that point, much less become affianced." She doesn't -quite- repeat her question, but the sense of it is present in her manner.

Terrence reaches for the coffee abruptly again, bolting back a sip of it in a gesture frighteningly similar to one of his eldest son's. "I realize this," he finally says, taking a deep breath, seemingly calm. "Novinha had no such ties, no reason, no..." He clears his throat lightly and bolts back another sip. "Are you partnered, Ms. Treston? Any children?"

Corian shakes her head, gaze flickering, for some reason, to the comm's wall-unit. "I am not partnered," she replies, manner still pleasant, but holding just the barest hint of what might be a sigh. "Nor have I been in the past. As such, I have no children."

Terrence leans forward to rest his elbow on his knees, hands clasped as he regards a patch of floor. "Parenthood...is perhaps one of the most awesome steps a person can take. Novinha is...the most beautiful woman in the galaxy," he explains reverently. "We had a contract marriage in the works, and she'd applied and gotten her implant blocked. I never dreamed she'd conceive so quickly..."

Corian's movements are nearly silent as she reaches for her tea mug, though it seems more to give her something to do with her hands than out of any real thirst. She doesn't say anything, though, instead watching you, a hint of understanding slowly dawning in her gray eyes. Letting her tea mug rest lightly against one knee, one hand lifts to allow her fingers to run lightly against the silver leaf of her necklace, perhaps in a habitual gesture.

Terrence looks up almost bleakly, hands whitening slightly from their grip upon each other. "I was just a kid, Ms. Treston. Twenty-five years old, fresh off some backwater ethnic planet. I'd only even spoken Standard for ten years. The thought of having a wife...a child...I was young, stupid, and terrified beyond belief."

Corian regards you for a long moment. There's something that isn't quite sympathy in her gray eyes--perhaps it's compassion. She says, her alto voice quiet, "Sir, despite my unkind remark at the ball, I do not think ill of you for what you did. As you said, you were young, and young people often make mistakes." She hesitates for a moment, then inquires, again somewhat tentatively, "Did you not consider talking of this to Mother?"

A touch of wryness invades Terrence's featurs. "Novinha? Give me some credit, my dear. She'd take my head off. Probably still would, for that matter. And if she didn't, someone in that massive family of hers certainly would." He leans back into the couch and exhales a gusty sigh. "But I'd like to...no one like her. No one in the galaxy."

Corian, expression holding something that perhaps mingles sympathy and guilt, shakes her head. "I cannot speak for how she would behave then, as the experiences in her life have changed her over the years between," she says quietly. "But it does seem to me that she would perhaps have found hearing of yoru fears preferable to your departure." She shakes her head. "Now... now, however, I am afraid that you are correct in your assessment of her. Mother, as you likely know, is quite gifted at... remembering." She shakes her head fractionally, returning her mug to the desk once more and smoothing the wrinkles in her skirt.

"Beautiful, intelligent, the sparkle of life...and yes. A memory like a steel trap," Terrence agrees with quiet rue. His abundant brows furrow for a moment. "Just tell me...your father. Did she find hapiness with him? Is he good to her?"

Corian inclines her head, a fond smile crossing her face. "I am, of course, biased, but I believe that my father is a wonderful man. They are very happy together." She pauses a beat, then offers slowly, "I am not sure that you would like to see it, but I do have a photo of her. It is perhaps three and a half years old, but it would give you the sense of how she is now." She lifts one hand to gesture behind her at the blue photocube, the movement liquid and graceful.

Terrence inhales a sharp breath of appreciation and rises slowly to cross to stand beside the desk, hands loose at his sides before he sets a hand over his heart and inclines his shoulders. The gesture is rusty, but proper at least. "I would be...honored, Ms. Treston, if you would share such with me. I can't tell you how many times I've wondered how she was...what had become of her."

Corian returns the gesture with a faint smile, then reaches for the photocube, flicking it on with the touch of a finger. She tabs quickly past a few photos, though it may be seen that they're candids, and that an Edreeni man with Corian's coloring is present in them, among others. She finally settles on one of her and her mother. It's obviously a candid shot, as neither woman is looking at the camera. Instead, they're intent on something off to the side, making visible Corian's profile, and a three-quarter view of Novinha. The older woman seems to be explaining something, and both women have the same thoughtful, rather intent look about them. It's very obvious that they are related, despite Corian's lighter coloring.

Corian sets the cube down on her desk, too, and moves a few steps away to allow the semblance of privacy.

Terrence lifts the cube, the fingers of one hand tracing over the likeness of the elder woman's features in a slow gesture as he murmurs something in very quiet Hellenic. It's quite some time that he stays there staring at the holo, eyes traveling every inch of her features.

You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.

Corian, during the time that you're looking at the holo, crosses to sit at one end of the couch. There's a bit of paperwork handily present and she settles it silently on her lap, the better to pretend like she's actually doing something. She doesn't look over the work, however, instead taking up the toy giraffe from the table and studying it thoughtfully. Occasionally, but not too often, she darts a glance at you.

Terrence finally, and with obvious reluctance, snaps off the holocube and replaces it to the desk with utmost care, folding his hands and regarding the inert cube for a moment. "Thank you," he finally says, voice somewhat haggard. "I cannot thank you enough." He clears his throat and turns about to offer a more composed smile. "There were more questions?"

Corian shakes her head, lifting her gaze from the giraffe at your first words. "I have no more questions," she says, with a smile that is warm, for all that it's not especially broad. "I... thank you, sir, for answering those that I asked. And please forgive me if they caused you pain."

Terrence purses his lips slightly, a wistful smile firmly in place. "Pain? My dear, what's a little pain in life? It gives it all character." His gaze goes distant before he looks to the ground. "If you are willing...and please feel no obligation, would you tell your brother...your brothers, actually. Tell them if nothing else, I am sorry. I'm not ignorant. I know what I am...and that includes lousy father. Absent father. But while I can take no credit, I'm proud of my children, that they've turned so well."

Corian considers for a moment, then nods. "Should a suitable occasion arise, then I would be glad to do so, yes." After another brief pause, she inquires, "Is there anything else that I may do for you?" And, again, her question is all innocence, and holds a hint of concern, as well.

Terrence gives the question due consideration, then closes his eyes slowly and shakes his head. "No. No, you've already done so much." This would be the one woman in all the Complex he'd not even consider hitting on. Innocence works. He steps forward and extends a hand as if to shake yours. "Thank you, again. It's late, though. I should get back to the hotel before work in the morning."

Corian completes the handshaking gesture, her grip somewhat more firm than one would expect from such a thin hand, though hardly uncomfortably so. "You are most welcome," she says quietly. "I hope that you rest well, and dream sweetly."

Terrence bends low over the hand, though, although he does not complete the courtly gesture by kissing it. "Chiat'a bei kruzon," he replies in Kashidian flavored by a singsong Hellenic accent. "Goodnight, my dear," he adds, then turns and makes his way from the room.

Terrence leaves the room.

Terrence has left.


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