A challenge. Thrust and counter-thrust. He asks: what is Chen’s hospitality? And moreover, he asks: is this labor worthy of you, Rose? Or are you uselessly flailing at a skill you have not mastered?

Rose cedes a small victory to deny him a grander one: she moves slowly, attending to one thing at a time, so that at least she can say she’s handled one thing. The mop dips into the bucket and she attends first to the tea, lest it stain. Her movements are deliberate, controlled, her chin raised as she wipes the deck clean.

But she is not perfect. She does not do everything with a bounce and a nimble flourish of her apron. If he continued, he could lead her from task to task, if he wanted. Walk her into a trap. Or just make her say something she shouldn’t.

Her shoulders rise and fall as she mops up the ash with the patience of a glacier. She steps over one carelessly askew leg and snorts through her nose. Let him speak, then. Or play some mischief on her. She refuses to be goaded so easily.

Such is the patience of both a maid and a monk.

[Rosepetal rolls a beautiful [b]2[/b] on Figuring Omets Out. Do as you will.]