Cookies, Ceremonies & Confidences

I was made aware of the Turian Tragedy's return to the City. I refer of course to Zarah. I don't like her, I never have, feelings that I am certain are mutual. I find her annoyingly pushy, my thoughts reinforced last hand when she invited herself to take a seat at my clearly set table of one. The brief conversation revolved around business, or more appropriately phrased, her attempt to insert herself into my own. I do give her a modicum of credit for her bold yet transparent attempt. Apparently she has decided to reopen her previously failed establishment, 'Copper Coin Inn'.
The decision confirming the commonly exercised practice of the trifling affluent, ones with more coin than brains, deluded into thinking they are actually capable of offering something to society beyond feeding the economic growth. I am not saying they don't serve a purpose, they just need to be aware of their limitations. Currently I am in no position to crush her dreams, at least not at the present time, due only to the fact that she pays well. The previous standing order put into place, along with the odd addition of animal shaped cookies. I did not argue, instead I instructed crumb to make the woman an assortment of dancing slaves, I assume the request was made to reconnect herself with her not so distant past. Sadly however they seemed to transform once they were removed from the oven. To much spice I suppose and not enough sugar.
Crumb endured the resulting discipline well.

On a lighter more interesting note, the Passage Hand brought with it an invitation to attend a companionship ceremony. Truth be told I was somewhat surprised to be included on the guest list, the Physician's name while familiar wasn't one that I had heard in over an en'var. Considering I am not a fan of such public displays, the normal urge to simply file the invitation away resisted due primarily to the fact that I wanted to personally offer my congratulations to Dylan, despite my own social reservations.
At my request the Poet graciously acted as my escort. He looked nice when he arrived to pick me up, the charm remained even as I kept him waiting at the bottom of the staircase. I felt a sense of pride as I arrived on his arm. The back row of the impressively decorated gardens afforded us a pleasant view and as he leaned close speaking quietly during the ceremony I detected the subtle blending of his masculine scent and clean soap.
It was not an entirely unpleasant aroma. Once the wine was equally consumed and congratulations extended did we depart. I left pleased with the fact that I had attended, and I am happy for them both.

The conversation that I considered overdue, between the Poet and myself was accomplished once we departed. I was grateful for the opportunity to speak privately with him, if for no other reason than to plant the small seed within his mind concerning my mistrust of the General. The sensitive topic quietly broached, while I remain steadfast in my convictions, I do so with an apprehensively guarded approach.

As I spoke he listened.
I made a point to study his features and I found within them no open pacification, neither by his expression nor the tone of his reply.
While I am not a woman that normally believes in absolutes, his ending comment remains a permanent fixture in my mind.

"What I find best is to control what I am able to control."