the sorry-dorry equilibrium
"Sorry," said Gala.
She'd laughed at a joke, and then noticed that no one else was laughing quite so loudly and freely as she. Among the crew of the Yggdrasil, indeed, that was something of a rarity, but that just meant the laughter itself was self-buoyed, rather than acting a cave to peer pressure - and surely such a one as the budding archivist was prone.
Bart frowned, crossed his arms, and shook his head.
"Ah! Sorry!" said Gala.
She'd been walking to the freezer in the Yggdrasil's kitchen, ice cube tray shakily clutched in hands after she'd had a roughly catastrophic time of retrieving it from within the high-wall low-basin sink, and splashed the final piddling bits of water out when tugging upon the door. It was just water, no one else was walking in range of slippage danger in the kitchen with her (her somewhat-secret observer was watching from the threshold), and Old Maison kept a small pitcher handy for filling the trays directly sat within the freezer for just exactly this express purpose, if one only knew to ask. She'd learn soon, wouldn't she?
Bart furrowed his brow, crossed his arms, and shook his head.
"Sorry..." said Gala.
She'd babbled on for a few minutes about the hidden depths of Aquvy, and the particular timelined history of the Ethos, and the fascinating myths about Zeboim, and all she'd learned about it, and all she'd yet to know, and on and on and on...
And everyone was at least a little bit enchanted, even if some of them were more mystified and bemused.
Everyone thought Gala was fascinating. That was why they were currently struck wordless.
Bart, among the throng, closed his eye, crossed his arms, and shook his head.
This had been going on for far too long! Why, "sorry" was practically the standout favorite word of Gala's entire vocabulary - and she did have an impressive vocabulary! More than just impressive, it was borderline cute how many esoteric words she knew.
(Yes, he'd gleaned that one directly from her.)
No, this couldn't be let stand, not in the least.
It was time for a little changeroo.
It was pretty easy to get Gala alone. She kept to herself so much - especially immediately after having apologized for some incident or other. She basically slipped away as soon as was possible without making an intrusion out of the exit itself. As if Gala ever could! But Bart did know how she thought...
At least, he liked to think he did! Since they were similar, in some ways.
They'd become even more similar if she took his advice, after all.
Eye contact was a bit of a sticking point, with Gala, but Bart waited patiently, once he'd gotten her attention, until he felt she was comfortable.
"Hey, Gala," he'd said.
"O-oh, hey, Bart."
Was that pronounced of a stutter the standard? No, he must have imagined even hearing it. Gala was generally pretty nervous, like a small cat, but she wasn't skittish.
Was she?
Better just cut to the chase.
"How about...every time you want to say you're sorry, say 'Sorry-Dorry' instead. I bet it'll work like a charm!"
"Sorry...Dorry?" Gala knit her fingers in her palms. I don't see how that's going to help at all, she thought. If anything, it'll probably only make matters worse!
And Bart was so prepared with it, right off his nonexistent cuffs! He must have been thinking about it for a while...
He must have been thinking about her for a while!
Oh, gosh...
Oh, Bart...
Oh, Gala....
Soon enough, Gala began to see the wisdom of Bart's strategy. She would start to say "So-" and then have to finish it with something, lest she appear even more awkward for having clamped her jaw shut. She could just say sorry and be done with it, as originally planned, but that would be cheating - and cheating Bart, no less!
So Gala said sorry-dorry. What she found was that instead of leaving her with creases in her forehead and fingernail marks on her wrists, the odd little turn of phrase was mutually embarrassing enough for all concerned parties that she would in fact be smiling, by the end of the exchange. She'd put her hand apologetically behind her head, feel the soft texture of her hair with its nigh-imperceptible swishing sound, and forget all about why she was apologizing.
Damn you, Bart, she thought, and didn't know who she'd gotten the impulse for expletive from, exactly (and wasn't "sorry" an expletive when it didn't have a purpose or function?). You're actually getting me to work on myself and feel better about my place in life!
Now if only she could do the same...