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Jofre does not like the convention. He can barely imagine being a kind of person who would like it, some sort of creature native to paper and chairs the way he's native to rigging and saltwater, but he is not one of those beasts and no magic in his power will make him one. He develops, over the months they spend in that dreadful stifling hall, coping mechanisms which he doesn't know enough to call "meditation". He gets a general sense of what topic they're talking about in any given floor debate, and picks who among the speakers he is willing to trust on that topic, and tries to derive from their speech which way they'd have him vote. And if he's too confused, if they're too rhetorical or wordy or heavily accented, then he will lose what they have to say in the roar of his blood in his ears and the way the air sticks in this throat on its way down, and in that case he abstains instead.
Outside of convention hours of course everything's fine. He misses the Dutiful but she'll come back for him, and during the free parts of the day he can eat street food, or walk along the river, or Create Water at any gardens that look a little parched. Eventually he buys the sloop from the man he's renting it from. He'll have to sell it on again when his ship returns to him, but it might work out cheaper, depending how long the convention goes, to own the thing rather than to pay rent on it, and unlike going back to sleeping on roofs like he was planning to do pre-torrential-rain, this lets him go sailing when they've got a day off, get in touch with Her, do some fishing.
His committee is fine, a little cat-herding but he can do it all in the sun or the rain or the mist or the mosquitoes as the case might be and it's breathable. He likes it better once Desnia's on it. She's soothing to be around.
Does she want to come sailing sometime?
