Logs:(A Lack of) Personal Impact
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| RL Date: 15 November, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Lys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two former weyrbrats talk classes, ill instructors, and other things on the way to lunch. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
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>---< Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------<
Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge
bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever
so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and
surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but
less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's
grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained
meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake.
At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns,
including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to
the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the
southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass
through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of
redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the
very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake,
there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl,
standing out amidst otherwise an empty space.
A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but
there is no rainfall today. "Do you think it's really ever going to matter if we know the names of the Istan Weyrwomen going back through the last Pass?" Lys queries dubiously of Jocelyn as they depart the training cavern, their lifemates, and the dry world history class that was their lot this afternoon. "I can't imagine how that's ever going to be relevant for me. I mean, maybe for you, one day, in some moment of obscure happenstance, but really." She lifts her brows, suggesting it's not particularly reasonable. "Events and their sequence seem far more important to know and remember than names, " Jocelyn says dryly, hands tucked into her coat pockets as she falls into step with the other weyrling. "I suppose that could be your, what do they call that - party trick? Whipping out the name of the Istan Weyrwoman between turns 12 and 15 at the beginning of the last Pass. Except that it's probably already his, " that overly-zealous harper who droned on and on. It's almost dismissive, but the twitch at the corners of her mouth might soften the redhead's grousing a tad. "I'm sorry that I snorted so loudly and made him look in our direction halfway through. Aidavanth likes to do impressions of people that she finds amusing, and she happened to choose to mimic him at an inconvenient moment." Saying, no doubt, something that the historian never would - and her partner doesn't seem inclined to share what it was, either. "How's Evyth's hunting coming along?" Lys' eyes narrow slightly a the suggestion that it be her party trick. "I'm sure that would win me as many friends as I'm sure he has." Not that the green weyrling has ever seemed particularly concerned about making friends, even if her dragon is quite the social being. "It could have been worse," she decides, "He could have asked you something to prove you were listening instead of simply asking if you if you were ill." Obviously, she can't imagine that either of them (or anyone) was really listening to the poor, dedicated harper. "I think he's taking advantage of Quinlys being in the infirmary to pack in his own curriculum." She makes the accusation in a low, dark tone. Someone should report him! "Evyth's improving. Still clumsy, still better if I don't talk with her, and one of the browns stole half her last kill because she was too busy sorting how she'd like to butcher it best to taste different parts of it separately to notice his interest wasn't purely intellectual." There's an amused look. Surely Lys could have clued her in, but probably some things must be learned for oneself in this growing up process. The redhead's features scrunch into a brief grimace; "Faranth forbid. He seemed the sort who would have held up the class so that we could have recited his favorite list of the hour all over again before he let us leave." And that's how you win friends! Still, there's a broodiness that settles over Jocelyn's demeanor at Lys's accusation, pale eyes looking and yet, not across the bowl as they continue. "This will be a mess, if she gets sick, too." Despite being pointed, there's some genuine concern present for their weyrlingmaster - or perhaps it's just the grimness of recent events that drives her fingers to curl into fists at her sides. A half-smile gets exchanged for the other's amused look, however, eyebrows lifting by the end of the recap. "Did he? He's got some nerve to do a thing like that." Do those fists tighten with her posture? Maybe. Lys' expression mimics Jocelyn's at her first suggestion; clearly, the blonde agrees with both the sentiment and the reaction to the idea. The next has Lys sobering though. "It's already a mess," she observes grimly, "It's just not a personal mess for most of us, yet. I mean, there's C'ris," of whom it would seem the green weyrling doesn't have a high opinion, "but it's not personal yet, you know? Or-- do you have family somewhere south?" She seems to think to ask this only after she's made the declaration. "Evy's too nice to complain," she comments with a shrug. "It will be personal, if we have a permanent change in teachers." Jocelyn's retort is equally grim, mouth setting into a line that presses thinner as they pass someone who's elected to wear a mask. Gray eyes slide to silently regard the blonde for some moments, forehead wrinkling. Of C'ris, "I hope he recovers and gets to once again spread good cheer in his wake." Her opinion isn't terribly high, either, but the sentiment for a speedy recovery seems genuine. "I don't." It's a terse pronouncement for the topic of family, attention refocusing on the space in front of them. A breath gets caught, held onto before she releases it into a quiet, "I don't know who they are. I grew up in the lower caverns, but no one's ever said anything to me." It's an almost hesitant, if half-expectant look she lifts to Lys afterward. There's only a nod to answer the matter of teachers, though perhaps it also answers Jocelyn's good will for C'ris. Lys doesn't add any of her own sentiments. What she does say is, "That's me too," to the goldrider. "Maybe if we weren't enough turns distant to make it impractical, we'd have been something to one another back then." She rolls her shoulders. "Foster parents from Balen Hold dropped me off when I was six, to be with my own kind, they said. Not sure if that means my parents were riders or just that there are a lot of bastards in a Weyr." In any case, that might explain a lot about the greenrider's detachment. Perhaps they could have been, indeed. Jocelyn permits herself a truer, if rusty smile for Lys. "I've always assumed mine were since that's more often than not a decent probability in a weyr. At any rate, we're among our own kind now, aren't we?" That brief moment of opening up ends as they get in sight of the entrance to the lower caverns, tucked neatly away behind her usual briskness. "Maybe we can hunt down a pastry if they've started on them for the dinner hour." Since there's no standard supply of those to be had while C'ris is quarantined. "I suppose we are," although the slightly quirked brow might indicate that Lys doesn't wish to think of all those of their kind as her kind. Clearly, the more pressing business is Jocelyn's suggestion and that earns a smug smile from the blonde, "I know just who to see about that." Turns in the kitchen have to be good for something, after all! |
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