Logs:All Work, No Play
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| RL Date: 8 November, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn and V'ret disagree on how to spend their free time. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| The chill of a winter day, however dry, still drives weyrfolk in search of something warm between duties and mealtimes. The nighthearth currently plays host to a few people, some of whom are passing through while others linger, warming up over a quiet mug or bowl before rejoining the day-to-day bustle of the corridor outside. Tucked as far back into one of the cushioned chairs as possible, Jocelyn's focus remains mostly on a record balanced on one knee, even as her pen scratches notes on the sheet that's supported against the other. She doesn't study entirely without distraction, however; pale eyes track comings and goings between bouts of notetaking, casting an assessing glance over the kitchen assistants who pop in now and then to check on the hearth and the klah on supply. Leisure time outside the barracks is still a novelty for V'ret, whose dragon has only fairly recently been persuaded that he can survive not having his rider around every waking moment. But it's easier when it isn't a waking moment. While Zoth sleeps and burns off all that eating to make more bronze dragon, his rider has wandered here while in conversation with one of those kitchen assistants. Apparently, it is not being well-received. "You come talk to me in a couple months, that's another story," says the fair-haired girl, heading right back out again once she's freshened up the klah. V'ret lets out an exasperated sigh, and apparently if he can't avail himself of her other charms, he can at least warm up with a mug. Jocelyn's attention catches at that little snatch of conversation, hovers on the klah-refreshing assistant accompanied by V'ret, eyes narrowing in an attempt to place her. At any rate, she's gone soon after, leaving the redhead to flick a glance over the former bartender. An eyebrow lifts in silent acknowledgment before her head dips back down toward her reading material. Is that a twitch at the corners of her mouth, a shift in the set of her shoulders? It must be a fidget, for surely she isn't laughing, however silently. "Was just trying to have a conversation. Can't believe somebody in a Weyr would be that much of a stickler about being appropriate. D'you know her?" This possibility seems to be reason for V'ret to sit himself down in a chair near Jocelyn's. "That used to be your gig, right? I mean, the headwoman thing." He has a drink, holds the mug afterwards in both hands. It's some minutes before Jocelyn's gaze lifts to study V'ret, pen tapping audibly into the crinkle of paper balanced on her lap. "Some people, " and there's a deliberate weight that settles along those syllables, "take the health of growing weyrlings very seriously." There's a wry curve of a half-smile, accompanied by a shrug. Drily, "I don't know her. I know of her, but only about as much as you do." The rhythmic movement of her hand stills for his last query, lips pursing faintly. "Yes." It's short, if expectant. Very seriously! That's not how V'ret takes it, to judge from the bit of an eye roll there. "Well, that's a pity. Could have hoped for some kind of inside information, but maybe I will just be stuck waiting. She was very sweet to me until she realized who I was." His eyes glance down towards the hand Jocelyn's been writing with. "Still being the responsible one, I see." There's a breath caught, held, pushed out in a quiet exhale as gray eyes tilt a meaningful look toward the other's shoulder; regardless of whether or not the knot actually sits there at the moment, it's referred to just the same. "Some will believe everything they hear about bronzeriders, including every cliche you can imagine - even when it doesn't hold true." It's almost dismissive, but there's a frown that puckers at Jocelyn's brow afterward. "We might always be judged by the color of our dragons' hides." And that's distasteful to her, given her expression. As for being responsible, well: "And you're not, if your focus is on your next, " a hand waves in the direction of the since-departed blonde, "before we're given leave rather than what we should be learning." However matter-of-fact she works to keep her tone, it isn't entirely devoid of reproach. Of course he's not wearing it. Which does say something about V'ret's intentions, doesn't it? Or perhaps about his lack of attention to detail when dressing? It was probably never the sort of thing that mattered to a bartender. He doesn't even show any sign of noticing the reference. "I work when I work explicitly so that I don't have to when I'm not. All work and no play--maybe they don't have that expression where you come from." He takes another drink, then starts towards standing up. "Won't dream of interrupting you, though." "Where I come from, " Jocelyn repeats tightly, eyes narrowing. Archly, "People here do have that expression, in case you've been too preoccupied to notice." Her grip tightens briefly on her writing utensil, gaze dipping to it for a beat before returning to her fellow weyrling. "There must be some credence to it since most expressions seem to have at least some root in truth." That's almost-apologetic and not easily dispensed, says the constipated twist at her features before it resolves into a blander look. "It's a good thing that you're awake, then. Some of these names and dates were starting to blend together, at any rate." It doesn't get him to sit, but V'ret does at least brace a hand on the back of the chair he was sitting on, lean there with his mug in the other hand. "They do that. Running together. The mind wasn't meant to work that way, staring at the same thing for hours on end. Sometimes you need to take a break, talk to a pretty girl--or whatever it is you'd choose to do in your spare time. Wind a spring too tight and it snaps, or so I've been told." A dismissive gesture with the cup. "Smithing being a bit outside my area of expertise." Jocelyn permits herself a snort, setting her pen down on the table with a small clatter. "So that's your advice, is it? Unwind and talk to a pretty girl." Eyebrows lift, considering. Wryly, "I can't say that 'talking to a pretty girl' has topped my to-do list for leisurely activities lately. Since it comes so highly recommended, I may have to change that." Affected nonchalance colors her tone, even as she flips back through the last two pages of sharp, cramped handwriting. She's been at it for a while, based on how many lines she's penned. "Weyrfolk, and so closed-minded?" V'ret makes a little 'tsk' noise, but he doesn't seem to be much chided by the response. He does for a moment eye her notes, but then he raises his mug, as though in a toast. "We should both go back to doing what we do best, then. Good luck with that." And then he does actually absent himself. If not to go talk sense into the girl from the kitchen, then probably something just as frivolous. Singularly-minded, perhaps, although surely not in the same way that he is. But Jocelyn refrains from further sparring, giving a cool nod for his toast, then his departure. It's another half-hour before she finally packs up her notes and rejoins the lower caverns proper, frustrated scowl firmly in place. |
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