Logs:Answers
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2014 |
| Who: Quinlys, V'ros |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: In the wake of Fort's hatching, V'ros has questions. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 3, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Evanthe/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Leova/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Rhaelyn/Mentions, U'sot/Mentions |
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| Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise from the barracks beyond, the weyrlingmaster's office is a comfortable, quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together from twisted rags that stretches from wall to wall, just barely leaving room for the long bookcases and filing cabinets. On the back wall, a geometric tapestry and blue and black is hung, providing both insulation and decoration. The weyrlings from Hraedhyth's clutch may now be just sevendays short of graduation, and much more focused on wings than on lectures and classes, but Iesaryth's clutch commence pre-Between training this seven; they are present in the barracks indeed. Today, though, J'vain has that group in hand, leaving Quinlys alone in her office to catch up on paperwork... or lounge back in her chair and daydream, if one is being absolutely honest. It's a miserable day, snow mixing with lightning, and the bluerider's hair is appropriately frizzy for it, though at least she's got a plate of cookies at her elbow, and whatever she's daydreaming about seems to be pleasant, given the expression on her face. Anyone with sense wouldn't be out in the current weather without good cause, but V'ros has made his way to the all too familiar barracks still, and now the snow that settled on his shoulders is melting, creating watery streaks down his jacket. He makes a beeline for the Weyrlingmaster's office, his short-cropped hair a little more disheveled, but he looks no worse for the journey. His head appears first, peeking around the frame, as he raps his knuckles against the door. "Ma'am?" he says hesitantly; it's her expression that may give him pause.. does he really want to intrude on Quinlys' happy thoughts? Quinlys' happy thoughts are, alas, destined to be short-lived. The bluerider's equally blue eyes flutter closed and then open again; it's as they open that they narrow in upon V'ros, her posture straightening into something more professional as her expression shifts likewise. "V'ros," she says, just barely restraining the sigh hinted at in her words from becoming a full-blown one. "Shouldn't you be--?" Away. Somewhere else. Safe out of the weather. Anywhere but here, bothering his Weyrlingmaster? "Icicle gave me a break, because of the.." V'ros doesn't have to point up, to the sky, but he does it anyway, to illustrate the weather and its hindering the aerobatic wing's practice. "I didn't have.. well, Zmeyth is sleeping and.." He takes a step into the office, looking around like one might look around a room filled with delicate, fragile items. "I had some questions-" He'll get right to the point, taking another brave step into Quinlys' sanctum. "About.. well.. the hatching." "Ah." It comes on an exhale; a sigh, really, as Quinlys puts two and two together and comes up with what is (hopefully) four. "Shut the door? And take a seat. Have a cookie." She presses both hands flat on to the top of the table, now, gaze fixed upon V'ros', more thoughtful than concerned. "I'm guessing you're referring to Fort's hatching. And the..." She breaks off. Since what they're discussing is serious, V'ros has his serious face on when he shuts the door. He turns to assess the open chair, apparently finds it suitable and therefore seats himself in it, not without a wince and a fidget. Her cookies get a baleful look. "Yes, Fort's. I know Zvaraseth is.. different, but not like that. That one bronze was.. his legs were.. and he was missing.." His hands lift, fingers pointing to his head, where the headknobs should be. "Why? What happened? Shouldn't he have.. died?" To his credit, he is more concerned than anything, and lucky Quinlys, he trusts her enough to ask. Quinlys sucks a breath in through her teeth, and then exhales, leaning backwards in her chair. "Normally," she confirms, finally. "When an egg doesn't hatch, it's usually because there's something wrong with the dragon inside. Why Fort had so many..." She trails off, shaking her head so that red curls dance about her shoulders. "I'm not a dragonhealer, so I can't tell you whether those dragons'll improve, or... you know. It's an awful thought. It's... I wish I had more answers for you." Quinlys has the weyrling's full attention, and he's absorbed in her telling until she ends it without giving him the full explanation he wanted - more answers. V'ros frowns. "You don't know? Do the healers? Or do we just.. we don't know?" He sounds dumbfounded. "And it could happen.. anytime.. to anyone.. and they could.." His eyes are focused in on the bluerider, but they are looking through her, as his head moves slowly from side to side. "Zmeyth isn't worried," he says quietly, at last, like that makes up for everything else. Opening her mouth to reply, Quinlys stops herself, letting V'ros finish before she offers any more commentary. "Unfortunately," she says, "There's an awful lot we don't know. You might like to talk to one of the dragonhealers - to Leova, perhaps, or U'sot. They might be able to explain it better." It's rare for Quinlys to admit to not knowing something; she does so now with a certain wryness that is not especially in character. "I've lived at High Reaches all my life. In my recollection, there's been.... Zvaraseth, obviously. Amareth, but her egg was damaged after clutching, and that's probably the reason for that. One in Iskiveth's first clutch, way back when. But that's... it. It's not common. Some people will say that our dragons at High Reaches are too inbred, but in my experience, that's got nothing to do with it." V'ros is just as surprised that his Weyrlingmaster doesn't have all the answers, but he concedes that Leova and U'sot might be better choices with a stiff nod. For the rest- "Is there something wrong with Fort's queens? Didn't one of them.. not clutch at all? Is.. Elaruth," he says tentatively, as if trying to recall the exact pronunciation, "too old?" They've already ascertained Quinlys doesn't know all the things when it comes to this topic; yet, he wants to beat the dead horse. His fingers pluck absently at his pants leg, eyes dropping to the floor. "Elaruth should have turns of good clutches left in her; most queens clutch until... well, until their riders start to get older, I guess." Exact details are not something the bluerider has at hand, though she sounds relatively confident. "I don't know what's up with Eliyaveith, who is out of Elaruth. It could be that there's something wrong between Bijedth and Elaruth; something about their specific pairing." On this, however, she's less sure; her lips draw together, pursing tightly. "Or perhaps something went wrong with the flight. It could be a lot of things, and without knowing the details, I just don't know." These answers placate the brownrider enough that he's silent for a space of seconds after the bluerider stops speaking, and even stands to leave. But it's there he stops, lifting his eyes in his unsure manner. "I'm glad it wasn't me." Presumably, the lifemate of any of those deformed dragons, and Zvaraseth even. "I can't imagine life without Zmeyth in it, but if he was.." V'ros frowns more deeply, pulling his chin in towards his chest. "It's wrong. I feel sorry for them." Something softens in Quinlys' expression as V'ros says that; she nods. "I'm glad it wasn't me, too," she says, quietly. "It terrifies me. If Olveraeth had been-- I can't even imagine." The corners of her mouth begin to turn up, just slightly. "I feel sorry for them, too. I shouldn't, because the last thing they need is pity, but... how can you not? Impression is supposed to be a moment of perfection, not one of... fear. Or concern. Just remember Evanthe, though; she didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her. Why should she?" V'ros doesn't commiserate well; his mouth quirks in a half-smile, rueful though it is, and jerks his head in a series of short nods. "It's hard.. it was.. it still is hard, but that.." He exhales at the mention of Evanthe, scrubbing his forehead with a bent joint. "Zvaraseth wasn't like that. I saw him, he.." His words catch and he folds back into himself, mentally only; he frowns at the floor again. "I didn't meant to interrupt anything. I just needed to ask." What he won't say is he needed someone to talk to. Quinlys', "I know," could be in answer to a couple of things V'ros has said; she doesn't specify, except in the way she adds, after a moment's pause, "You should always ask, V'ros. Even once you're graduated-- my door's usually open." Sometimes even literally open, clearly. "I didn't see them. The hatching. I'm sorry that you did. But I'm glad you came and asked." Better to leave than blurt out anymore sentimental bullshit that he can't take back later, so V'ros nods his head yet again, giving Quinlys a two-finger salute in imitation of the real thing. "You can get back to.. I should go see if it's any better out there." His eyes cut to the side, like they could see the snow and lightning storm outside. "Thanks, Quinlys, ma'am," he murmurs before taking those steps that will lead him back out and away, back to the normal routine and less emotional conversations. So much for Quinlys' happy thoughts; as V'ros leaves, her expression is unreservedly serious, bothered in a way that probably has much more broad implications than the brownrider alone. Alas. |
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