Logs:Changes
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| RL Date: 14 July, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Quinlys |
| Involves: Southern Boll Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Quinlys enjoy away from the Weyr time at Southern Boll Hold. |
| Where: Southern Boll Hold |
| When: Day 3, Month 4, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions |
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| Compared to the wintery bleakness of High Reaches to the north, sunny skies overlook the lushness of the Southern Boll landscape. In the courtyard of the Hold, where breezes bring the sweet smells of foliage and fruit-bearing trees, Farideh is having an animated conversation with one of High Reaches' greenriders -- a tall woman with graying flaxen hair -- nearby that fountain where firelizars play. She's holding her flight jacket in her hand and wears a bright smile as she talks amiably, gesturing every now and again with her free hand. It's an innocuous moment, with the universal standard of holdlife going on around them. Now that the weyrlings have joined Cirrus and stopped being quite so much work for Quinlys and her staff, the bluerider is more free to leave the weyr on occasion, even if she's not on vacation or anything. Dressed for the beach, the bluerider is on her way up the path from the water's edge, her hair dark and damp around her shoulders, her towel hung over one arm. Olveraeth's nowhere in sight, but that's not to say he's not here, somewhere-- presumably. Surprise alters her path, drawing her towards thet fountain, and those two High Reachians. "Is it the beginning of the invasion?" she wonders, on her approach. "Weyrlingmaster," Farideh says, the laughter from her previous comment to the greenrider hedging into her voice. "What brings you out to Boll?" Her gaze sweeps the other woman, but aside from the faint quirking of lips, she makes no mention of what evidence she's found. Kaoira, the greenrider, gives Quinlys a smart nod and flexes her hands inside her riding gloves. "Quinlys. Good to see ya, was just havin' a word with our weyrling here," which works by way of excuse. "You don't have to leave just because Quinlys arrived," the weyrling issues, not without the same laughter; it's mimicked by the greenrider. "'M late anyway. Farideh. Weyrlingmaster." She touches fingers to her forehead and turns smartly on her heel, making for the open doors to the Hold. "I scared her off," says Quinlys after making her greetings to both, more amused than surprised or concerned; indeed, there's deep, rich laughter in her voice that she makes no attempt to hide as her gaze follows the greenrider towards the hold. Blue eyes turn their gaze back towards Farideh, acknowledging the weyrling in a more personal way, this time. "Anyway. I was making sure of a rare free afternoon to get in some sun." And burn herself, most likely, though the colour has yet to settle into her skin. "I do love Boll in the spring. Is it duties or pleasure that brings you down here?" "Shame." Farideh shifts to face the bluerider, slinging her jacket over her arm carelessly. "You'll have plenty of free time soon-- in the next few months. Won't you be relieved to see us all happily stationed in our own wings?" Laughter imbues her voice, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I was overdue for a trip to Weaverhall. I don't think I quite have the wardrobe to match all of the diplomatic meetings that Irianke wants me to attend. I spent too long as a laundress," she answers. "I hope I won't see the inside of their fittings room after the final fit. No more measuring tapes. No more clumsy apprentices." Quinlys' blue eyes give Farideh an appraising glance, up and down, and then she nods. "It's important," she agrees. "You have to look the part. And... clothes have a way of encouraging confidence, right? With the right dress, or the right set of perfectly fitted leathers... changes everything." Beat. "While you're here, you should get a drink with me. Since we're both off duty and that's allowed. Especially since, as you say, you'll be all completely out of my hair in a few months, right?" "Yes, exactly. It wouldn't do to walk into Lord Devaki's parlor wearing a secondhand dress and scuffed shoes," Farideh says, a touch drolly. "Day dresses, dresses for parties and meetings, riding leathers, shoes, short and long gloves, and--" She waves her hand in a dismissive way, and then laughs outright. "I can't say no to that. Did you have a place in mind? I'm not too familiar with the area, beyond the Weaverhall that is." For that, Quinlys' mouth can only twitch. "I remember when Devaki didn't wear shoes and found real, warm clothes strange," is all she says to that. "How things change." The sheer amount of clothes is a little beyond the redhead, who is not especially known as a clothes horse; shaking her head, she dismisses the idea. "As it happens, I do. Follow me!" Throwing her wet towel over her shoulder, the bluerider turns to begin walking in the other direction, back towards the beach. "At least you know how to wear all that stuff, anyway. It's a good first step, right?" Farideh's initial response to that snippet of High Reaches Hold's Lord is to look aghast, and rightfully so-- only heathens walk around without shoes! But she's quick to regain her smile and follow after Quinlys, apparently not bogged down by notions of Devaki's naked toes. "Is it far?" she asks, curiously. "Yes," is a tad less enthused, "I do. It's part of the perfect Blooded girl training. Look the part-- act the part--" Her expression is light despite her obvious lack of association with those ideals, now. "And we certainly need them to think we are what we present ourselves as. Stability, they tell me." "It's all an act," agrees Quinlys, without pause. She doesn't answer the question of how far it is to where they're going, though given her casual sandals, it can't be too far. "Make people believe. It's the key to a lot of things, I find. Which-- well, it's silly, and also not silly? Eventually you start believing things yourself, too. And," she turns her head to glance at Farideh as she pauses, partway down a jungle path. "That works, too. This way!" Now, she's turning to head straight into the cliffs-- or, rather, into a cave in the cliff. "And you, too? Do you put on an act? Your part?" Farideh's contemplates Quinlys from the side, and keeps pace on the path to wherever-they're-going. "It's not something I enjoy. Pretending to be someone I'm not, but--" Her lips purse and her brow furrows down, briefly. "I'm coming to terms that I have to be one person most of the time, and myself, only, in private, and even then, it's quite restricted. Saying one thing to the wrong person could be--" She laughs, without humor. "Catastrophic." Quinlys glances back over her shoulder, and laughs, making a face as she does so. "I'm not exactly very good at it," she says, but at least she's cheerful about the fact. "It's... hard. Keeping your mouth shut. Learning how to present yourself in a certain way. Biting back--" She stops. She shakes her head. "Let's focus on things that are more fun," she decides, as she heads through the cave and then down a somewhat crude ladder that takes them to a bar built out of the rock. The bar is not something that Farideh is used to, and she definitely does a lot of side-eyeing, if silently, all the way through the cave, down the ladder, and into the actual bar itself. "This is-- interesting," she says, once she's had a chance to give the cavern a thorough once over. "Should I ask how you know about this place? Or is it one of those rider secrets that I'm slowly learning about?" One thin brow lifts at her suggestion, her lips following suit, but ultimately, she awaits the bluerider's next move, to guide them to seats or otherwise. There's plenty of comfortable seating, and a pretty fancy array of liquor behind the bar; it's unusual, but not, at least, a dive bar. "It's-- oh, I don't know. People hear about it. Pass it on to other people. The Lava Lounge, they call it. They make great cocktails." She leads the way towards the bar without pausing, but leans up against it rather than actually sit: clearly, she intends their destination to be elsewhere. "I'll have a-- blue dragon," she decides, firmly, after scanning the menu. "What about you, Farideh? My treat." "The Lava Lounge," Farideh says, near to laughing. "That's an inventive name." She follows, again, with her eyes on the bar as they approach, her eyes already scoping out the liquor bottles, the people seated at the bar, and the bartender. "I'll have the same," is her easy answer, though her eyebrows have both lifted to convey her doubt about this drink of choice. "Thank you, Quinlys." The afternoon hour keeps this place relatively quiet, for now, and significantly cooler than it is outside. Still, even Quinlys with her wet hair doesn't seem chilled; just cheerfully happy as she watches the bartender mix up their fancy drinks, which may not be actually blue, but clearly contain some punch: fruity and alcoholic. As they get slid across the bar to them, Quinlys pays the tab, then gestures towards a side table. "You're welcome," she says. "Seems like it's been ages since we got to chat in a way that wasn't... weyrling and weyrlingmaster, you know?"
The huff of air Quinlys releases is at least in the same family tree as laughter, though it falls rather short of being amused (inbreeding, probably). "You're only the third goldrider I've helped to train," she points out, after a moment, setting her glass down directly in front of her as she makes herself comfortable. "And the first two... they had each other, because they were friends, then, and that seemed to help. Plus, Iolene was senior by then-- pretending to be senior-- and it wasn't as though she was... well, it was less to live up to." "Are you saying my situation is harder?" Farideh's face creases from the strength of her smile, and there's no ill feelings in the words; though she does take a fortifying sip between that and the next. "I wonder how it would have been-- be-- if there was someone else, like me. Doing the same thing at the same time, alongside me and Roszadyth. Irianke does still want me to meet other goldriders at other Weyrs, but that's not the same, I imagine." Considering Quinlys, she says, "It's difficult to be friends with everyone and still-- live up to the vision." Honestly? "Yes," says Quinlys. "At least Azaylia and Aishani had each other to bounce things off. Two people going through the same thing at the same time... it always makes things difference. Your clutchmates have that; you don't, not in the same way." She's sorry about that, from the tone of her voice, but frank, too. "I'm pretty sure it's impossible to be friends with everyone. To please everyone. Everyone has their own idea of what a goldrider should be." "They were friends once-- when did it go wrong? Or was it all a charade, do you think?" Farideh asks, genuinely interested, even while she's gently turning her drink by the stem. "I'm understanding that now. It's easier if we could have a manual of the things you can expect, at the beginning." She purses her lips and stares at the contents of her glass, obviously mulling over these thoughts. "What do you think a goldrider should be like? A Weyrwoman?" is asked with another wide grin, her eyes flicking back to Quinlys; it's probably not a trick question. Quinlys's laugh is wry. "Azaylia never forgave Aishani for lying to her," she says. "But there were cracks before then, too. They had such different styles. Aishani-- competent, but devious, self-obsessed, untrustworthy and a hair-trigger. Blinded by revenge. Azaylia, sweet and friendly but mostly useless as a goldrider." That she's speaking ill of the dead doesn't seem to worry the bluerider; she takes a sip from her glass and then adds, "And to answer your question, I don't know if I'm completely sure. Someone who can advocate for her people, and listens to them. Who isn't trapped in 'this is how it is done traditionally' but explores new ideas, as well." "Really? That's all? I'm positive Irianke lies to me at least monthly. At that rate--" Farideh's smile is unsure, but she gives her head a little shake. "Do you think we're better off now? With Irianke and me?" She's still studying Quinlys when she asks that question, her smile having receded as a more pensive expression takes its place. "It's a strange situation. For turns and turns, they prepare you, to run a Hold and become someone's wife, a rolemodel, a political figure, but if you Impress gold, you're expected to know it all in a turn or two. I don't believe anyone when they say they don't, because in reality they do. Everyone has expectations." "She lied about who she was. About her intentions. She came to High Reaches for revenge; I'm not sure many people took that well, but Azaylia... it was hardest for her, I think." Others might mention K'del, but not Quinlys, not now. She presses her lips together, thoughtful, as she reaches again for her glass. "I think Irianke is much more competent than Azaylia ever was or could hope to be," she says, finally. "And I think you have the potential to be. It still doesn't mean I like Irianke, mind." "That's the person she had to work with, not just anybody that she could-- forget." Farideh sighs and takes a sip from her glass; not that she is one to talk on forgiveness. "No. You don't have to like her. You don't have to like me. I don't like our Weyrleader," punctuated by rolled eyes, "but I'm starting to understand why he does what he does, better. I hope whoever rises first, whoever catches, that the Weyr will continue to be taken care of in the same manner as we have come accustomed to-- recently. I don't know that it could take another unfortunate event, after everything." Bluntly, now, and breaking past the rest of the conversation so that she can narrow in on it: "Are you two trying to pick a Weyrleader in advance? Canvas things? There are... rumours." She's interested, yes, but there's nothing in her tone or expression to suggest outright disapproval. It doesn't entirely take Farideh by surprise, but she hesitates for a moment before continuing on in a conversational way. "I think it's likely that Cadejoth catches whichever gold rises first. He has for however many turns now? Except for once, and managed to the time after. But, given the changes that have happened this past turn, I think it's wise to consider our options. There are no guarantees, of course, and I am sure, as much as he denies it, he would enjoy being able to spend more time with his actual family." Quinlys presses her lips together, listening without making any attempt to interrupt. "Have you someone in mind?" she wants to know, finally, after Farideh has finished her explanation. "Assuming our esteemed Weyrleader can't pull off another win." "I have no one in mind, but I'm not avidly looking," has plenty of insinuations. "It would be a shame to limit our choices to only bronzeriders though, however traditional that might be. We have two golds and-- if the senior gold can't produce more queens, the other can, given a bronze sire, instead of--" Farideh waves a hand around. "It's about the leadership potential, more than the color of their dragon's hide, right?" That really does surprise Quinlys, who straightens in her chair to look at Farideh directly, and with intensity. "Really? You'd... really consider a brownriding Weyrleader? You'd sell it to the Weyr if it happened?" "Is there anything to sell? We would open the flight to all dragons-- High Reaches dragons-- and whoever catches, catches. They can't undo it. Besides, wasn't Aishani and Azaylia's dual flights won by both brownriders? H'kon and-- Glacier's. Taikrin? Right?" Farideh is staring back at Quinlys, seemingly unperturbed. Now, Quinlys, abruptly, begins to laugh. "You weren't here," she says. "So I can forgive you not knowing. Sure, two browns won. And most of the Weyr? Did not acknowledge their leadership. It was ridiculous. If, say, Roszadyth rose first and was caught by a brown, there would be those who would argue that Niahvth, should she be caught by a bronze, would actually be senior. They won't be justified in it, maybe, but... you underestimate the importance people seem to place on tradition." The weyrling listens, and ends up frowning. "No, I know the useless way people grasp onto tradition," is a bit wry, "but that they refuse to recognize a brownrider could be better for the role than a bronzerider-- if they weren't meant to catch golds, they wouldn't, but they do." Farideh keeps frowning throughout, and in the end, takes a long drink from her glass. "What did they do? Azaylia and Aishani? Did they support their weyrleaders?" Quinlys hesitates before answering, using that time to reach for her glass again and take a long sip of the fruity concoction. It's after she's swallowed that she says, "That's when things started going less well between the two goldriders, I suppose. H'kon-- disapproved of the whole situation. Taikrin took to it with both hands. It was an absolute mess, and then Aishani decided to name herself senior, with Taikrin as her Weyrleader. Mind you, rumour is she offered it to K'del first, so who knows. Taikrin really pushed things-- some of the wings started revolting." "So, it was a combination of a lot of things, not just that they were brownriders? If, a brownrider with a good head on his or her shoulders and a reputation as a respectable ranking rider-- wingleader or wingsecond-- were to catch, and they didn't challenge everything-- how do you expect it to go? If they had the Weyrwoman's support. Both of our support." Farideh leans forward now, with her arms on the table, watching Quinlys intently. Quinlys sucks a breath in through her teeth, and hesitates over answering. "I don't know," she says. "Personally, I'd be all for it. I was all for it. But more traditional riders? They want a bronzerider. They want tradition. Even with full support, it'd take a lot of time. Effort. Energy. it'd be an uphill battle. Which doesn't mean I'm telling you not to consider it. Frankly, it's about time to shake things up again. I'm just not sure that's what you want, with your whole 'no more unfortunate events' policy. Because that's what some people will call it." "Hm," is the sound Farideh makes, sitting up again and slowly easing up against the back of her chair. "I was thinking more death and deposing than anything so mundane as a size competition." Her annoyed rolling of eyes signifies her thoughts about that as much as her dry tone does. "It's something-- I don't know. I'm not sure how any of this works. Irianke has a better understanding, and if she thinks we should close the flight to bronze only winners--" A delicate shrug is her answer. Quinlys' own mouth twists, acknowledging the ridiculousness of the whole situation. "Men are dumb," she says. "That's just what it comes down to, really. All that pride. Bronze is best and brown is-- well." She shakes her head. "I'm not sure it's so easy to ground the browns, either. Shells, there've been a fair few flights that were supposed to be closed to foreigners, at other Weyrs, that haven't been, in the end. It's hard to stop a dragon from chasing, when he really wants to. But," she nods, squarely. "I understand browns are encouraged to catch queens at Igen, so presumably Irianke knows more about that than me. It's not like I've ever properly experienced a gold flight." "It makes more sense in a Pass, doesn't it? More so than at the beginning of an Interval when dragon numbers don't inherently matter as much," Farideh muses, aloud. "They use that as an excuse when it-- well, I'd rather a brownrider than--" She presses her lips together as both eyebrows lift, and slowly, her compressed mouth curves into a smile; they know who. "Yes, she would know. It's an interesting setup they have. Irianke-- she said she wouldn't, if Niahvth rises first, tell me who is allowed to catch, like they do at Igen. That's a relief. It's sadly a reality now as is, without complicating it further." They do, indeed, know who. Quinlys acknowledges that with a nod, taking a moment for another sip of her drink before actually commenting. "I wish it weren't that way," she says, honestly. "The idea of knowing that your dragon's maiden flight is-- it's more pressure that you don't need." She's matter-of-fact rather than sympathetic as she says that, swiftly moving on towards, "In any case, it's still a turn away, probably more. Not something you need to worry about in the short-term. At least you've fewer classes, now, so you can focus more on the whole weyrwoman-ing thing." "I wish a lot of things weren't the way they are, but-- I signed up for this ordeal." A pause. "I think." Farideh shrugs again and tries to look as nonchalant as she sounds. "It's gotten better, somewhat. I think the last month of no-extras helped me catch up, and the day off too. Following the wings around, pretending to be one of them, that's certainly-- not as challenging as when we first started and we had all those lessons, our dragons, and exercises." She laughs, abruptly. "We've come a long way in such a short time." Smiling, "That's weyrlinghood for you." Quinlys seems genuinely pleased by it; smug and proud, even. "But you have. All of you have, but you-- well, you've had one of the hardest jobs, and I'm proud of you." Beat. "If that's not a weird thing to say, when we're being friends and not teaching and student." "You shouldn't say you're proud of me yet, not when you don't know if I'll run the Weyr into the ground or set the stores on fire on accident or--" Farideh's laughing by the end, and stops only to finish off the last of her drink. "No, but I do have a good teacher," slyly. "Do you want to come home with us or are you staying a bit longer?" she asks, setting her glass back down, empty, on the table with a light clink of glass-on-wood. "I'm pretty confident. No need to hedge my bets." Quinlys, smug, lift what little remains of her drink as if in toast; that's probably in part to acknowledge the compliment. "We'll come home with you. I've had my swim, now I've had my drink, and sadly, there are mountains of paperwork waiting for me, hurray! But thanks for joining me, Farideh." Mountains is mouthed by Farideh, before she pushes back her chair and rises, laughing. "I don't envy you that, but I've got my own meeting with Aleigha later. I need to go over some reports before I talk to her and-- a bunch of paperwork no one cares about except Jounine. I don't think even Irianke does." She shakes her head, waiting for Quinlys to get to her feet and then she'll head for the exit. "I hope you enjoyed your day, at least." "Let's abandon it all and stay here forever," suggests Quinlys, but she's laughing, not to mention following Farideh towards the exit: running away will just have to wait for another time. "I did. I have. It's always good to get away, however briefly. And now--" Home. |
Comments
Alida (02:45, 19 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
- Ilicaeth catches the gold after hurling insults at all the other males chasing, flies her for all of 15 seconds before exhaustion and the ground loom* « My babies will someday rule this Weyr. » ;) :D
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