Logs:Contrast
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| RL Date: 3 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Quintus, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: An average evening of egg watching turns into a teaching moment? |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions |
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| The wind and the snow drives most weyrfolk inside on winter's night, and plenty have retreated to the warm hatching cavern, to gossip and gawk. In the three days since Roszadyth's clutching, Farideh has been making more appearances in the galleries; not only in her down time, but during mealtimes and odd, late hours as well. She's there now, bent forward with her elbows balanced precariously on her knees, head in her upturned palms, staring a bit too hard at the many dark eggs. Others around her are talking in both excited voices and whispers, though none seem worried about the weyrwoman-that-stares. Quint has been here, more or less, for the better part of an hour, conversing quietly with an apprentice as the latter takes careful notes, occasionally gesturing out towards the sands, which probably hints at his current task. It's only when the apprentice departs, tucking his coat around him to brace for the wintry weather outside, that the Journeyman Harper stretches and rises, making his way down towards Farideh. "Weyrwoman Farideh," he greets, with an ease, moving to take a seat a row ahead and to one side of her; enough that he can turn and catch her gaze, but not imposing her view. FREE, Silva is Freeeee. Having finished her work she has escape before a keen eye can load something very character building on her plate. This place, with the eggs on the sands, is where Silva runs to, slipping in through a doorway and almost skipping towards the edge so she can look downward. She's not really paying much attention to anyone else, though a young man with nice hair gets a coy smile and a finger wave, her invitation for him to come on over if he wants to. Preoccupied, by those eggs presumably, it takes the goldrider a moment to drag her gaze away and refocus on the harper; recognition isn't immediate, though it comes eventually. "You're that harper Jocelyn hates so much," Farideh sighs, closes her eyes so that she can pinch the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, I can't quite remember your name." She sits up when her eyes open, straightening in her seat and passing a self-conscious hand over her coiffed curls. "I take it you've been well? I might have heard if you weren't," is wry, but her attention is already skipping to the newest egg gawker, her lips curving into a displeased frown as her eyes flick from Silva to Roszadyth. "Does she?" Quint's surprised, shaking his head. "Hard to imagine what I've done to rise her ire, other than drip on her floor. Terrible, too, that that's what you associate my presence with, and no name to hand, either." Apparently he doesn't plan to relieve her of that burden; he doesn't offer his name again, glancing away from the weyrwoman and across the galleries. Of a certainty, the delight of the young does attract the harper's keen gaze, settled on Silva for more than a moment. In lieu of an answer to his well-being, he offers a musing instead, voice easily carrying to the young girl in question: "What contrasts you make, she and you; and you bare few Turns older, I would wager. Surely life is not that burdensome that you cannot smile like that, while your queen's eggs rest on the sands?" Silva's sending ALL the flirty glances at that dark haired young man, her hands tucked behind her back and paying with a single lock of her hair. It's too much for the young man and he excuses himself from his group to come over. Their voices are low when he leans against the railing, sending all sorts of smiles her way. Silva's too busy flicking her hair and being coy in response to realize that there are those behind her that are discussing her. "You might do better asking her," Farideh points out, reasonably, "but I imagine it's because you both created a mess and you're--" She wavers, obviously uncertain about saying everything on her mind. "It doesn't matter. If it bothers you, then you can ask her." Once the responsibility is put off of her and onto its true owner, she can actually give him a disbelieving look, one eyebrow cocked jauntily. "I know that harpers like to talk in riddles and flowery words-- are known for it-- but would you please speak plainly. I'm much too tired of figuring out puzzles just now." Still, she's willing to consider his complex words anyway, and stare at Silva a little harder, more blatant. The harper's brows rise in query, backed up by a non-judgemental: "I'm... what?" If Quint's amused by her deflection, it doesn't show, easy countenance seemingly accepting her lack of explanation. "One can no more curse a rider for being a rider than a harper for being a harper, weyrwoman," he observes, mildly. Certainly, there's an amusement about the harper as he regards Silva's determination, now. "My point is, having shown up late to your own clutching party, and your presence like a cloud in here -- undoubtedly people wonder. Not that you owe an answer, but consider it my, mm, nosiness with which I hold a mirror up to you." If Silva was wondering about that cloud that is Farideh, it doesn't show. She's //way// too busy being all wrapped up in herself. In fact, if that young man hadn't caught that intent look on Farideh's face, she'd probably keep going on like that until something else forcibly shoved itself in her face. But no, the young man points behind her, and the words "weyrwoman... at you," drifts upwards and can be heard. Twisting Silva glances in that direction in sudden discomfort. "...why..." Only her single word goes upwards. The weyrwoman gets a respectful bow, Silva twitching her skirts and everything. "No? I curse plenty of riders, and now harpers." Farideh does sound amused now, passingly. "Is it truly nosiness or is it the lure of having knowledge that others don't?" It's a slice of something, even if it's not the something that he wanted. She's watching the interaction between the youths the whole time she speaks, seemingly unfazed by the other girl's discomfiture. "I've heard that sometimes the answers we seek are the simplest answers, after all," she points out, with a brief sideways glance at Quintus, before she's giving an acknowledging nod and a polite smile towards Silva. Quint's, "At least I can find comfort in not being singled out," seems to be genuine sentiment. "Can it not be both noble, and not-noble, at the same time, weyrwoman?" the harper counters, easily, with a smile. The respectful bow from Silva gets the eye of the harper, too, Quintus' regard lighter than the weyrwoman's earlier, more than likely. The gesture he makes towards a chair on his row, in front of Farideh, seems invitation, though easily enough taken as an over-grand gesture of a harper, all the same. "Sometimes," the harper allows, of Farideh's response, though he doesn't press. Silva totally manages a bright-as-sunshine smile for the weyrwoman, like her staring at her is totally making her day just EXTRA special. That grand gesture from the harper does get misunderstood, and Silva spares a second of smile just for her, the smile turning slightly flirty. But not for long, because the young man reaches forward to recapture Silva's attention and she turns away again, to put her full attention on what //could// be a suitor. Her entire posture changes from sunny-innocence to that of a young woman on the prowl for attention. Certainly, nothing as indelicate as a snort would escape Farideh, and her laugh is cut short, abbreviated, by knuckles pressed perilously hard against her lips. "I'm much relieved you'll be able to sleep tonight, then," she murmurs around the digits. "Somehow, I don't think you're very honest," is her authentic reply, head tipped just. She falls silent as she observes the harper's gesture and the younger girl's subsequent disengagement, but once Silva's safely recaptured by her suitor, leans forward as she was earlier, elbows on knees, fingers curled around her chin. "Do you really want to know?" has a conspiratorial edge to it. "Your concern warms my heart, weyrwoman," Quintus replies smoothly, ever the harper, only the slight twitch of lips to betray his amusement. "A harper's role is many and varied my lady. We tell tales that, while not wholly true, represent a sentiment to be expressed, and is that not just as powerful -- perhaps moreso -- than the wholesale truth?" If he's nonplussed by Silva's dedication to her, ahem, suitor, the harper is too well trained for it to show. Too, his gaze doesn't linger, though it does flicker towards the pair to make sure they aren't being too gratuitous in the presence of the assembled weyrfolk. "Of course," is his easy, and honest answer to Farideh. The young man leans forward and brushes back Silva's hair, the young woman letting off a giggle as his lips tickle her ear. But it only lasts long enough for his words to sink in and her to realize. Flushing BRIGHT red Silva reaches up a hand and lands a firm slap across his cheek, leaving a red spot. She's not going to let him react to that either, as she tilts her chin upwards and turns her back on him. Her shirts gripped firmly in her hands she's going to gather her pride about herself and huff off in another direction. "Ah, Silv~ I didn't mean it like that!" The young man rubs his cheek but makes no move to go after her. "I'm completely underwhelmed." Farideh's eyes flit away from the harper, and the two teenagers, in time with Roszadyth shifting around one of the eggs. She looks entranced by the scene, and only turns her head back toward Quintus when the queen has settled down again. "And how many people would know by the end of the night? Would Harper Hall? The Masterharper? You haven't gained my trust or given me any reason to believe otherwise, yet." It's the snap that has her eyebrows lifting, hazel eyes widening at Silva and her suitor. "What on Pern," she mutters lowly, eyeing the two crossly. Quint's gaze is even on Farideh's, as he answers, "That depends, werywoman, on whether you wish is to control a rumor and ensure it's veracity, or keep a secret. In either case, I would be guided by your hand. I am no gossip." He spreads his hands, "But as you say, you have no reason to trust, and yet also, I might add, no cause to distrust." The goldrider's exclamation turns his attention back on the pair, with a furrow of brow. With a murmured apology to Farideh, Quint is up on his feet, his long legs taking him down two-three steps at a time to where Silva is with her young suitor. It's the latter to whom the harper addresses his words, is a brisk, teacherly tone, used to being obeyed: "I have an important task for you, my lad. I need you to go and stand out in the snow for, oh, let's say sixty seconds. Count aloud, mind, I'll have someone listening! There's a good lad." His hand waves, gesturing towards the stairs. "Come and speak to the weyrwoman, dear girl," is added next to Silva, with that self-same tone, gesturing for her to precede him. Er, um, ah... the young man makes all sorts of faces in the direction of the harper, but at the end of the twitching he'll bows head and go to do that, muttering under his breath about not //meaning// any harm. With his pride all gathered about Silva plasters a smile onto her face for Quint. "Oh, of course. Whatever the weyrwoman wants." With her skirts still in her hands Silva gathers up the sugar and spice to climb up to Farideh's seat. With total poise that belies the fact that she just slapped another young man hard enough to leave a mark, she curtsies before the woman, "Ma'am, I am so sorry to interrupt your party with that." "No gossip, but merrily plays with words." There's no pretending that's not amusement imbuing her voice, but, then there are other matters to attend to; much more serious matters. "This hardly constitutes a party," Farideh says, neutrally, also gesturing to that seat Quintus had, so recently. "What exactly is happening? Why did you slap that boy, here?" Her tone carries the implication that it could have as well been done elsewhere; she's not quite the savior the harper is, evidentially. "What's your name?" is her final question, as she studies the younger girl's face, betraying no underlying emotions. One could get the distinct feeling that, if the suitor's muttering had been any louder, Quint would pursue the boy up the stairs. As it is, the harper leaves the boy to his sixty-count, standing somewhat in Silva's wake, regarding her curtsy and her words in silence, glance flickering past to Farideh to take in the weyrwoman's reaction. Savior, he might be named, but he seems content to leave Silva's fate to the goldrider. Um. Oops? Consternation plays across Silva's face when the weyrwoman is seemingly not interested in her apology. Demurely she drops her eyes downwards as Farideh speaks to her, and when she sits she arranges those skirts of hers about her with particular attention. "Silva madam," Her voice is all full of apology, glancing upwards through her eyelashes to gauge the woman's reaction. "And while I enjoy //flirting//, it would be a shame if I was to do as he suggested." Farideh exhibits an unusual amount of patience, in silently observing Silva without snapping or interrupting. Her disapproval is evident in the sudden pursing of her lips, and only that, until that madam gets dropped and she visibly stiffens. "Silva," she says to the other girl, but her eyes slowly lift to Quintus, with apparent displeasure. "There are other ways to turn down unruly boys, such as saying no. Have you always lived at the Weyr? If so, I don't need to tell you that the galleries are not the time nor the place, for-- that." While the pair of women are seated, Quint remains standing, inadvertently towering above them. He has a typical harper's expression: mostly neutral, interested but involved for the time being, even in response to Farideh's displeasure when she glances at him. Clearly, he's content to be overlooked. Silva's eyes flick over towards the harper, as if perhaps he might provide some kind of reprieve? No? Alright. Back to the weyrwoman. Silva draws in a breath and shakes her head slightly. "No madam. I am only recently come to stay with my aunt. You have my most //sincere// apologies, I did not mean to behave improperly." Anyone who actually //knew// Silva would be staring. This quiet and proper young lady is a //far// cry from the dramatic and over the top woman they've come to dread dealing with. "Dignitaries," Farideh choses to begin with, "come to visit, and they don't need to see some--" She catches herself on the beginning of a sharp retort and forces a smile, softening her voice when she continues, "Young woman making a fool of herself over a boy. Tell him no and if that doesn't work, you can always tell someone-- one of the assistant Headwomen, or Jounine herself. It's not the time or the place, but," as she flicks Quintus another glance, "we'll overlook it this time. You don't want to rile up either Niahvth or Roszadyth either. Then, none of us get to stay." Quint isn't all unforgiving, when it comes to Silva's look; indeed, the harper might even show evidence of a twitch of a smile and a shadow of his typical easy charm. When Farideh glances at him, he straightens, gaze going to Silva. "No harm done, and now you know better. I'd best go see your friend doesn't freeze to death." With a nod for the pair of them, and a murmured, "Weyrwoman," he turns for the stairs, climbing them with an alacrity. Nooooo, Quint, don't LEAVE her. Silva manages to keep most of that thought from her face, but she does look slightly woeful. Putting steel back into her spine Silva sits back up, and brushes her hair back behind an ear. "I appologize madam. I will have more proper behavior in the future if you will allow me to come and visit again. It really is a breathtaking sight." Which... she didn't get much of a chance to look at before, so this might be just a pile of BS to get back on the weyrwoman's good side, and so Silva flicks a glance towards the sands. "Harper," is his farewell from the weyrwoman, however annoyed it sounds. "Weyrwoman, if you must, or Farideh, please. I am not now, nor have I ever been, a madam, and I don't want to start now." Farideh sighs and moves a hand like she might reach out towards Silva, but sets it on her own knee instead. "It's fine. You needn't worry-- just, in the future, be careful. The Weyrwoman-- I doubt she would appreciate it either, and she is more fearsome than I." Finally, the goldrider smiles, and inclines her head slightly. "You'll have plenty of time to stare at them for the next couple of months." Sadly, the harper doesn't hear the unspoken thought, and nor does Quintus look back to catch the girl's expression as he goes to rescue her erstwhile suitor from the snow. Oh good. Silva lets out the half breath she'd been holding. Sensing dismissal in her words Silva rises with alacrity, bobbing her head. "Yes Weyrwoman, I apologize again. My ignorance of the ways of the weyr shows itself at inopportune times. Thank you for your forgiveness," And she is going to start making tracks in //that// direction. //Away// from person-who-got-her-in-trouble. "Silva, you're--" Farideh releases a loud exhale and just waves the girl off, with a resigned look pinned to her already withdrawn features. "It was nice to meet you." She watches the girl go for a while, wearing an expression of concentration, but her gaze is soon returned to Roszadyth, who has taken to turning her eggs all by quarter degrees, of a sudden. No telling how long that will last and how long she'll be stuck, watching. Luckily, the cavern is warm. |
Comments
Faryn (11:10, 4 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
I never thought I'd see the day where Farideh was lecturing about the time and place to have a spat with a boy. Look at her, growing up so fast. ;-;
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