Logs:Everyone Knows
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| RL Date: 29 July, 2012 |
| Who: Quinlys, Brieli |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys punishes Brieli. Brieli hates her current situation. No one dies. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 5, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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| Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr Under the tenure of a new master, the changes to the weyrlingmaster's office are marked. A fitted, new door that smells of fresh wood has taken the place of the warped battered one and is a little thicker, a little more insulated in keeping the noises of without out. Instead of an imposing desk with its many drawers and definitive sides, a round one has claimed much of the space in the center of the room with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together with twisted rags, it would seem, that stretches from wall to wall wall to long bookshelves and filing cabinets. The tapestry of the Weyr's badge has been freshly cleaned and carries with it the faint scent of lemon bleach while new decorations have emerged with a freshly potted, and alive plant, as well as a tea cart pushed into the far corner of the room. The new doctor is in. It's not the day of the infringement; it's not even the day after. No, it's been long enough that one might even have been lulled into a false sense of security over any impending punishment, when one of the green weyrlings finds Brieli at lunch and says, "Hey, Quinlys needs to talk to you. She said she'd be in the office. I think she kinda meant now." The lack of draconic summons is interesting, perhaps. The bluerider in question is in the aforementioned office, and seems far more comfortable in the weyrlingmaster's chair than she was a few months ago. The remains of her lunch are on a plate off to one side; when Brieli arrives, she's flicking through a stack of reports, looking busy. Some people might be lulled into a false sense of security. Some people aren't paranoid like Brieli. She hasn't been jumpy per se, but there's a certain sense about her of anticipation; of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Somehow, she can't see this passing - not passing Meara's notice, not passing for a future weyrwoman, just generally not going by without some sort of comment. So, when she's found for her summons, the gold weyrling doesn't look terribly surprised, just resigned. That resignation is still apparent when she arrives, taps on the door, attempts to shade into contrition. "Quinlys, ma'am? You wanted me?" Whether Quinlys was merely looking busy, or was actually busy, is a moot point, in the end: as soon as Brieli taps on the door, the bluerider bushes the stack of reports away and beckons the weyrling inside. "I did," she confirms. "Take a seat. I've been delegated to get to the bottom of a little issue, and I'm hoping you can enlighten me on it." Her fingers rap idly upon the wooden surface of the desk as she regards Brieli levelly. Not about to ask: Brieli. Quinlys' actual level of work or busyness is totally her own business. The stack of reports only get the barest glance, and she worries at a ragged thumbnail as she comes in to take a seat, as directed. There's little of her usual ease as she sits, crosses long legs, regards the weyrlingmaster in return - no tapping fingers for her though. "A little issue," she echoes. "Delegated. I'm... my condolences." For having to deal with her? "I'll do my best to enlighten you." Though she already looks like she's not going to enjoy this conversation. But Quinlys seems almost pleased, somehow - almost proud. This is additional responsibility, maybe, or perhaps just a sign that Meara trusts her. In either case, the bluerider gives a short, sharp nod to the weyrling and says, "I'm sure you will. A couple of mornings ago, you were late to class, Brieli. And I know we warned you all that getting weyrs didn't mean lateness would be tolerated." There hasn't been a question, but her red-tinged eyebrow lifts anyway: care to explain? It might be a little enjoyable for the bluerider to see the normally self-possessed Brieli so uncomfortable with a conversation; there's none of that arrogance that lifts her chin, has her mouthing off about haircuts and writing bratty papers. Chewing on her thumbnail until she realizes that she is, she piles her hands quickly in her lap. Looking down at them, "I-- I know, I apologize. I don't really have an excuse, but I won't let it happen again. I know I've shouldn't have... I shouldn't have." Let's leave it that. Quinlys's expression may be striving for neutrality, but yes, there are quiet hints that she's enjoying this despite her attempts at professionalism. Her mouth twists, then smoothes - then twists again. Finally, "Shouldn't have what, Brieli? Let's been a hundred percent clear about this." Brieli might blame Quinlys for enjoying it later. She might even blame her a little now, but if she were in the weyrlingmaster's position? And oh my GOD does she hate talking about this; her cheeks have begun to flush and she looks ever-so-faintly ill. "Shouldn't have..." She starts out, and there's lots of ways she could end it - slept in, ditched class, etcetera - but there's a sense that will lead to further questioning. So, as quickly as possible to get it over with, "Skipped class and been late to stay in bed." A flicker of a glance up. Must they fill in all the blanks? Really? Quinlys could push further, certainly, but there's only so much patience to go around, and with a sigh, she leans back in her chair. "We lift the restriction on sexual congress when you get weyrs, because we all remember how it was. Your dragons are old enough, and you're all assumed to be responsible enough to be able to balance it with your ongoing duties. You seem to have proven us wrong, Brieli. The bronze was seen on your ledge; we know." In another situation, Quinlys might even have sympathy... but not today. "I'm sorry, I just--" Brieli is frustrated; with her lack of ability to explain, with Quinlys' to understand. "I don't like to talk about this. I find it awful, and it's awful that the Weyrleaders know my personal business and now you do too, and it's just..." She purses her lips, looking down at her hands and blinking a few times before she can continue, more calmly, "I'm not trying to lie, I'm just not enjoying this very much. Any of it. Being late is an issue, I understand that. But... why is anything else?" She shakes her head a little, waving off her last. "Never mind, that's-- that's got nothing to do with you. I know you know, everyone knows. I should have been on time." This time, Quinlys really does sound sympathetic, even if she's trying to keep her expression impassive. "You're a goldrider, Brieli, and our relations with Fort are... tenuous at best. It's not that we don't trust you to be careful, but it concerns people. We'd have strong words for any of our bronzeriders who attempted to court Fort's junior, too, I suspect. But-- no, that's not the real issue here. It's not my place to warn you about all of that. The point is: you were late. Can we trust you not to repeat that incident?" "But it's not her, it's..." But if no one believes that now, will Brieli convince them? Likely not. She nods to Quinlys' words, understanding - but her shoulders drop a little, not defeated, but discouraged. "Thank you for listening, in any case," she tells the redhead with a quirk of her lips - because that outburst seemed necessary, for all that the weyrlingmaster might not be the one to hear it, or issue her warnings. Certain in her next, she sounds trustworthy; "Yes. I am sorry. I'm... embarrassed." The last is offered in a near-murmur, dark gaze drawn down again. "It doesn't matter," is Quinlys' explanation, her head shaking. "It just doesn't. You'll have to get used to it, Brieli: if any of your relationships from now on go out-weyr, it's everyone's business. Especially if it involves Weyrs we're not on solid terms with." Her mouth quirks. "Sometimes I'm so glad I didn't impress Ysavaeth. No, I understand. Embarrassed. Well, you'll have three sevens of cleaning up the training room every morning before class to revel in that, and if it ever happens again? You'll be moving back into the barracks until we can trust you." With an oddly typical teenage mutter, the tone not for the bluerider, but for the unfairness of the world; "As if you get to decide." With a heavy sigh, Brieli has to smile at Quinlys' comment, if tiredly and note, "Io thinks you'd have been good at it too. She said everyone did." Even her punishment doesn't dim that smile - if anything, it widens with a touch of relief. As long as she's on time, her free time is her own. If closely monitored. "Yes, ma'am. Three sevens. It won't happen again." '"That is certain as well - she doesn't want to move back. Quinlys seems hesitant, in the wake of that reaction, rather as though she'd expected less relief somehow. But it's enough that she can nod and allow, "I'm sure it won't. You don't seem the kind of person to make the same mistake twice. Just-- be careful, Brieli. The last thing we need is for things to get worse." Whatever that means. Seeming a little uncertain herself at that last statement, Brieli pauses a moment before pushing out of her chair, fine brows drawing together, briefly troubled. After she can smooth it away, she nods and just offers Quinlys a little smile. "I'm always careful," she assures - but not always always, apparently; in any case, "I'll see you after lunch." She doesn't have much time left for it, so she's quick to run off for it - and maybe forget this conversation ever happened. "See you then," confirms Quinlys, who'll watch Brieli go - she's gone back to looking thoughtful. |
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