Logs:Finding Friends
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| RL Date: 24 March, 2016 |
| Who: Quint, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Silva shows off her latest acquisition, and Quint tries to provide some advice. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Yesia/Mentions |
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Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the
weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just
plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have
let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that:
two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in
particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the
most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond.
Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to
hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being
trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of
flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall
off.
An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former
weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl.
The sky is clear today. The air remains cool and damp, but the weather is
overall pleasant today. It's late afternoon, and as a result the Snowasis' ledge has a scattering of people here and there, but is by no means busy. Quint's staked out a table nearest the bowl, with a good view of the goings on. There's a half consumed glass of something that doesn't look like beer or wine or spirits -- in fact one might guess it was just some sort of plain juice or other. There's a hide on the table, a map of the surrounding area's running trails, though the harper's attention seems to be on a pair of arriving riders and their passengers. Something has Silva all sorts of up and chipper today. It //might// be the dress she's wrapped herself in. It looks new, and actually does just about everything right for her figure. Not only that, but it seems designed just //slightly// different from a normal dress, but it's hard to put a pin on exactly what the difference in. "Quint!" Happy sing-song Silva voice as she sweeps up upon seeing him and twirls to show it off. "What do you think?" Quint's focused on the new arrivals in the bowl enough that he doesn't take note of Silva's approach until she's practically standing in front of him. "Weyrl-- bluerider," the harper corrects himself, with an easy smile. "How are you doing?" His head tips, taking in Silva's twirl with what might be careful scrutiny. "Mm. That seems a nice dress for the weather," he observes. "Is it new?" One of Silva's eyelashes jumps upwards, "Weyrl... something? It's just //Silva//." Way too happy of a mood right now. She twirls again, "Isn't it lovely? I drew up the designs myself, but I didn't quite have time to get it made. It matches Zaisyreth," about to say more Silva cuts it off, as if testing to see if MAYBE Quint will notice that almost invisible slit down the front. "My apologies. Habit -- I don't think I've had a chance to speak to you since you graduated." Quint gestures towards an empty seat in invitation, half standing. Snapping his fingers, he says, "Ah. Yes, now that you mention it, it does match his color almost precisely. That must have taken some doing -- or did you have it made up?" If the harper's noticed anything else unusual about the dress, there's no indications in his easy motions. Silva hasn't laughed a whole lot in the last bit, so it's hard to compare her laugh, but it //sounds// genuine. "Silly! It has to match. See," And this time when she twists she holds out the edges. That slight slit flairs out showing that the dress is not //quite// a dress, but instead a full legged pant that only looks like a dress. "If we're going to have to talk to people, I decided we didn't have to look ugly doing it." "Well, of course you don't," Quint replies, with an obvious kind of puzzlement. "You'd be earning a rider's wage now, so I gather a trip to the weavercraft hall now and then wouldn't be astray." He tilts his head to regard Silva for a moment more, though he doesn't seem to be observing her dress/pants outfit so much as the bluerider's expression. "You seem -- happier. Things are going well for you in -- what wing were you assigned to, again?" "Oh, well, the wing is whatever." Silva flaps her hands absently at the matter of her wing assignment. Sliding into a chair she arranges her hands in her lap before looking back up. "I'm just happy something finally went right. I had a vision for what I wanted my dress to look like, and it came out!" Quint is, perhaps, momentarily taken aback by Silva's dismissal of her wing, though he recovers swiftly enough with a thoughtful noise. "Mm. So," as he resumes his seat shortly after she takes hers, "It sounds to me as if you've had some success in giving yourself agency. Perhaps you can apply this to wider scopes of your life," he suggests, in a tone that might well come across as teacherly. "Well, I haven't really like, made any friends, but it's not like that was different in Weyrlinghood or whatever." Maybe Silva really is growing as a person, ASSERTING herself as an individual versus a member of a group? His question has her tilting her head, a frownline appearing between her eyebrows, "What do you mean?" "Well," Quint leans forward, nearer Silva, as if to impress on the seriousness of the discussion, "For example, you've said you haven't made friends. Perhaps you could work towards that by, say -- setting yourself some goals. People make friends through shared interests -- maybe you could try and find someone who likes to design clothes, close to your age?" "Um..." That frown doesn't disappear, but Silva's hesitation at least hints that she isn't dismissing the idea out of hand. "I... don't know? I kinda pretty much made myself a pariah during candidacy and weyrlinghood." Look at that for some self evaluation. "Besides, I mean, I'm getting by? I tried, once, to like, reach out but it just didn't work out." That last statement shatters some of that cloak of happiness Silva had wrapped around herself. A brisk shake, "I mean, there's Yesia, but we were friends before. Zaisyreth doesn't.... reallly like her very much though, so it's a little awkward." "You tried once, and it didn't work out, so you're going to give up?" Quint clucks his tongue in a disappointed way. "Just think if you've given up trying to find material to match Zaisyreth's color. You'd be sitting here all drab," the harper says, with a little twitch of lips. "Have you perhaps thought about trying to make friends amongst non riders? Perhaps girls in a similar situation to your own before you impressed?" "Um... girls sent away from home for being little terrors?" Silva, she's not being the nicest person to herself right now. She shrugs her shoulders and plants her eyes firmly into her lap where her hands have folded. "Really, Quint, it's not really that big of a deal. I mean, I've got Zaisyreth, I don't really need more friends." With a smile intended to gentle the joke that follows, Quint says, "You wouldn't be the first -- nor the last. A good deal of whom probably ended up at the Weyr, also." He reaches for his glass, but doesn't drink, instead leaning back while he regards Silva. "Need and want are two separate things, but not mutually exclusive. Wouldn't it be nice to have a girl to exclaim over your lovely new outfit instead of, well, me?" he makes a wry face. "I'm afraid fashion isn't really my thing -- a harper blue tunic makes for an easy choice of a morn." He brushes down said tunic to smooth out an invisible wrinkle. "But..." Confusion. Silva stops herself, shutting her mouth firmly upon the statement that was about to flow out. Her gaze is firmly on her hands in her lap as she twines them about one another. "Quint. It's really okay. You were just the first person I saw. I won't share with you next time, I'm sorry." There's a moment of silence, from Quint, then: "Why are you apologizing?" "I made you uncomfortable, right? Because like, you said you weren't really into fashion or whatever. So... I'm sorry." Silva, so not looking up at all. "No," Quint says, firmly. "There's an important point here, though," and he leans forward, reaching out a hand for Silva's arm with the intent of getting her attention again. "You made an assumption that I was uncomfortable. I am not. If I wasn't interested in talking to you, I wouldn't have invited you to sit." After a beat, he says, "Do you know what projection is?" A glance upward shows that alll the happy Silva-ness has fallen off, leaving just the seventeen-year-old behind. "You said fashion wasn't your thing, so like, I shouldn't have brought it up or whatever. No?" The last for the projection thing. "Just because it isn't my interest, doesn't make me uncomfortable. And you don't know me well enough to know otherwise, even if it did -- so why would I fault you for that?" Quint posits, aloud. "Sometimes, if we don't know someone that well, we use our own experiences, and thoughts, to determine what they might be thinking or feeling. For example, if I saw someone crying, and I cry when I'm sad, I might assume they are sad -- when in fact they could be crying from relief, or happiness, or stress." His gaze settles on Silva, as if to determine whether the point takes hold. "I'm interested in the fact that fashion makes you happy, even if it isn't my thing. That's why I thought it might be nice for you to find someone to share that interest with you." That look on Silva's face is probably not at all reassuring on his point being made. "I... guess? I mean, what else are we suppose to like, base what we think on? It's not like Zaisy, who can just straight up read my mind or whatever." Which is probably the key to why Silva gets along with ther blue so well. He can see past her shallowness. "You do exactly what we're doing right now," Quint says, gesturing between himself and Silva. "You talk to them, find out what they like, what they're interested in." A quick smile follows, as he says, "You might, for example, find out that the harper you're talking with doesn't much like to drink alcohol -- but often pretends otherwise -- except in unguarded moments when he might just give up and drink juice," he taps his juice-filled glass with a wry smile. "Oh. Well. Um." Tentatively Silva unlocks her hands from where she'd put them, and tries to shake some of the sudden tension from her shoulders. "So, um, why //do// you not like to drink... but then pretend about it?" See, she's learning! She'll even lean forward slightly, looking forward to his answer more than she expected. "Have you ever sat and watched herdbeasts, how they behave together? I'd wager most people who aren't herders haven't," Quint says, with a slight shrug. "But they demonstrate an interesting phenomena -- a pack mentality. When you stay with the herd, you're a part of the community. You're safe, you have friends and family." His fingers drum on the table. "The same might be extended to your wing," he gestures towards Silva. "If you stand apart from them, you'll always be apart. Sometimes, to actually be a part of something, you have to pretend to be a part of it, until you actually are. Does that make sense?" he tips his head to one side as he watches Silva's reaction. "Um," she's saying that more tonight then she means to. "No...?" Except then he's talking about family. Abruptly a wall shuts down in Silva's expression and she's standing up. The smile on her face has every overtone of false on it. "Thanks for trying to help. I just remembered that, like, I have to go and be somewhere! I'll see you later Quint!" And just as quickly as she came Silva is exit-stage-left in a rustle of her pants-skirt around her. The fact that Quint's watching Silva while he speaks means that the change of Silva's expression is abruptly obvious. It earns a worried downturn of lips, and when she rises quickly, he's on his feet moments later. "Silva--" he starts, but to her fast-retreating back. With an exhale of breath, he reseats himself, taking a gulp of his juice as he resumes his people-watching. |
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