Logs:Fingers Crossed
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, C'ris, Laine |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and C'ris talk about the former's insecurities, but then Laine comes along and it's two against one. |
| Where: Outside the Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowing. |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, R'van/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, W'von/Mentions, Osqua/Mentions |
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| The cold and sprinkle of snow that falls from leaden skies doesn't stop the truly dedicated, or those forced to endure rigorous exercises against their will; aka weyrlings. It's the early evening, when Rukbat would normally start its leisurely descent below the horizon, which finds Farideh on the winding, narrow road that leads out of the Weyr. She's dressed for the weather and exercises-- loose pants, cozy sweater, and a bright yellow cap with a fuzzy ball on top that bounces as she moves. Her pace is steady but slow, her steps slowing to a walk whenever someone, or something, gets in her path. C'ris is that next thing in her path, coming from the narrow road and up towards his mountain home, sans dragon but in his usual riding leathers. He carries a slung bag over his shoulder, fingers still hooked there to keep it as he hikes up. For a moment, perhaps, she might hear the man talking to himself on the path, before the bluerider turns that corner and catches sight of the weyrling, immediately stopping that little habit. But he will flash a smile towards the oncoming goldrider, greeting, "Hey, there. It's almost dark." Master of observation, is he. Her steps slow when she recognizes the bluerider, one hand going to her waist and her breath, between words, swallow gasps. "I know what time it is," Farideh answers, her eyes slanting up to the darkening sky still masked by gray clouds. "What are you doing? Delivering desserts this late?" There is amusement in her voice, which sets her mouth curving upwards, at the same time that she steps to the side of the road and out of the way of any advancing travelers. "I don't have any desserts on me, right now," C'ris replies easily, his own humor warm and light as he offers a self-deprecating smile. "I mean, I could go get some from you, if you want, but not right now." He shrugs up his shoulder, before changing the subject to add encouragingly, "Pretty dedicated to your training, huh? You seem to be doing a lot better. I mean, you're not as winded." 'Wouldn't it be embarrassing if everyone in the Weyr could outrun me? I wouldn't be able to hold my head up outside of my own weyr," Farideh replies, wryly. Her chest continues to rise and fall rapidly, as she tries to regain her composure. "I don't want to be the last in physical training, at least. Jogging isn't too bad-- it's better than defense training, or pushups, or all those other exercises." She waves a hand, physically dismissing those unsavory calisthenics. "It lets me think." "What do you think about?" isn't C'ris pressing, because of course not. The puppy just isn't that type of personality to go digging into Farideh's reasonings, but rather he is genuinely and warmly interested in her and what she might have to say. "I'm sure you won't be last. You have long legs; you'll beat some of the girls." A pause, before he offers, "Do you want to walk back up with me? Keep me company and I can snag you a piece of cake for your training reward." "Do you really want to know?" Farideh is both wary and dry, though she does come away from the side of the road towards the bluerider, to nod in the direction of the Weyr entrance. "Don't tell me you're afraid of a dark," is followed by a considering look, eyebrows lifting, "What kind of cake?" "Of course," C'ris answers lightly, smiling encouragement towards the weyrling as he readjusts his pack before starting in the direction of that entrance. "If you wanted to talk about it, and tell me. Sometimes it helps just to tell someone else, I think, rather than keeping it bottled up inside." Again, though, he shrugs up a shoulder as if to dismiss his own words, before he adds, "They were making some white cake with a red berry filling, earlier. With lots of frosting." Since he brought it up-- "I feel like I don't know what I'm doing and everyone either keeps telling me I will get it with time, or I need to get myself together because I'm doing a horrible job. I hate our Weyrleader. Before weyrlinghood, Edyis and R'van were my friends, and now they're both insufferable. I feel like I'm going to let Irianke down and never be able to recover myself. My-- I don't know what he is-- sailed away on a boat, and I don't know when I'll see him again, but can I even, now that I'm a goldrider? Will everyone hate me as a junior? What if I mess up? What if--" Farideh laughs, then, and slants C'ris a pursed-lip look. "I asked you if you really wanted to." She wrinkles her nose, giving her head a shake. "It shouldn't have to be covered in frosting if it tastes good enough." C'ris' smile disappears as Farideh speaks, and those warm brown eyes rest on Farideh for a moment before sliding up towards the entrance of the Weyr, as if to see if anyone else is on the road. "That is a lot of worries for a weyrling," he murmurs in low sympathy. "Which one is the most important, do you think? Right now, at least. Tomorrow, in a week. Not any longer than that, ok." He doesn't laugh, but he does stop to turn to the weyrling, regardless of them taking up the road or that the sun is still setting, or any of that. It is with a surprised expression that Farideh jerks to a halt when C'ris turns to face her. "I guess that learning what I'm supposed to learn would be the most important. I just-- I don't know what to do besides what I'm already doing. I tried to ask R'hin about his weyrwomen, and what made them-- good, but he wasn't interested in talking about "dead people" as he said. I'm studying. I'm talking to people. I'm observing. I shadow the headwomen and attend the meetings, and I take notes. I just don't know what else I can do." "And how long do you expect that to take? How long to learn everything that you need to know?" C'ris questions softly, patient and gentle in his challenge of her. In the early evening hours, with the sun setting behind thick snow clouds, Farideh and C'ris are on the road leading to and from the Weyr. They have come to a sudden stop, and seem to be having a serious, if low, conversation. "I don't think I ever will. Irianke expects me to have the upper hand with my-- education-- but I don't feel like I'll ever know all the things Irianke knows, or K'del knows, and I'll never be as formidable as Nimae." "Do you need to know all the things Irianke knows, or K'del? What if you know different things?" C'ris muses softly, warm eyes studying Farideh with genuine interest in her, if not that type of interest. (He doesn't suddenly kiss her.) "How long will it take to know enough to do your duties?" "Yes," Farideh retorts, nearly bouncing onto her toes, "I do. I can't have a proper chance at holding my own in a discussion if I don't know what they know. Not the experiences, but the important things about our job. Do you know what it feels like to have the Weyrleader talk down to you like you're an itty bitty trundlebug? I doubt it." She makes a face, arms crossing over her chest. "I don't know. I suppose until the end of weyrlinghood for a bare minimum." She's knotless, the Laine that emerges from the Weyr, with a knit hat pulled low and her arms wrapped around a wooden crate as she schleps out into the dusk to deposit her burden on a similar heap, directed by some muffled voice beyond the door. If there's more boxes to be hauled (thanks, Weyrling Power(tm)!), she's readily, even eagerly, deterred from the task when she spies Farideh and C'ris nearby. Her approach is a slow one, accompanied by a scuffling of feet through a thin layer of snow. "No, I mean, I doubt the Weyrleader notices me at all, so I guess there's that. I imagine if he did talk to me, he'd have reason to talk down to me, because you know, I'm below him. He is my Weyrleader," C'ris agrees, lifting a hand to scrub at his fluffy hair for a moment before he rolls a shoulder upwards in a shrug. He starts to offer, "Then, I guess you know what you have to focus on through weyrlinghood. You can worry about the rest after, right?" But as he spots Laine, he turns away to start towards the Weyr again and the other weyrling, flashing a smile towards her with a called, "Hey, there!" "No." It's only the single word, but there is power behind it, coupled with her brow furrowing. "He may have a higher rank than you and that's it. He isn't a superior person. He isn't above you at all. He's just a man who got lucky because his dragon caught the senior queen-- multiple times." Farideh wrinkles her nose and opens her mouth to say something else, frustration edging her features, but C'ris turning and talking to someone else distracts. "Laine," is part greeting, part relief. Foresight to put on a hat, but no gloves, Laine shoves her bare hands into her pockets and trots a little faster to catch up with the pair. There's an easy, lopsided smile and a tilt of her head in salute, but she must've caught some words on the wind because her greeting is: "Hardly call it luck when it's multiple times. Twice, maybe." C'ris is given a slow up-and-down once Laine draws up beside them. "Yeah, not really-- luck. I mean, the Weyr wants him for the job or he wouldn't keep winning them. He does a good job; I'm proud to call him my Weyrleader," C'ris agrees with Laine's assessment, or at least part of the assessment as his own crooked smile lingers on his lips even as he's eyed up. "How are you, weyrling?" Farideh is appropriately sullen when both of her companions defend her newly-born nemesis, going so far as to roll her eyes and look away. "I'd call it luck," she grumbles under her breath, one boot toeing at the fine snow on the ground while they go about their small talk. "Good." Perfuntory. She's more interested in the follow-up: "The Weyr wanting him to win is how he keeps winning?" Laine repeats, skeptically, but not without the sense of someone filing information away for later consideration. But she shrugs a what-do-I-know-I'm-just-a-weyrling shrug and bumps one shoulder into Farideh, companionable. "However it happened, he's the Weyrleader now. Or, for now." "Good," is genuine acceptance of her perfunctory answer, C'ris' smile warm in its offer to the weyrling even despite the skepticism that follows. Instead, he answers easily, "Yeah, the bronze that catches is determined by the wishes of the entire Weyr, they say. I mean, if all the dragons want one leader, then the gold picks that up, you know? And she'll let him catch her or find herself caught by him, probably. Anyways, that's the theory." His gaze slides between Laine and Farieh, briefly, before it flicks back to the Weyr entrance. Not as easy as a wash of rain, but it's clear the easy comradery of her fellow weyrling has some effect on her mood. "I don't think that's how it works," Farideh answers, levelly. "It doesn't matter, really-- it's like Laine said. He's the Weyrleader for now. That might change the next time Niahvth rises." Her tone, despite the words, is neutral, though her eyes flick to Laine and a smile comes easily, conspiratorially. "We can always keep our fingers crossed for an adverse outcome." "Huh." This time, Laine considers C'ris with a longer, more thoughtful look, not unfriendly, following his glance back to the Weyr entrance for a moment. She shrugs deeper into her jacket, pushing her nose under the high collar. Words muffled, the weyrling grunts, "Never say who they is, anyway." She meets Farideh's glance with a crinkling around her eyes that betrays a smile. "I'll have Lifreyth hope extra hard. Just in case that is how it works. Who for, though?" "Yes, he is our Weyrleader for now. Right now," states C'ris, with a hint of reproach finally slipping into the bluerider's tone as he looks back to the weyrlings. He even frowns, slightly, as they talk conspiratorially, before he adjusts his pack across his shoulder and turns to walk back towards the Weyr. One hand reaches up and scrunches the fuzzy ball on top of Farideh's hat, absent-mindedly, while she looks between her friend and the bluerider. "Someone not so caught up in their own ego as to miss the point," which she won't elaborate one, "maybe that cute one. What's his name-- W'von? With the nice haircut and the pretty eyes?" Girls, amiright? Her expression is a comical mixture of surprise and confusion for C'ris' leave-taking, though she nudges Laine. "What about that cake you promised?" she calls after the bluerider, only saving her laughter for the other weyrling, behind her hand, eyes dancing merrily. There's a quick lift of her brows at C'ris' tone and Laine can't quite suppress a noise in her throat that might be a chuckle. She tosses a, "'bye!" over one shoulder as he goes, with a lower-voice, "Was that me that pissed him off? -- if you can call that pissed." But soon enough turns back to the important business. "I was thinking Osqua, with that huge brown--s'his name, Goath. Wouldn't mind sitting in on meetings with her." There's a fluttering of those thick brows again, and that laugh breaks free. "I am giving it to the Weyrleader," C'ris calls back without looking over his shoulder. He probably won't actually bring a piece of cake to K'del, but those will be his parting words as he walks away from the teenage girls. "No, it was definitely me," Farideh informs Laine, laughter still imbuing her voice. "I think I made him mad by questioning K'del's abilities. He must be one of those hard-up-for-weyrleader types. Here, I thought him harmless." She follows the bluerider's retreating figure with her eyes, but offers him no more words, and eventually tires of the staring, so transfers her attention to Laine. "Irianke wouldn't approve of a brownriding Weyrleader, I don't think. It would be a refreshing change, to be sure," she sighs, holding her arm out, knuckles to hip; indicating she wants Laine to loop her arm through so they can walk back arm-in-arm. "What do you think of K'del?" Laine grunts softly into her jacket collar, then unburies her nose to send a soft puff of chilled air rising. "Think he'll tattle?" She says it with a smile, sidelong, as she slips one hand out of her pocket to weave through Farideh's crooked elbow. "'Cause she's Igen?" (Those stodgy Igens!) "Or..." Any other multitude of reasons, Laine's head toss says. Pursed lipped, she considers. "Don't think much about K'del, period. Got better things to do." But: "Think he does his job. If he was a momumental fuck up, the Weyr would know by now, wouldn't we?" "I don't know. He's yet to tell Quinlys any of my secrets, that I know about, but he seems the sort-" Farideh's lips purse as she begins walking, moving alongside Laine. "Igen, from what I've heard, keeps traditionalist values. No browns in senior flights, but browns are encouraged for junior flights. She might stick to what she knows. And it's not as though High Reaches couldn't do without another junior. Faranth knows I'm probably a disappointment." She wriggles in the folds of her comfy sweater. "I suppose he's not terrible at his job. I simply hate his attitude and how big of a stick in the mud he is. It can't be put down to occupation, because Irianke isn't." The brownriding weyrling's path is strays errant along the path leading away from the Weyr, although she stays more-or-less out of the potholes. "You've been telling him your secrets? There's your first mistake." Laine chuckles, a low noise deep in her throat that transforms into a long, pensive hmm. "Roszadyth picked you." As a rider of a brown herself, Laine's expression closes somewhat at Igen's traditionalist values, but she doesn't comment. Instead, somewhat hopefully: "Then it's a good thing he's just the Weyrleader, isn't it? Everyone knows who the real authority is." But she sounds a little uncertain as she says it. "It's nice to have an outside ear to talk to. I can't tell Quinlys, or Irianke, and you're even dealing with your own problems now. Being a weyrling is hard and-- well." Farideh hugs Laine's arm closer, mindless of everything else as they amble towards the Weyr. "I know. I know, but that doesn't make me any less of an irritation. I don't even want to think about meetings most days, or listening to the leadership lessons." Her lips compress just before she sighs, giving her head an indelicate shake that also makes her fuzzy pom-pom bobble. "I don't know what their dynamic is like. I think Irianke is running things. She fired Giorda, after all. They're very different. Night and day." Laine's response is an answering squeeze of her arm and a warm smile, and a quiet, "I'll always have an ear for you if you need it." Despite those dark circles under her eyes having become all but permanent since her Impression. "Feeling irritable and being an irritation aren't the same thing. And anyway, isn't one of the perks of power that you can just make someone else do your paperwork bullshit?" Laine frees her caught arm, just for an instant, to tweak that wobbling pom-pom. "Someday, everything the light touches will be yours. And then plebs will do all your work for you." She recatches Farideh's arm again, but only to change the topic to something lighter and guide them, arm-in-arm, back to the waiting entrance to the Weyr. |
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