Logs:Floor Preservation
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| RL Date: 8 July, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: An unknowingly proddy Jocelyn and Quint have a fireside chat at the end of the day. |
| Where: Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 22, Month 3, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Wind, rain, and snow combine to make for miserable, sleety weather today. |
| Mentions: Jaine/Mentions, Odrick/Mentions |
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>---< Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#378RJs) >---------------------<
Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub
of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's
staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well
back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before
the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or
just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters
throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain
wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish,
though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the
table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the
glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled
scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness
of rosemary and lavender.
Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private
quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from
drafts.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Jocelyn F 26 5'5" lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes
Quint M 31 6'3 lean, dark blond hair, blue eyes
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Private Rooms Resident Quarters Candidate Quarters Headwoman's Office
Nursery Classroom Inner Caverns
>-----------------------------------------< 22D 3M 41T I10, winter night >---< The weather is just awful today -- wind, rain and snow means that anyone who doesn't have anywhere to be is firmly ensconced somewhere warm. The duties of a harper, however, wait for no good weather, and so it is that a rather wet and bedraggled looking Journeyman is left in the bowl by a rider looking to retreat hastily to the warmth of his weyr. At least Quintus knows exactly where he's heading -- not the living caverns, undoubtedly packed for the dinner hour -- but instead to the warmth of the common room's hearth to dry out first, walking with a determination intended to dissuade anyone from diverting him. Impatient footsteps from the direction of the headwoman's office bring a thin-lipped Jocelyn out into the common area, arms folded over her button-down-shirt and sensible skirt ensemble; her features, pinched. Gossip may enjoy claiming that this is her usual, resting expression, but the redhead's annoyance, on a second glance, is a weary one. She's not too tired, however, to pick out Quint's precipitation-soaked profile, mouth curling faintly as she turns her stride in his direction. Dryly, "So you have learned something in your turns here." Despite the flat words, she actually smiles a little - and it even reaches her eyes. "Take care that they don't run out of dinner before you've finished preserving our floors." In the process of divesting himself of his soaking coat, Quint pauses and his gaze is drawn to Jocelyn. "A few things, weyrwoman," he allows, with a return of her smile with one of his own, "Here and there." He lies the coat over the arm of a chair close to the hearth, turning so that his back is to the hearth, hands clasped behind there, sharp gaze flicking over the tiny hints in the weyrwoman's expression and taking wordless note. With a tip of his head, he adds, "The kitchens suit me well enough for a late night meal, should I miss ours. My absence would hardly be noted," he adds, with a twitch of lips. "Surely your fellow harpers would miss you, " says Jocelyn dismissively for his sentiments. "I'd find your absence particularly notable since I know that you're here." One hand lifts to rub uncomfortably at the back of her neck before resuming its tight grip on her other arm. Clipped steps bring her closer to the hearth; a half-turn leaves her staring into the warmth. "Someone should be feeding the fire more adequately, " pronounces the former headwoman's assistant, shifting her weight slowly from one foot to the other. "These caverns shouldn't be chilly. Don't tell me you're still on duty, Quintus." No, there's very little (read: next to no) segue from one topic to the next. The harper's expression shifts minutely, like he's considering responses and discarding them just as quickly. Silence from Quint is all the more notable for its rarity; when she steps closer, the harper turns, now facing the hearth, hands held out in front of him. "The hearth seems sufficient to me," he says, after a moment's consideration. "My clothes are only mostly damp now," with a brief chuckle, that fades as he eyes the goldrider sidelong. "Not since I stepped foot off that helpful blue, no. Why?" To Jocelyn, Aidavanth happens to be listening in. With an amused flash of hazel: « He should get out of his wet clothing. You always say that'll help someone get dry more quickly and keep them from an infirmary visit. » "You should - " Jocelyn begins, before her eyebrows draw decidedly down and she closes her jaw against the rest of that sentence, clearing her throat. "You should, " she begins again lightly, if more carefully, "enjoy your free time and work on staying dry." She's still studying the fire, posture stiff. "Where did you say that helpful blue went to bring you back here?" That pause, and the correction of her tone, earns a shift of posture from Quint, turning so that he's sideways to the hearth, but he can fully take in Jocelyn's measure. There's curiosity in the harper's light gaze, and yet he answers only what she addresses: "I shall endeavor to do both to my utmost, weyrwoman," he allows, a twitch of lips perhaps otherwise betraying the formality of the words. "Harper Hall," he answers that last, after a beat, tone neutral. "The dragon was Bresdath, if you wanted to check?" "What? Why would I need to do such a thing?" Jocelyn waves off the very notion with a sharp gesture, pale eyes finally moving to study the other's with a frown. "Surely you're not admitting that you run around telling falsehoods that are wholly separate from harper-isms." And yet, she seems at least somewhat interested in his journey; "I trust your business was concluded satisfactorily - or, at the very least, that it handled itself more smoothly than my schedule did." She pauses, then. It isn't exactly an expectant silence, but she uses it to take note of his expressions and stance. "I'm not sure," Quint answers like he, too, is puzzled. "It was satisfactory," he agrees. "I'd give you more detail, but really -- these things sound about as dull as they actually are. What happened to your schedule, if I might ask?" he queries, with a tilt of head. When she pauses, he does too -- for a short while, and then: "Weyrwoman -- are you feeling all right? I understand many have been sick lately, what with the weather the way it is..." Do the lines of Jocelyn's expression relax a little when he recounts his business as rather dull? "I do have a name that you can use, you know. It's just been one of those days, " the goldrider informs him, clarifying, "I'm sure your colleague can elaborate nicely on the matter. He did seem astonishingly knowledgeable about just what ladies should ask for at the infirmary, if my memory serves me. Dark-skinned, young, about yea tall?" Odrick. "I'm just out of sorts, Quint. I'm not sick. A good night's sleep will probably put me more to rights. This wasn't what I'd call an overly productive day. I almost fired my assistant twice, but she had the good grace to know not to take me seriously in my humor." "Indeed you do," the harper readily agrees with the goldrider, but doesn't use her name, yet. It's when she starts speaking of the infirmary and his fellow that Quint's brows rise. "Indeed. And what exactly was his advice?" As she describes him, there's a slight pause, "Journeyman Odrick," he offers his fellow harper's name. "Mm. It sounds like, indeed, an early night and a good sleep is in your benefit. Whatever did your assistant do to nearly get fired twice?" He asks, intrigued by that. "How should I remember his exact words from two turns ago? Something about herbs to make everything feel better. Maybe." Maybe. Jocelyn sniffs at the inquiry on Jaine and her conduct, lips pursing. "She - " Frown. "She - tried to make the day better. It didn't improve. I misheard her while we went over my agenda and I was certain that she said my lunch meeting was at midday, sharp. What she actually said was, 'a quarter to midday' and I was late." It's spoken as if it's an absolute anathema. More thoughtfully, "I've never been late to a meeting." "And yet he seems to have stuck in your memory," Quint notes with a twitch of lips. "Do you converse so rarely with the Weyr's harpers, then? If so -- I should count myself lucky, I rather suspect." He listens attentively while she describes her assistant's transgressions. "How abhorrent!" he exclaims, as if aghast. "Making you late for your first ever meeting." A beat passes, the slight glimmer of his eyes suggests he's amused and yet trying not to let it otherwise show outwardly. "What else have you never done?" he asks, as if prompting her for further information. Jocelyn's mouth opens, then closes. "I don't talk with many of them, " she admits after a moment. "I used to talk often with the harper who taught our lessons when I was a child. I don't have pleasant associations with the ones who spent the most time on my etiquette lessons during weyrlinghood. You're - an interesting one. As I've said, I've - found some enjoyment in our interactions, for which I'm sure Impression gets at least a little credit. We're both performers now, in a manner of speaking, aren't we?" For his last, there's a twitch at her lips. "Why don't you tell me what you're supposing I've never done. It's bound to be at least half as interesting as the truth, if not more so." Stalling 'never have I ever:' surely an acquired skill in lieu of immediately shutting down such an avenue of talk. And all throughout her recitations of harpers past, the current one watches her sidelong. "So," Quint muses in summation, "I am interesting only in part because of your Impression? Hmm. An interesting theory," one to which he seems to take no offense, only regarding it with a thoughtful moue. As for her suggesiton of a guessing game, the harper laughs: "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it -- undoubtedly it would only offend you, and that certainly isn't my intention." "That's not - " the goldrider begins, shaking her head quickly after. "Far more accurate to say, instead, that it was easier for me to see afterward, once we had something in common." There's a little eyebrow lift at the end, and for a moment, her usual surety wavers. "Although, perhaps I'm the only one who thinks that we do - in which case, I'd hope you'd forgive me for taking up time you could have better spent elsewhere." Beat. One hand lifts to loosen her collar slightly; suddenly, she looks a little warm. "It's a positively juvenile sort of thing, but I've never mixed up my food on my plate. I've never been someone's weyrmate, even prior to Impression, although I expect there are plenty of people out there who haven't done that, either. And I've certainly never had a harper ask me a question like yours and actually get some sort of answer." There, another amused lift to the corners of her mouth. "I've never regretted the time I've spent to speak with you," Quint says, definitively. He doesn't say any more on that score, like he considers the matter completely settled and no longer worth the attention; instead, he's watching Jocelyn while she recounts some of her never-experiences. His mouth quirks through the first, nods thoughtfully through the second, and to the third, he laughs, hearty and earnest. "Well, in that case, I feel particularly privileged," with a half bow. "However, I'm afraid now that I'm dry, I ought to find food, and I don't want to delay you -- unless you want to join me?" he asks, brows flickering upwards. That's definitely a pleased cast to Jocelyn's expression for Quint's lack of regret, and the redhead gestures for him to lead the way in reply to his invitation. "I would. I could use a quick bite. I still need to finish oiling Aidavanth before we retire for the evening, " and almost-forty-two-feet of dragonhide truly takes up most of one's evening, even with some assistance, "so I'm afraid I won't be able to stay long." At least she seems a little less distracted on their trek through the hallways, although she does veer immediately for the desserts once they find sustenance. |
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