Logs:Getting A Say
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| RL Date: 29 July, 2016 |
| Who: Alysce, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Alysce just wants a say. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
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Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the
Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its
floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls,
and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded.
A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view
of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for
via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several
tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets,
scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a
many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through
luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.
To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where
another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture.
Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full
of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a
somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are
locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides
direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs. Alysce has been a bit distracted for the past few days, not that it has much impact on her usual level of performance given that it is a low bar already. Still, even as she sits at trying to copy a single sheet of music from High Reaches' records to send to the Hall, it's taken her hours. She sits at one of those tables with her chin in the hollow of her palm and her elbow against the wood as she stares blankly at the hide in front of her, half filled. The scribe at the desk is ignoring her, whether pointedly or he has just grown accustomed to her presence, who can tell. Otherwise, the records remain mostly empty in this quiet, warm, bright afternoon. In strides Journeyman Quint, giving a nod towards the scribe but otherwise not disturbing the silence, even his footfalls muted through long habit. He slows when he spots his apprentice, his expression a mixture of contemplative and vexed, hands falling to clasp behind his back. His expression fades into his usual easy neutrality as he steps around within sight of Alysce, head tipped, waiting for her to notice him. It takes a moment for the movement past her immediate focus to break through whatever thoughts have captured Alysce's attention. When it does, her first reaction is to start moving her pen against hide, resuming with a brief faltering what she was copying. What, she's totally been working this whole time. Only then does she greet, "Hey. Still getting this--," she lifts her pen to sweep it in a gesture at her copy, "-- done. Unless you need me for something more pressing." "Mmhmm," her Journeyman doesn't believe it for a second, and he makes it clear he knows she knows he doesn't believe it, either. Moreover, Quint moves towards the other side of the desk, pulls out the chair, and settles into it, his gaze on her writing rather than her. After several minutes of silence, he finally says: "I can release you to resident duties until the clutching, if that is what you prefer." Alysce's pretense of copying stops completely at that offer, her dark gaze lifting and narrowing on Quint under the fan of darker lashes. It takes her another few moments of silence before she answers, "That depends. Have you made up your mind about putting in for a transfer, then?" Without a pause, Quint responds: "I have not, but I will after your decision is made." His fingers flicker towards her, as if to say, the ball is in your court. Suspicion flickers over Alysce's sharp features even as she continues studying Quint quietly. "I won't stand if you can promise that you won't put in for a transfer," she says simply. "Not until we are both ready to." There's a tinge of a whine to the words, but also a subtler appeal to the Journeyman; one that someone certainly isn't mature enough to make plain. "I won't promise that," Quint says, plainly, gaze lifting from her copying work to her, "And I'm disappointed that you feel like you must blackmail me into such a decision. If you wish to stay at High Reaches as a harper, then," he lifts a hand, flickering up a finger for each point: "Walk the tables, and use your parents influence to see if they can get you a posting here." His fingers close back into a fist, as he murmurs: "Otherwise, you go where I go, while you're my apprentice. And I go where the Hall dictates." Alysce makes a quiet noise, as if he's only confirmed her suspicions with his answer, as she drops the pen back to the table and straightens. Her only answer is a snapped counter, as if it should be obvious, "I am not walking the tables, Quint. I don't want to walk the tables." A pause, to stop to consider her next words for once before she continues flatly, "If I am just your apprentice, if I don't get any say-- Then maybe I should stay and stand." Quint's brow goes upwards at her, I don't want to walk the tables, head tilted. "You don't get a say, Alysce, because I don't get a say. That is the nature of being a crafter -- your craft decides where you are posted. Even if I didn't put in a transfer now, like as not the hall would decide for us, come the end of the Turn. At least this way there's a chance we might be given some choice of the available postings." He exhales slowly and silently, the tightness of fingers as they tap the table the only thing displaying his frustration. "As I said; should you choose to stand, that is your choice. Do not, however," he pushes to his feet, giving him height over her, "Use it as a threat or a bargaining chip. This is your life, your future, and should you choose this on a whim and live to regret it later, I will not be held responsible. You are, as you have pointed out, old enough to make your own decision." "I know how it works. I'm not asking you to guarantee that we'll be here come the end of the Turn, but--." Alysce cuts off, her own frustration showing like a bright signal in her expression. He rises, and she looks up, following him with her gaze but not moving to stand. She falls silent for a moment, until she finally adds dismissively, "I don't want to be released into residential duties." "Good," Quint says, after a long pause, gaze going distant as he looks past her for a moment. "Then, tomorrow, after the morning lessons, we'll have lunch, and we can talk about what preferences you might have for our next posting. As long as you understand I have very little choice over the matter, but I will keep your own preferences in mind." "I'll make a list." It seems that Alysce doesn't know whether to accept the offer graciously or with her usual disregard; it ends up as an awkward statement instead, before she shrugs up a shoulder lightly. She does hit on an easier, teasing note as she adds, "Can we have our lunch in Snowasis, though?" Quint gives her a look that, for a moment, might seem reproving, and then: "Just this once," as he steps away, pushing the chair in neatly under the desk. "So long as you have all that copying done today." "We'll see," is Alysce's noncommittal answer, a smile flickering at the corners of her lips as she tosses dark hair over one shoulder. But once he leaves, she will certainly be a lot more focused on finishing her work. |
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