Logs:Getting Better
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| RL Date: 29 June, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: An honest talk between a wingleader and his wingsecond. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 2, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold. |
| Mentions: Edyis/Mentions, R'van/Mentions |
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| At the end of another long day, when the training cavern is actually empty for once, Farideh is sitting at one of the stone tables, with her various notes and hides piled up on top. She's focused on whatever it is that she's reading, paying little attention to anything going on around her; someone could walk in and she probably wouldn't notice. Her eyes scan from one page to the next, her fingers tapping idly on the table. Someone could. If that someone didn't say, "Hey," the minute he comes within view of the weyrling goldrider, his wingsecond. "That wasn't so bad, right?" Presumably, the drills from far earlier that day. T'mic doesn't look like he intends to stay, just one sheet in hand. And the fact he doesn't sit. Preoccupied eyes lift and take note of T'mic, and his mere presence summons a friendly smile. "No, I suppose it wasn't. Are you tired?" Farideh's gaze lingers a couple more minutes before returning to her hides. "What-- have you thought about-- what do you want to do when people don't listen? When they want to argue about what we've said? If you tell R'van to do laps and he laughs at you, then-- ?" A friendly smile that goes right back, a reflex that he doesn't in the least seem to wish to try and change. Ever. "Nah," shrugs T'mic to the question, though it makes him think to reach up and rub at his eyes a bit. "I'm okay." His course toward the weyrlingmaster's office is paused, even sidetracked until he can go and lean a little against the table Farideh occupies. Because she's asked him a question, his nose wrinkles up a bit thinking on it. "Why would R'van laugh? He wants to be perfect. He wants the drills, doesn't he?" "He wants to be perfect, but he also doesn't think the physical drills aren't as important as-- say-- the lessons, I think." Farideh frowns at her own reflections, but sighs and wrinkles her nose right back. "I meant in general, not just R'van, but anyone, who wants to argue, about anything. Do you plan to make them run extra laps? Or do you want to just-- let it slide?" T'mic's lean is slowly but surely melting over into a half-cheeked sit on the table. He brings both hands onto the hide that rests against his thigh. It takes him a moment, to switch over from specifics to generals. But it's the last that he addresses first, with a shake of his head. "Wouldn't just let it slide, no. We're a wing." Fingers tap-tap on his hide. "Is this about someone?" All-knowing-T'mic gets it, and Farideh can't fight against that face, that friendly smile. She caves with a sigh, combing her fingers through the sides of her curls. "I'm concerned. It seems, more and more, that Edyis can't stand me, and she made a comment-- that, just because we have the position, doesn't mean anyone would rather skip the consequences to listen to what we have to say. It made me think that-- what if they don't? Listen? If they think we're bad at it, and they'd rather-- I don't know, play hooky? Than comes to wing drills." All-knowing? Hardly. "Edyis," repeats T'mic, and frowns. "I dunno. I mean, the thing is, consequences for one person might not work as good as consequences for others. And I know you want to like... treat everyone the same and stuff, but that doesn't always... people don't do things for the same reasons, is all. I got one brother, he gets the same consquences as everyone else, but for him it's worth it, and it never worked." But he digresses. The refocusing comes with a blink. "Do you think she's being serious? What'd she say?" "You want to handle it on a case to case basis," Farideh acknowledges. "I don't know if she was or wasn't, but she was very vehement and went on, and on, about ignorance, and hypocrisy, and anyone pretending to be helpful but being snotty. I like to think that, perhaps, she was just having a bad day. Still-- I want to know what to do, what to do for you, if it actually happened." T'mic shrugs, relegating that hide to just one hand, and letting it slide down to hang past the hip that's not propped up on the table. "Yeah, I guess. I mean... I don't know, I don't think like there's lots of people whoa re going to try and not do stuff just to not do stuff, but even if there is... well, we got to know why first, don't we?" There's a smile at the end, and the twitch of uncertainty only pulls very faintly at it toward the end. One hand is now free to push his hair back from his face. It does that. "What made her start talking about that in the first place?" "I suppose, but is it even right to ask why? Breaking the rules is breaking the rules, regardless of why you did it, and then--" Farideh stops and chews on her bottom lip, clearly having some kind of inner crisis about reckless behavior vs. punishment. "I was dropping by the kitchen to talk to Aleigha, and Edyis was there, peeling potatoes. She said it was cathartic and I just reminded her to make sure everything else was done first, before she-- sits down to assist and talk with the kitchen staff. She didn't like that." "Yeah, it's wrong," T'mic agrees, quickly, a bit more firmly, "but if I dunno why then I can't make the rules matter and the it's not gonna get better. We need people to be like... to be behind this, you know?" The hide taps at his leg again. A tap of authority, this time, that has a bit of a slapping sound to it. He takes a breath, after that, and closes his eyes. "Maybe the kitchen staff's the only ones right now who haven't seen her suddenly not knowing what to do all the time. And I'm not saying it's right, it's just... you know?" When he looks back to Farideh, he looks tired. "I guess," but Farideh sounds uncertain. "I can understand the need to get away, or to find someplace away from-- all this, but it's just as important that she keeps up with Akluseth, with drills and lessons. She can do that on her own time. She can do that in the evening, not in the middle of the day, when she could be--" She blows out an irritated breath and looks down at her stack of hides. "Will you talk to her? She might listen to you." T'mic closes his eyes again, and takes another deep breath. He also waits for Farideh to finish, before opening those eyes back up. "I'm not saying you're wrong. And I'm not saying she's not." It's a measured calm, that slow talking. "But we've got flaming this month. We're going between soon after. And she's been mad and lost since the hatching." With a bit of a sighing grunt, he braces his hand on the table and pushes himself back to his feet. "I'll talk to her. She can't be that way to you, you know, I know that, I just... want to find a way to work it out so she's not lost lost, by the end of it all, you know? Our job's to lead, not to just... knock down more, right?" The goldrider doesn't look guilty per say, but there's some indefinable quality that makes her look a bit more sad than she had earlier. Silent, Farideh listens, and seems to genuinely consider T'mic's advice; she studies him, on the other side of the table. "I don't know how to do that, T'mic." It's honest, at least. "Thank you. I appreciate it." "Don't know if I know how, either," T'mic admits, the grin that comes up bringing with it a shake of his head, a strange combination of nerves and optimism, especially on the bluerider. "But I gotta try something, especially if maybe she's going to listen to me." The hide is brought up in front of his belly, held by both hands once more. "You should like... listen to how Roszadyth talks to some of the other dragons. How she's talked to Jorrth, since he was real little, it's... I dunno. Nothing wrong with leaning on them if they're good at it. You and me, we got it easy, with her and Jorrth, I think." "Roszadyth doesn't understand that not everyone has the purest of motives, nor will she make the distinction between getting them in trouble and getting ourselves in trouble. I don't want to stay grounded for the remainder of life and-- I'm trying to learn," Farideh responds, one hand rubbing against the back of the opposite arm. "I guess we do." T'mic loses some of the smile on his face. "Well maybe... maybe not always, but when it comes to themselves and their dragons, Farideh? They just have to see how the wing and the Weyr help. That's something that Jorrth knows for sure. And he's pretty smart. Smarter than me." Now there's that affectionate look, that hasn't changed all that much since the first night in the barracks. "We'll work it out," T'mic finishes. And then brandishes that hide as if to excuse himself. "Maybe," is Farideh's morose, automatic answer -- less convinced, still. "We'll work it out." She is in agreement with that part for now, and when he looks like he's going to leave, she gives him a nod and a strained smile, before lowering her head and going back to her own studying; hides on hides on hides. |
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