Logs:Illusions vs. Reality
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| RL Date: 16 October, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Pia, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Jocelyn tell Pia how it really is. |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, R'vel/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions |
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| Word about the barracks is that Niahvth's eggs could hatch in mere days, and although Pia's not had the anticipatory waiting period of some of her compatriots, it certainly doesn't mean she hasn't taken up their mantle of excitement. This afternoon, the perky brunette has brought her sketching materials into the galleries with her, and draws the clutches-- and the queens-- with precise, if not especially artistic strokes of her pencil. She's taken up a position towards the very bottom of the tiers, cross-legged with her drawing board resting upon her knees, that pencil often (so often) slipping towards her mouth as she stares, so very intent, down at the sands. Days? Hours? Minutes? Who knows! It doesn't disrupt Farideh's day -- from the usual busy hours the goldrider keeps to her occasional drop-ins at the galleries to check in on Roszadyth and her eggs. That's what she's doing now presumably, showing up with a stack of paperwork tucked against her chest with one arm. She does her usual counting of the eggs, in their entirety, before she makes for the bottom row of benches. "Afternoon," she greets Pia specifically, her gaze casually taking in the other girl and her artistic pursuits. "Drawing?" Overemphasized, perhaps; which could be taken for irritation. Not that she looks particularly annoyed as she takes a seat, setting her things on the bench beside her. It isn't a secret that Jocelyn's relieved herself of headwoman duties while wearing a candidate's knot; it also isn't a secret that she's hard-pressed not to say something when someone's area is less than tidy in the barracks, or that she still ends up halfway to Jounine's office on some mornings before correcting her path toward what's been assigned to her on the day's duty roster. Whether she requested to be given this afternoon's particular assignment or not, she's seated some distance and a row or two up from Pia, sorting through folds of white cloth with a generous supply of needle and thread at hand, brow furrowed with focus. Categorization of the candidate robes is managed quickly and with familiarity; here, a pile at her feet for those with mendable tears; there, next to the first pile, a grouping of robes that are clearly past their prime. And there's another, smaller stack still, clumped unceremoniously next to her: these, apparently, mostly pass muster since they're hardly attended post-placement. Pale eyes lift every now and then to glance down at Pia, then to follow Farideh's progress into her field of view. There's a nod for the latter before her head ducks down to assess the remainder of her basket's contents, emerging a moment later with a low sound which could certainly indicate irritation (and it does). Seconds! It could totally be seconds, and then Pia would be right here to meet her destiny (or not). And Jocelyn too! That might be the reason for the conspiratorial smile she gives the other candidate (irritation or no irritation) in passing as, with the sound of Farideh's approach, she glances up and back from her position. Her eyes widen with apparent pleasure as she recognises(?) the goldrider and says, with bright, earnest enthusiasm, "Oh yes. I'm better with less artistic things, in truth, but I just couldn't help myself. They're not at all what I expected, somehow, and I do feel I have to keep a record of it, especially if my dragon is out there in one of those eggs... though perhaps I won't even know which egg. Do you think I might? Weyrwoman?" Unlike Jocelyn, she's not visibly performing any task... though there is a basket on the bench alongside her, its contents carefully matched into sock-y pairs. "Do I think you might? Have a dragon in one of those eggs? I surely don't know. It could be any of them-- Niahvth's or Roszadyth's or-- none at all." What an optimist! So cheerful! Farideh doesn't say it with any genuine ill will, but she's quickly glancing back to Pia, and then up, to Jocelyn. "For either of you, or neither of you, or-- but, you can always hope. Perhaps that sickly yellow egg might be yours Pia, and that-- gray one, over there, yours, Jocelyn." She gestures vaguely to the eggs on the sands, and then grabs the set of clipped papers on the top of her stack, which she promptly flips through. "Do either of you have a preference? Either way?" Hazel eyes lift again, to mark each girl in turn, minor interest evident. If it were seconds, they'd at least have their pick of the robes. And yet, Pia's conspiratorial smile is met with a raised eyebrow and a flat look before Jocelyn's attention returns to the stitches whipping cleanly into the fabric gathered in her lap - which is where it stays, to all appearances, save for the cynical snort that escapes her in the wake of the other's ebullience. "I prefer to be useful, " the redhead replies nonchalantly after some moments, leaning forward slightly to briefly scan what's visible of the two clutches before returning her attention to the other women. "I'd take the gray over that sallow one, I suppose, if I had to end up with something. At least it's - neutral." Perhaps that isn't quite the answer that Farideh's question was attempting to elicit, but it seems to be the only one Joce is interested in providing, eyebrows lifting expectantly as she glances at Pia. "And I suppose you'd want that cheerful pink-looking one that's sometimes visible out there." Not quite a question. A single disapproving look is bent on Jocelyn and then shifts to Pia. "Roszadyth thinks they're all lovely," Farideh points out to them both. "Quickly-- very quickly. You might not see which ones they are, but I'm sure someone will. I might. You can always compare notes later with the other weyrlings to see if they saw which one that it was. Does it matter though? Which one it comes from?" She sets the clipped papers in her lap -- a set of notes with fabric swatches and threads -- but her eyes remain transfixed between the two candidates. "I think everyone experiences it differently. It depends on you. It depends on the dragon. Roszadyth was-- it was wonderful, in that moment. I was filled with so much love, then," she explains, glancing away to the queen in question, "but the hard work starts very soon. Cutting meat and oiling and the near constant hunger. You feel it all." Jocelyn rolls her eyes as she finishes off one robe and moves it to the stack of others deemed acceptable, plucking the next one to be mended up onto her lap. "I've gathered it isn't necessarily add water, stir, instant best friend for everyone involved, " but any further snark she may offer is channeled instead into neatly repairing this robe's neckline, if the basic enough hole can be called such. Stitch, stitch, poke and there's a wince for the sting of the needle before she continues. Pia's, "Probably not," is at least more grounded than many of her meandering thoughts, but it's still irrepressibly cheerful. "It just seems like it would be lovely to know, to remember what it was like before they hatched, but have that connection." Jocelyn's poor attitude does not seem to bother her in the slightest; indeed, it's as if Pia feels she must make up for it: more enthusiasm! 'I don't mind the work, not at all. It will-- would!-- be worth it, I just know it." "That's why I said it depends on the person and the dragon. Not every dragon is the same. Not every rider is the same. Some personalities conflict, some complement. You can't ever predict what will or won't happen." The look Farideh gives Jocelyn is clearly displeased, but Pia, with her enthusiasm, doesn't earn a smile either. "As the eggs get harder, candidates will be able to touch the eggs. You'll be able to get to know them-- intimately-- soon." If Jocelyn's stitches get a little faster-paced and closer together, at least she'll finish with the robes that much faster, right? "I heard that it becomes nearly impossible to remember all of before, after, " is offered evenly some minutes later, but she can't quite mask the keen flash of interest that briefly lights up her expression as Farideh shares that they'll get to encounter the eggs up close and personal soon. "Always interesting, " comments the fourth-timer, swapping robes from one pile to another again, "if my memory serves. I'm sure you'll enjoy that ... ?" And there's an expectant glance for Pia, perhaps a tacit request to supply her name. Pia's exaggerated, over-joyed smile goes a long way to confirming that, yes, she will enjoy that enormously. "Pia," she provides for Jocelyn's benefit, lifting a hand so that she can waggle fingers at the other candidate; like a wave, but not. "Journeyman Starsmith, and hopefully rider-mapmaker extraordinare, in a turn or so. That's the plan, anyway. Will Roszadyth mind us getting close?" "You might, but likely-- you will not. If you Impress, whether you get along with your dragon or not, it's still a big moment. Everything else will be overshadowed by that." Farideh stares dispassionately at the robes Jocelyn is working on, and then, finally, gives Pia a half-smile. "A future craftrider, and here, we just minted Tundra." Her expression evening, the weyrwman nods. "Roszadyth does not mind. She's happy to show off her eggs, if it hasn't been obvious," comes wry. "Niahvth is, likewise, very easy going." "Journeyman Pia, " and Jocelyn almost manages not to sound surprised, almost. "A craftrider extraordinaire, in a turn. Very ambitious, considering that part of that is largely dependent on a gamble being successful in your favor." With a shrug, the older candidate neatly bundles the robes back into her basket, hefting it up in both hands with some effort once it's full again. "If you Impress and become this dragonrider-mapmaker, I'll look forward to hearing if it was everything you expected it to be." With her arms occupied, she has to give brief nods in farewell as she begins making her way out of the galleries, perhaps in search of solitude to complete her task. It's only now, in the face of Jocelyn's remarks about her new-found vocation, that Pia's joy falters; she frowns, and it changes the whole demeanour of her face. At a loss-- if only briefly-- she glances back at Farideh, mouth open but, for once, no words coming out. Surprise propels Farideh's eyebrows upwards, but she's silent throughout Jocelyn's farewell speech. "You shouldn't take that seriously," the goldrider says, impassive eyes watching the exit. "Jocelyn is always a little--" One shoulder lifts in a shrug, and then the corners of her mouth, too. "If you Impress, you chose an opportune time to do so. I am positive that R'vel and K'del both have high hopes for the future of the craft wing. To have a starsmith? It must be a dream." "I--" Pia is buoyed, at least, by Farideh's words, that smile returning to her expression, and lighting up her eyes. "I hope so," is what she settles on. "Truly. It wasn't anything I ever considered, but... it makes sense, doesn't it? To make maps is so much simpler when you have transport, and... my Masters were enthusiastic. It was more than I could have expected. So--" She glances back at those sands, those eggs. "I do hope my lifemate is there. But if not, I will work with dragonriders nonetheless, and I will make my maps." "No?" Farideh looks astonished again, but this time her gaze travels over the starcrafter with slow scrutiny. "What made you decide on it now? After-- everything? After-- coming so far in your craft, when you could have stood any other time?" Pia is oblivious to the scrutiny, now, and instead shines with enthusiasm. "I was asked," she prompt. "I was so frustrated with now slow it was, to get the work I needed to do done. And then Edyis came along, and-- she offered opportunity, and I just knew, suddenly, that this was the way to get everything done. All of it, and not just the little bits that people are happy to fund expeditions for. I want to map all the islands; I want to remap everything. It's going to be my life's work." "I suppose I can see how that would be frustrating, and I'm surprised no one has thought of it before. We have other, former starsmiths, now riders, I believe. Though, Tunda is new, but the idea of map--" Farideh cants her head towards Pia, her smile suddenly sad. "It might speak to how truly busy riderhood can be. If your dragon even-- goes along with it." It's not the most positive answer that could be given, but she at least strives at honesty. "I hope for your sake it goes all the right ways. And if not-- as you say, you will work with riders regardless." That Pia cannot conceive of her dragon not understanding her passion is plainly written in her expression: her eyes widen, her mouth opening ever so slightly. "Oh no," she says. "No, I can't believe that would happen. Any dragon that could love me, and want me would have to understand. I can't possibly believe anything else... that would just be awful, and I won't even consider it. It will be in my thoughts, when I'm on the sands, so the dragon will know." It works like that, right?! Now, something shifts in the goldrider's expression that makes her look less sad, less sympathetic. "If you Impress, you have no control over who your dragon is. He or she might hate everything that you love. Love you, but your interests-- there are people you can talk to for clarity. Not everyone gets along with their lifemate. I do believe Edyis has had some issues in the past with Akluseth. Since you're already acquainted-- you should ask how that works." Good natured Pia plainly struggles with this concept, her mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. "Oh," is what she settles on, if highly pitched enough to suggest it's not that far off hysterical; as if she's having sudden second thoughts about all of this, even if her smile is undaunted. Abruptly, she throws herself to her feet. "Excuse me!" But at least she manages to pick up the basket beside her, and hold on to her drawing board, before she hurtles herself away, helter-skelter. One or two socks may fall victim to violent seas, but... oh well. "You're--" It's hard not to laugh, but Farideh manages it, though her eyes keep following the haphazard movements of the candidate. "Goodbye, Pia." Socks are the least of her worries. Likely, someone will come by and pick them up, given time and motivation. |
Comments
Squishy (22:07, 16 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
I love little miss sunshine in between the pessimists. The contrast is so much fun!
Faryn (09:45, 17 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Aw, now I'm thinking of all the things that might happen to Pia. Her dragon hates maps. Her dragon navigates like a husband on a road trip. Her dragon is just a big butt head.
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