Logs:Just Decisions
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| RL Date: 1 January, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn invites K'del for a walk so that she can ask questions. |
| Where: Lake Shore, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ellerey/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Leova/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Aidavanth doesn't often reach out to Cadejoth outside of sharing mutual, social exchanges, so the feeling of her presence focusing in on him to deliver a polite, brief message may be a little unexpected not long after High Reaches begins its day. Jocelyn, it seems, would like to pencil herself into K'del's schedule, if he's available for a chat in the afternoon. It's a later, almost early-evening hour that the weyrling names, and she's midway through walking a steady circuit around the lake when the appointed time arrives. Hands linked behind her back, she doesn't exactly appear to be lost in thought despite the meandering nature of her path; the set of her shoulders is stiff, even if the look she sends toward the weyr proper every now and then is an even one. It is unexpected, but that by no means makes it unwelcome: Cadejoth's delighted to pass on the message with a rattle of chain and bone, and delighted, too, to return an answer in the affirmative. His rider is always happy to make time for Aidavanth's (or so he implies). K'del's just a little late, crossing the bowl at a long, loping pace in his haste, visible at distance. That he's identified Jocelyn from afar is patently obvious in the lifted hand he offers; once he's in ear-shot, his apologetic, "B'ren wanted a word; sorry, Jocelyn." And, also: "Afternoon." Hi. During one of her glances away from the landscape, Jocelyn espies that lifted hand and offers one in return, chin dipping into a short nod for his apology once he's within conversational range. "K'del, " is exchanged casually for his hello, head canting briefly in the direction of the water as she resumes her path along the shore, if slower than previously with an expectant look: join her? "Thanks for making some time. I was going to ask if we could do this last seven, but, " wryness twists briefly at her features, her tone, "things got unexpectedly busier once I discovered that Ellerey and I are leading Flurry this month." Pale eyes momentarily track the patterns created by the breezes that pass here and there over the lake, brow puckering a little afterward. On the tail end of a breath, "Leova suggested that I bring my questions on leadership to you, specifically what you feel I should learn from how it was with Tiriana." And if there's a little wrinkle of her nose for Iovniath's, well - perhaps the best impression wasn't made then, even to a young weyrbrat. K'del angles his path to fall in alongside Jocelyn, matching her stride-for-stride. His huff of an exhale is amused, and clearly in response to her comments on wingleadership. It's not until she's explained herself, mentioned Tiriana, that his expression changes; a wrinkle of his nose, and an exhale, too. "You mean: what it was like, working with someone who hated me? Or what was it like working with Tiriana, specifically, when she was as... complicated as she was. How much do you remember about what she was like?" "I'd think Leova meant something along the lines of 'how not to be a weyrwoman like Tiriana, ' but I could be completely off." Jocelyn, drily. "We were discussing gold influence and learning when not to apply it." Her lips purse, followed by a longer, more audible exhale. "I remember a little, mostly that no one really seemed to like her. How did you manage to work so closely with someone who - disliked you?" To put it mildly. K'del chews at his lip, acknowledging the parameters of the conversation with a dip of his chin. "You do what you have to," he says. "The ideal... you want a solid working relationship. Mutual respect, with a willingness to disagree where it matters, but the ability to negotiate, compromise, all of that." He exhales, then, running his fingers through the curls that are beginning to grow out, shaggy, atop his head. "She was difficult. She wanted her way; she made a lot of unilateral decisions. Think it was a defensive mechanism, though: she lashed out to show her power. Which is... one way to lead, but maybe not the most effective one." The face Jocelyn makes is no doubt sufficient to convey her immediate reaction as she listens, expression shading thoughtful by the time K'del's finished. "I get the sense that knowing her people must not have been a priority." And perhaps that's something that is to this native goldrider-in-training, who passes the next few minutes silently. Then, practically: "I know that I might never have to make decisions on the same level that you and Irianke do, but I need to have some understanding of what that's like - in case I ever have to. You've been Weyrleader, " more or less, "for as long as I can remember. History records that you've made some difficult choices; common sense shows us that making the just, fair decisions statistically won't always win you the popular opinion, even if putting the needs of the weyr above the needs of one or a few people ultimately is what's best." If there's a question in there somewhere, it's nebulous and not-quite-formed. "I suppose I'm asking if you've any advice to offer when it comes to those types of scenarios." The dismissive huff of K'del's breath clearly conveys that he agrees with Jocelyn's summation, though he doesn't comment further than that. He listens, when she speaks again; silently focusing his attention upon his feet as he puts one in front of the other, around the edges of the lake. "Ah," is what he says, finally. And, "No. No, it won't. It often won't. That's been... it's one of the hardest parts about leading. Making decisions that you think are best, even when they upset people, and then... having to deal with repercussions from it. The thing is, no one will ever agree with all of your decisions. People'll judge you forever, in some cases, and sometimes especially because they are looking back with the benefit of hindsight." None of that is advice; he seems, at the end of it, to have failed to realise that, thoughts trailing out into nothing. "I've had to make my peace with being judged, " and Jocelyn's resigned to that fact, says the glance she sends his way as they continue their walk. "Who's to say that their hindsight will necessarily lead them to a solution that's actually more along the lines of what they wanted? Anyone can look back at a situation after seeing the consequences of an action and say of course, of course they would or wouldn't have done exactly what we chose to do, knowing now what the results would be." 'We' being, perhaps, those for whom the mantle of leadership isn't an option that can be passed to another. At some length, she elects to shift the subject. "Whatever people, records, anyone might say about whether or not Aidavanth was supposed to happen, I know that there's a reason she did. I'm not naive enough to suppose that I'd have been anyone's first choice even if we had known that Roszadyth had clutched her in advance - but I was hers, " which, really, is the only choice that counts. "And this is my home. Our home. Learning to be the best stewards that we can is important to both of us, so thanks for your reflections." She, at least, seems cognizant of the lack of direct advice, but doesn't seem bothered by it. "Right," agrees K'del. "So... the important thing is always to make sure that you have done the very best you can. And not to dwell too much on the things you regret, later, though sometimes that's more difficult than it ought to be. More than that, too, it's learning from your own mistakes." Now, he's as much talking to himself as to Jocelyn, though he does break off from that train of thought to say, firmly serious: "Don't for a moment thing you're not welcome, Jocelyn. Or that anyone regrets your Impression. You're right; Aidavanth was clutched and hatched to be yours, and the fact that you're doing what you can to learn... that is an important thing. Point is, all anyone can expect is that you do your best." Jocelyn's gaze briefly turns in the direction of their ledges, eyes more gray than blue when they flick back to the bronzerider and sharper, on the heels of another nod. "I'd prefer as few mistakes as possible. Preferably far between each other, and nothing resulting in a situation that's completely irreparable." It's more realistic than a fuller expression of her inner perfectionist, at any rate, and the wry curve of a half-smile she gives suggests that she's aware that her own nature is hardly a well-kept secret. "We'll both do our best, " as if anything less could be expected of this particular dragonpair. More carefully, "Farideh mentioned that you said, at some point, that there may come a time when three golds will be one too many. From a numbers standpoint, I suppose, " grudgingly, "that it's a sensible notion. Don't expect me to see it that way in here, " and her thumb jabs briefly at her chest, voice tighter, but at least still polite enough, by the time she concludes. K'del laughs, a low but genuine sound; "As few mistakes as possible. Right. You'll be fine, Jocelyn. You'll get there." His smile is narrow, but still warm-- he does seem to mean it, despite the ruefulness that's still so-evident in his expression. Of the rest, however, there's an exhale. "No," he agrees. "Don't expect you to, either. I never could, and I wasn't even born here. Can't promise that you won't get sent somewhere, Jocelyn. Can't promise that Farideh won't. Can't promise half a wing of riders won't end up at Telgar next seven. That's one of the things that happens, when you agree to Stand. You agree to that, too. You no longer have control over your fate, not the way other people do. So I can't say something to make it better; can't promise it won't happen. Know it sucks, but there it is." "I'd respect you less if you said you could make those promises, " Jocelyn says after some minutes, stance gradually easing into something not quite as tight. "The hardest part of all of this is learning to accept what I can't control about how I must be, where I might have to go, what I might have to do." Perhaps K'del's words were helpful on some level, nonetheless, for she's passably warmer in her subsequent, "I suppose I should start working on putting together my part of the report on today's drills before dinner. Thanks, K'del. For your time. If you're also heading back ... " There's an expectant look for that last, even as she pauses to see if he intends to follow suit once she's several steps nearer the path back to the weyr proper. "That's been one of the hard things for me, too. There's a lot of things you can't control: how other people see you, how they act. You are the one thing in life you can control; that's it." K'del's wry in saying that, but shakes it off, turning a more rueful smile towards the goldrider. "Of course," he agrees. "We can walk together. You'll ask, if anything else comes up, I hope." "I shall, " the redhead says simply, resuming her trek toward the busier part of the bowl. "How's your family?" And so goes her side of the conversation as they head back, an affable enough series of lighter, easier questions that have very little to do with duty. They conclude, eventually, with a polite wish for a good evening once it comes time for them to part ways, even if the weyrling's forehead is wrinkled into a distinctive frown by the time she makes it back into her weyr. |
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