Logs:Lost in a Weyr
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| RL Date: 1 November, 2015 |
| Who: Quint, Alysce |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint and his apprentices first day at the Weyr. |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
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| Their arrival at High Reaches is inauspicious; by the time they dismount from the dragon kind enough to transport them, and get most of the boxes in, the cold wintry rains have well and truly soaked through clothing meant for the warmer climes of Southern Boll. Quintus spends a bit of time talking with one of the assistant headwoman, and from there they're directed towards the room set aside for him, as well as the apprentice dorms. Once all their things are settled, Quint sticks his head into the apprentice dorms, eyes alight. "Shall we go exploring?" With Ryneton choosing to seek an early night, the twitch of disappointment is brief, before the Journeyman turns inquiring eyes on Alysce. Hair still wet, Alysce has taken the time to change, at least, into something warm and dry, however much the dark pants cling to her legs and the tunic falls off one curved shoulder. She looks up from a piece of hide, black eyes catching her Journeyman's with the slow spread of a smile. "And if we get lost?" she challenges, even as she lets the hide fall from her fingers to land on her desk. She gives one last glance to Ryneton, mouthing something to him where Quint can't see, before she turns on a heel to stride out of their shared room. "If we get lost..." Quintus considers. "I can, at the very least, teach you how to stoke a fire with a couple of sticks, maybe some string. Maybe a flint stone." He snaps his fingers. "Ought to get one before we head off, just in case." He leans back from the doorway as if intending to do that, right now. He might've missed that exchange between his apprentices, given there's no indication in expression that he's seen it. Instead, he lingers, waiting for Alysce to join him in the hall, before he sets off with typical, long stride, setting a good pace to which all previous requests to slow down have fallen on deaf ears. Alysce has long legs, but they are no match for Quint's when she does join him in the hall. "You are going to lose me if you keep walking that fast," she remarks dryly, despite the failure of previous attempts to get him to slow down. "Then what will you write to the Hall? 'Sorry, lost her; good thing I have a spare'?" Despite the newness of her surroundings that is ostensibly the reason for her to join the Journeyman, the young woman behind him is watching him move. His, "You have to step lively to catch all the best things," is an oft-heard, eye-roll-worthy phrase from her Journeyman. Quint holds open the door for her, stepping out into the main area, drawn towards the lounge. "I do have a spare, now," he acknowledges, with a musing smile, glancing over his shoulder. "Seems quiet so far. But we'll talk more tomorrow, I imagine." The energy is not unusual; his pensive expression perhaps moreso, seen in a half-hearted mixture of glow-light. "I like to let things catch me. Don't want to seem too easy," quips Alysce in turn, in the way of someone having saved up just that answer until she could use it. A smile catches at the corner of her mouth, though, as she meets Quint's gaze for a moment. That is, before she drags her gaze away with a toss of black hair to look around the room. "You impress and awe him. He's less quiet with me. Has said, you know, four words instead of two." Quint's known Alysce -- and indeed women in general -- long enough not to step into that trap, ignoring her initial response altogether, in favor of a quick shake of head. "Awe him? I doubt that. It's probably more--" with a gesture, "This place. It is his first out-Hall posting, you know. I'm relying on you to help him with matters of decorum, if needed," he meets her gaze, stern as he can manage -- which isn't overly, not really -- "Hmm," to her latter words, gaze on the hearth with seeming approval. "Well. Mind you don't twist your fingers around him too badly. I'd had to have to write your parents." As would he, though that goes unstated. The curve of Alysce's brow marks that she notices Quint's avoidance, but there's only the hint of a smile more for herself that him. And it reads quite clearly victorious. "I don't think you have to worry about that, but don't worry about taking my word for it," she dismisses lightly. Her gaze slides away, though, as she takes in the cavern around them. "It is a pretty impressive place. Dragonriders and star stones and heights..." Her smile only lingers for all of that. "I'll make sure he doesn't get into too much trouble, but it is a Weyr." "Yes," Quint responds, with a certain weight, "It is," and he stops, turning his body slightly to regard his apprentice anew. "Given this is your first posting to a Weyr, I urge you to discretion, if not caution. You bear the weight of the craft on this," he taps her knot, lightly. A beat of pause, before he adds: "And I'm not your father, but I am responsible for you, and I'd hope not to have to explain to your parents why you're with child, mm?" He gave her, a somewhat less firm talk on her arrival at Boll, too, though this one seems more in earnest. The apprentice draws up straighter where Quint turns to her, at the tap of her knots. Alysce practically murmurs, "No, you're not my father, Quint. If you were my father, you wouldn't care, but you do." And for a moment, she'll seek to hold his gaze, with all the soft surety of a young woman of 18 turns. Her next words are lighter, letting that moment slide away as she says, "Don't worry, sir. I know enough about Weyrs to know how to take care of that particular problem. And anything that I get up to will be mild compared to the stories I've heard." If there's sympathy, it's hidden behind well-schooled, Harper-trained niceties of evenness; Quint merely nods, instead. He, too, avoids the mess that is the strained relationship of a daughter with her father; reaching a hand for her shoulder that is both silent reassurance and guidance, as he resumes walking. "Ah, well," there's amusement in his tone, now, "Many of the stories are both true, and not-true, as are many things in life. I'll own, I found many disappointments as surprises in my first Weyr posting; but I'll not spoil that for you," with a sidelong grin, slowing only to hold open the door to the bowl, where the rain has relented to a constant, if lighter, patter. "No? No stories about what a young Quint got up to in a Weyr full of young women?" A beat, before Alysce adds lightly, "Or men?" She stops just inside the bowl, careless of the fall of rain that already catches at her dry outfit as she takes in her second look at the massive range of stone surrounding them, of the dragons coming and going. "Tell me, at least, something. Are you happy to be back at a Weyr?" "And destroy the scant amount of authority in moral superiority I have over you? I wouldn't dare," comes Quint's smoothly quipped response. He stops only a step past her, on the outside away from the wall, a conscious choice that protects her from some, but certainly not all, of the wind-blown rain. He makes an interpretable noise at her latter query, reaching out a hand for her arm to pull her to movement. "You pick the worst times for deep questions, Alysce. I'd think you even do it deliberately, ofttimes." He's seeking the shelter of the overhand that leads into the inner caverns, not nearly so fascinated by the dragons as she. Only once there, does he allow, "I did rather enjoy the warmth of Ista Weyr, and the warmth of the people. Plus, it is far easier to beg travel to gathers all over, with so many riders going and coming. Staying under the rader so as not to be roped into a session or two with the local harpers -- ahh, now that's the trick of it." A laugh slips past Alysce's lips, letting herself get pulled and picking up her own pace for once to quickly fall in next to Quint. "Warmth of the people. If that isn't already destroying your moral superiority... Well." She smiles up at him, a bright, quick thing as tosses wet hair again. "Did you ever try for a dragon? While you were at Ista?" She casts one last glance over her shoulder to the dragons in the bowl, before the tunnel to the caverns blots them from view. "Never," Quint replies, with a surety, his hand dropping from his apprentice's arm as they reach the relative dryness of the caverns. "I'd not for a second want to give up my craft." He glances sidelong, at Alysce, noting the look back over her shoulder. "There's two clutches on the sands, right now. If you're thinking of it, I'd urge you to give it serious thought. You'd be giving up Turns of training, and there's no going back." He makes it clear what his wish for her would be, by the stern-for-him words, though his gaze drifts from her as they reach the commons cavern, pausing near the entrance to watch the goings on, the activity of the residents as they bustle around their business. "If you'd miss me, Quint, you just have to say it," Alysce teases, but he's earned her attention back with a quick look over the activity before it settles on the Journeyman even as he looks away. "You don't have to pretend that I am going to be some great addition to the craft one day, even under your tutelage. Maybe I would be a better addition to a Weyr." To his credit, Quint keeps his gaze and attention elsewhere for moments longer. "And maybe you'd be a worse dragonrider, Alysce," he says, when he finally matches her gaze. "You haven't yet found your passion, your verve, but that doesn't mean you won't find it. I have every confidence in my abilities," his lips twitch with barely suppressed mirth, that vanishes a moment later. After a few beats, he gives voice to the thoughts that tempers the humor: "Whose to say that another Comet Pass won't happen, all unexpected?" Alysce's chin tips in a hint of a stubborn gesture, challenging, but it only softens at his question. She murmurs an almost agreeable, for her, sentiment of, "I doubt I'd ever make it through weyrlinghood, even. I've heard the stories about it." She shrugs up a shoulder, happy enough to let the subject go as she questions, "So, where to next? Just pick a tunnel and go?" Quint, apparently, seems content enough with that answer, at least for now. "Ought to use your time here to get the stories from the source, if nothing else. Consider that your first assignment." He does so love those as teaching supplements, normally requiring tiring, long, and dull conversations with many people. "Ought to be a classroom, somewhere around here. We should -- ahh, good lady," he beckons the attention of a fast-paced older woman, who gives him a careful looking over and a not-so-subtle smile in return, "Would you tell us which way to the classroom?" She points, wordlessly, to a door, and then after a moment, resumes her fast walk. "Thank you, dear lady," the harper calls after her, gesturing for Alysce to precede him. Alysce's breath is exhaled in a sign in anticipation of the dull assignment, muttering half to herself, "So that everyone can know exactly the lives that weyrlings live? I don't think anyone cares outside of the Weyrs and they already know." She likely already knows how fruitless her words are, however, since she doesn't press the point further than that before she sets off ahead of Quint towards the door. Especially since she adds over her shoulder, "I'll start with the candidates." "Not everyone," Quint corrects, adroitly. "Just you. And probably Ryneton, too," his newest apprentice is, after all, still an afterthought. With a shrug of shoulders, "As you like," for her intention to interrogate the candidates first, "Although I imagine they have the least idea of all," he's saying, with somewhat of an amused smile, stepping in after Alysce. He's height on her, so he can see over her, surveying the room with an apparent grunt of what seems to be acceptance. "Good set up. I'd expect no less of Journeyman Kharven -- I've heard quite a bit about him." "It'll be interesting then to compare what they think it will be like to what it actually is," counters Alysce with a shrug of her shoulder. She moves further into the room only to hop up onto one of the desks, sitting on it's surface and leaning her weight against the palms of her hands as she looks to Quint. "Yeah? Must be a reason, still, that you've been sent to replace him." "He's been here over eight Turns. Like as not they're recalling him to the Hall to promote him," it's Quint's first guess, anyway, though not substantiated by fact necessarily. He leans to strum one of the gitars hanging up on the wall, wincing at the off-note C. "I think you ought to take on more teaching duties yourself, while you're here," he decides, all of a sudden, with a look back towards Alysce. Alysce makes her own wince, not for that off-note that seems to slip right past her but rather the Journeyman's suggestion. "I don't want to deal with whiney, snot-nosed little brats running around and unable to sit still through a single teaching song. And the older classes won't take me seriously," she points out so reasonably, her lips curving into a smile just for Quint. "What if I promise to step up my composing? I'll devote more time to writing..." "This isn't a negotiation, you know," Quint points out, reproachfully. "Your parents bid me to help you find a specialty that suited you, and I mean to. Otherwise," he spreads his hands, "You'll be stuck with me for who-knows-how-long." The jest is given lightly, hands dropping to his side. "There's something to be said for uncomfortable situations teaching you more than the comfortable. I'd say we put it into practice. I'll give you a week to come up with a lesson plan, and if I approve, you'll take the younger class under my supervision." "And if you don't approve of any lesson plan I come up with?" challenges Alysce with a tip of her chin and a slow smile, those dark eyes sliding down Quint and then back up again to meet his. "Whose to say I mind being stuck with you?" "Then you'll do aught else, night and day, until I do approve." Quintus apparently thinks that's sufficient deterrent for an extrovert, and more than enough to provide incentive. An easy smile answers the latter, as he moves over to lean on the desk next to the one she's chosen. "Because your parents bid me look after you, and you," he leans over with the intention of bopping her lightly on the nose, "Are exactly the sort of child who wants to do the opposite of whatever your parents say, for attention." Alysce's nose wrinkles at being booped, followed quickly by the lift of one challenging brow to the Journeyman. Instead of agreeing, however, she tells him sharply, "In case you haven't noticed, Quint, I'm not a child anymore." "I'd noticed," Quint says, without a hint of dryness to his tone, "Everyone is, forever, still their parent's child," the harper observes with a mixture of humor and wryness. "Didn't you see the way my mother practically shoved those knitted jumpers onto me when we were at Southern Boll? The way she fussed after my sister, worried about her virtue, as if she weren't old enough to have three of her own children? Frankly," he releases a breath, "I'm glad they chose to stay south for the warmth. I love them, but Faranth," he shakes his head in a mixture of fondness and consternation. Something is murmured under Alysce's breath at that, but she doesn't press the issue. Instead, she tosses her hair again even as she says, "Well, they'll at least come in handy. I didn't think it'd be so shelling cold up here. We'll have to get a ride back to Boll soon, if just so I can update my wardrobe." She spares a look around the classroom, frowning, before she adds, "At least as a reward after I get my first lesson plan." "Not too soon," is murmured in turn by Quint, a little fervently. "But yes, we ought." Familial obligations, are, after all, something the harper seems to take seriously, for all that he jests of the way his mother babies her children. With a wry shake of his head: "Knowledge ought to be its own reward, Alysce." He straightens, heading for the door. "Maybe when you can teach a younger class without showing all over your face that you hate the," he pauses, echoes her phrasing precisely and deliberately: "Whiney, snot-nosed little brats, I'll consider it." "I'm sure there are any number of young bronzeriders willing to take me if you aren't," Alysce calls with teasing humor to the retreating Journeyman. "After all, as you said, it's easy to get rides around here, isn't it?" She moves to stand, though, clearly intending to follow him from the classroom rather than linger in it. With a hand on the doorknob, Quintus stops, turns, and gives her a bland look devoid of his usual geniality. "Of course, you could.," he allows, "But word gets around, as they say -- especially in a Weyr -- and then I'll know I can't trust you." He turns the knob, pushes the door, holding it open for her as she moves to follow. "I'll leave that choice to you, since you are -- as you've pointed out -- no longer a child." Alysce's gaze rakes over Quint in a sharper study, pausing in the doorway to turn to the man. She only ends up with a long moment of silence before she tells him quietly, "You can trust me. I will do what you ask, and as soon as you think it's time..." She doesn't finish that sentence, but it isn't without a sharp edge before she turns on a heel to stride out ahead of him. She doesn't wait to follow him further. The nod Quint gives her is approving, silent, though blue eyes track her, before he moves to follow her. The rest of their tour takes them to the all-important bathing area, the resident's common lounge, and finally the living caverns. By now, it's late enough that it's sparsely populated, and after a quick walk around to get a lay of the land, he finally directs them back towards the crafter's area, and their new beds. |
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