Logs:Loyalties
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| RL Date: 16 July, 2016 |
| Who: Quint, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The harper and Weyrlingmaster discuss the loyalties within a Weyr and without. |
| Where: Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 41 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Mirinda/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, C'lar/Mentions, Kyouri/Mentions, Edyis/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions |
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| The weather is pleasantly warm down Monaco way, enough so that Quint has rolled back the sleeves of his shirt with a neatness and precision that's probably taken him some time. He's seated on one of the stools by the bar nearest to the beach -- there's no drink to hand, but the barmaid doesn't seem to mind -- they're chatting easily while locals pass back and forth. Olivya is either late or Quint is early, and likely some combination of both, because Ivraeth is only now popping into the air above Monaco with a happy trill to the watchdragon in announcement. It is obvious that here, not Fort, is the dragon's true home; there are even male dragons that quickly look up to the sleek, darkly, dangerously pretty dragon in expectation for what her presence here might mean. Indeed, she joins them rather quickly as soon as her rider has dismounted, settling on the beach with one whirled gaze lingering on the man at the bar. But if the green has any intention of rising soon given the hopes of those males that crowd her, she doesn't show it now as Olivya makes her way to the bar. She, at least, is ignoring any attention thrown her way as she shrugs out of her bright, red leather jacket. It is thrown neatly over an empty stool as she slides to claim the one beside Quint, greeting him with a light, "Hopefully I didn't make you wait long. She insisted on a fresh oiling before she'd let us come." There's laughter over by the bar, before the barmaid grins, and nods in Olivya's direction; Quint turns to watch her approach. He watches, too, the other attention she gets, though his expression is easy enough as he glances back to the barmaid, who is already pouring a glass of something cold to set in front of the now-Fortian greenrider. "Not long," Quint assures her, "The local Journeyman and I had lots to go over, but he got called away to some dispute. And," with a chuckle, "It's far from an unpleasant wait." "Thank you, darling," Olivya offers warmly to the barmaid as she picks up her drink, her smile an easy thing on her lips as she takes one long sip. "Good. It's nice to see you with your sleeves rolled up, so to speak, every once in a while." She tugs gently at one of those cuffed sleeves after she's returned her glass to the bar, turning on the stool to transfer her attention fully to Quint. The breeze off the ocean picks up blonde curls, the sun and scent doing enough to soften the edges of the Weyrlingmaster immediately, enough that she is ignoring a man at a far table that has started to tell a story that involves some gestures her way. "I heard about the deal between Monaco and High Reaches. High Reaches isn't short Candidates, is it? For a brown-caught junior flight?" Quint makes a wry little face in response to that remark, not quite able to hide that he checks that she hasn't undone his oh-so-neat handiwork with that tug. The barmaid doesn't bring him a drink, but he doesn't seem uncomfortable as he watches the greenrider drink hers, content with the momentary silence. Her latter question earns a shift of posture, tone taking on a harper-like cadence, perhaps inadvertently: "I'm not privy to the minds of goldriders, though I'd imagine it's a step to heal the rift between Weyrs more than any need. It likely helps that Monaco's Weyrleader is Reachian." "Unless it goes badly, then it's likely to leave one or both of you worse off," Olivya replies quietly, consideringly. As he checks, he only earns a buried smile from the greenrider and another tap of her fingers against his sleeve, but she resists any urge to untidy him that the gesture might bring. "I imagine there are already riders grumbling about sending more Monacoan Candidates away again by two weyrleaders that are neither Monacoan, even if none of them would ever get the chance to stand here. But those voices never consider the logic of it." Bright, blue eyes slide over him for the posture change, but she only picks up her drink again and leans back against the bar. "That's always a risk in any exchange," Quint replies, with a smile, "Yet one has to take the risk to advance a relationship." When she taps his sleeve again, he gives her a muted, wry look that might be warning, or something else. "I hadn't realized how strong the sentiment was about not having a Monacoan leader until I came here." He's silent for a beat or two, thinking about it, perhaps, when he says: "You miss this place, don't you?" "Like I miss air in my lungs," Olivya answers in a simple murmur, only allowing herself to dwell on that for a moment, two before she drowns it down with another long sip of her cold drink. "And they had their Monacoan leader only for her to be sent north, almost alone, to displace a Fortian leader. And Fort still wants their own, and High Reaches has settled in with their Igen senior and a junior that has Monacoan blood running through her." The play of a dry smile tugs at her lips, and the Weyrlingmaster glances to her knot, away from Quint as she continues, "Why do we hold on to these at all? Is it because it matters to the dragons or because we have to have something to be exclusive on?" Quint's gaze continues to study the Weyrlingmaster. "Why don't you come back? Your Weyrwoman seems well settled, with her own Fortian Weyrleader -- I haven't heard much unrest about it lately -- and they at least have their own Fortian junior still. I'm sure she wouldn't begrudge you your own wishes." He follows her gaze to her knot, lips twitching. "With your experience, I'm sure you could find something here," he gestures wide, as if to encompass the Weyr itself. The harper shakes his head after a moment. "I'm not rightly sure. I've observed the sentiment all over Pern. Granted -- it occurs in Holds too, with the Blooded. There's still unrest about Lord Devaki, even though he's proven High Reaches Blood. Maybe... people just want to believe that things would be different, better if the people they've decided are theirs are in charge." A laugh is exhaled slowly at the gesture, at his words, even as Olivya shakes her head slowly. She answers, "Oh, Journeyman, you have no idea. There's nothing I can do here that is anything like what I can do at Fort. Without even Rin--." She doesn't continue, only holding an empty hand in a gesture before she reaches for her drink again. "Something better." A pause. "Yeah, that's what we all want to believe in, isn't it?" "A lot's changed since were last here. The entire leadership -- if I'm to understand it -- the entire atmosphere." One gets the feeling that Quint wasn't just exchanging information on the candidate exchange with the local harper. When Olivya reaches for the glass, the harper reaches out to meet her hand, fingers resting over the back of her hand to stay the gesture. "It could be. You could influence what Monaco could, and might become. That's something." "Quint, you don't know anything about it. But you're right, the entire leadership has changed," agrees Olivya, a bitter smile catching at her lips. "And anyone who would ever take me seriously doesn't have any power here." She pauses, falling silent for a moment with a flicked look over to a nearby table of riders before transferring her attention back to Quint, before asking, "Or didn't you know that I was sleeping with M'kris? And Mirinda, too, of course. My wingleader-- That one is true, but I was stupid and young." She shakes her head, simply. "No. And if Kyouri and C'lar are smart, they wouldn't let me transfer back at all if I asked, given my public allegiance to Fort's Weyrwoman." "Maybe I don't," Quint allows, with a shift of gaze, "But maybe I know people." He falls silent throughout her litany of names, expression fixed in that harper look that conveys an easy neutrality and little of his reaction. He's silent for a few moments after. "What they could use is riders with allegiance to them, if you were willing to offer that." "I can't offer them that. Not over Rin. Not when I'm one of the voices that still hurts that we lost our Weyrwoman to Fort, that they came and broke us," murmurs Olivya in answer, practically dropped to a whisper given where they are. And surrounded by her clutchmates and siblings and blood, Ivraeth stills on the beach, holding for a moment then two before she resumes stretching against a lovely blue. The harper falls silent, other than the breath of his exhale. He waves towards the barmaid, indicating Olivya's glass -- the woman refills it adroitly before disappearing to serve someone else. "Liv," Quint finally says, "You aren't the same person as when you left here. You aren't without power, without agency." Another beat. "Your Weyrwoman is lucky to have you." Olivya nods, simply, but it's the last words that have her quirking a quick grin. "You should tell her; I think she's tired of me saying it," she counters lightly, deftly trying to turn the conversation away. Just in case that doesn't do the trick enough, she moves on to tease, "So, how far do you think you are willing to take this sleeves-rolled-up side? Shoes off? Toes in the sand? Sex on the beach?" "Introduce me, and perhaps I will." Quint's quick to grin, so it's hard to tell whether he means it or no. He's all too aware she's diverting the conversation away, but he allows it all the same, chin lifting in response: "Shoes off, maybe," he allows, "But no sand in places where it takes sevens to wash out. As a harper, I have some dignity, and squirming around in front of a group of five-Turn-olds isn't a future I envisage for myself." "Next time you make it up to Fort," promises Olivya easily enough, lifting her drink for a sip now that the conversation is lighter. "I think she'd like you. You're cut from very similar cloths." A beat before she adds, "Though, I think she has a little more sense of adventure than you do." "I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Quint says, with a smile. While another man might choose to challenge her latter words, the harper chuckles instead. "Oh, I've had my fill of adventures when I was younger. I rather enjoy the plodding, known nature of life as an adult." "You're going to have to tell me, one day, about your adventure-filled youth," Olivya tells him, right before she raises her glass to finish off the rest. It is set back on the bar before she slides to her feet, her fingers braced against his shoulder as she leans over to start working off one boot, first. "We can swap stories." "One day," Quint says with an ease that suggests that day is in the long distant future. When she starts taking off her boot, he sighs. "You'll be the death of me, woman," but he dutifully begins to do the same, rolling up socks with a neat precision and tucking them into his boots. A laugh tumbles from Olivya's bright lips, and she finishes the one boot before leaning in to murmur an answered, "Darling, it's a walk on a beach not a stake in Thread. You'll be fine." And if he lets her, she'll shamelessly brush her lips against his, lightly, even in the crowded bar, before finishing off the next boot. "Oh, see, that's where you're wrong. It starts with a walk on the beach, and ends with a staking out for Thread. It's a slippery slope, see?" Quint's amused, yet earnest in his defense of his reluctance. Setting his boots neatly one next to the other, he straightens, just as Olivya leans in to kiss him. He seems surprised by the gesture, but doesn't protest -- and even returns the gesture, albeit briefly. Clearing his throat, he stoops to collect his boots in one hand, offering his other arm to her in escort. "Shall we?" Olivya tucks her arm into Quint's, offering a light, "Well, I am not a harper, so I will have to believe you, won't I?" She seems inordinately pleased with the returned gesture, especially combined with the sun and sea and air that she misses so much. The Weyrlingmaster knows exactly where she wants to go, tracing the curve of the beach towards a distant outcropping of rock even as she asks, "When do you have to be back? Do you have some 'Reachian rider waiting to escort you or did you tell them you'd have a ride?" "Yes, you will," Quint says with an absolute confidence, well honed over Turns of teaching impressionable youngsters. He seems content to let the rider set the pace and direction of their walk, relaxing as they step away from the crowded bar. "Mm. One's due to come collect me not long after sundown." Something passes quickly across the harper's expression, too quick to determine, then: "You could pass on a message I'll be delayed and have made other arrangements. Blue Zeth, I believe it was." That it's too quick to figure out doesn't stop Olivya from trying, as she studies Quint with a quiet intensity but for a fleeting moment. Then she answers, "Of course. I'll have Ivraeth relay the message. As long as she doesn't get it into her head to invite him here--." There's an affectionate smile for her dragon, still holding court with a few males down the beach, as she glances in that direction and falls briefly silent. There's a brief laugh from the harper, before he realizes there might be something not-that-joking in the answer. Quint follows her look towards the beach, frowning in thought. "Ah. Is she--?" A beat. "Maybe I ought to get that ride...?" there's a reluctance in the offer, but he offers all the same. It takes a moment for Olivya to answer, and when she does it's with a quick shake of her head. "No, she's not tonight. She agreed that I could have you, tonight," the greenrider answers slowly, in what's probably not the best phrasing. Whether it's purposeful or not, her gaze has returned to watch Quint as she says it, a question in the lift of a brow. "Did she?" there's a startled flicker in Quint's voice, as much -- it might seem -- for the fact that Olivya discussed him with her dragon as that said dragon agreed. It slows his steps for a moment or two, before he resumes their pace. He doesn't wait for her to reiterate; just smiles and keeps walking with a nod. "We haven't done anything that both of us haven't agreed on since the day after she shelled," answers Olivya in confirmation to that, rather than simply reiterating, giving that bit of information away with a smile and seeming ease. |
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