Logs:Matchmaker, Matchmaker
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| RL Date: 8 January, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys plays political matchmaker for a paranoid Jocelyn. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ch'vaz/Mentions, G'chet/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, V'kanis/Mentions |
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>---< Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr >---------------------------<
Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise
from the barracks beyond, the weyrlingmaster's office is a comfortable,
quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by
a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it
is a square rug pieced together from twisted rags that stretches from wall
to wall, just barely leaving room for the long bookcases and filing
cabinets. On the back wall, a geometric tapestry and blue and black is
hung, providing both insulation and decoration.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Jocelyn F 25 5'5" lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes
Quinlys F 33 5'4" soft, dark red hair, blue eyes
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Training Cavern
>-----------------------------------------< 8D 10M 39T I10, autumn morning >---< This morning's lecture-- focused heavily on practicing between visualisations between dragon and rider, as so many have been this seven-- has concluded, the weyrlings in Roszadyth's clutch dismissed, now, for an extended lunch break before formation practices this afternoon. Quinlys has retreated to her office, though the door is open to indicate that she's available to the weyrlings, even if (at a glance) it looks as if she's not far from dozing off, eyelids drooping as she stares down at the stack of recently submitted essays in front of her. Jocelyn's attire, while still sensible, is starting to fit better and look more put-together as senior weyrlinghood looms. The frustration that's been so prevalent in months previous is either being worked through or better masked; whichever the case, she looks more uneasy than grumpy as she breaches the threshold of Quinlys's office after class is dismissed. Hands clasping neatly behind her back, she studies the other redhead in silence for a minute or two, eyebrows lifting faintly. Finally, she lightly clears her throat to announce herself, posture stiff. "Do you have a moment? Weyrlingmaster." There's an uncomfortable glance for the training cavern behind her, even if it is empty; it might not stay that way. It takes until that clearing of the throat for Quinlys to actually register Jocelyn's presence, and that turns her expression rueful and apologetic, though she doesn't stoop so far as to apologise verbally to the weyrling. Instead, her shoulders draw back and her posture straightens, and she gestures towards the door. "Of course, Jocelyn," she tells her. "You can close the door if you like. No one will bother us. What do you need?" Promptly shutting the door until it thuds shut, Jocelyn hesitates a fraction of a moment before striding to take a seat two-down from Quinlys at the round table. Pale eyes rove among what's immediately in view before her before they settle determinedly on the tabletop. "I need your help, " she admits with some difficulty, "and your - discretion." She may as well have said 'secrecy.' Quinlys' own eyes focus more intently upon Jocelyn, studying her expression in a way that is probably not intended to stare, though it could well end up feeling that way. "I don't make a habit of telling anyone else what is told me in confidence," she reassures the weyrling, leaning back in her chair abruptly, and rubbing her neck with one hand. "How can I help?" Intentional or not, Jocelyn probably feels as if she's being stared at - or perhaps the grimace that twists at her face is for the effort required to get out what follows. "I didn't think you did, " she allows, lifting pale eyes to the other's. There's a swallow, then: "I require your advice, your - recommendations, as it were. I need the name of a man - probably a rider - who would be a good choice of person, " some hesitation, "to be seen with. Someone who has a steady, upstanding character, more life experience. I need an ally, so to speak, who won't use any interactions we may share against me in the future. I don't think choosing a random person would work on any front, for many reasons." Her cheeks are faintly pink by the time she concludes her matter-of-fact request, but her chin lifts slightly when she's finished. Quinlys holds her silence until Jocelyn has finished speaking, though her expression takes on a more pensive cast and her mouth opens part of the way. By the time the weyrling has finished, she's opened her mouth, and seems to be frowning. "Someone to escort you places?" she asks, finally. "A... safe person to be seen with. Someone who won't expect your sexual favors... but do you wish them to be thought to? I'm sorry for the questions, but I'm trying to understand exactly what it is you're after. Your purpose in this." "Yes, " Jocelyn says shortly, "which isn't to say that that isn't wholly out of the question, either, as I've yet to have sex. With a man. I don't want to be blackmailed turns from now for being someone's weyrwoman bedpost notch. I hoped you'd know of one or two suitable candidates for the endeavor who might also be - safe to be seen with and to confide in, since we'll have to manage those steps before anything else, if that's even something we'd both decide we wanted." It's difficult from Quinlys' expression to tell whether she's surprised by Jocelyn's bluntness, or by her (at least partial) virginity; whichever it is, it has dark red brows lifting towards her hairline, and then dropping again. "Someone safe," she concludes. "Someone who has had some exposure to the politics you're likely to face, too, I imagine. Do you have a preference towards a bronze- or brownrider, who might see an advantage towards catching Aidavanth down the track, or a blue- or greenrider, who might be more 'safe' in that way, but may be taken less seriously as an escort?" Jocelyn nods, shoulders relaxing slightly. "Hearing about the results of politicking in the hallways and realizing that it'll be you they talk about after some time are enormously different things. Someone safe, more politically savvy. They - he - should be able to be taken seriously as an escort, but I don't want him to expect that he'll get an advantage with Aidavanth, later." Because the likelihood is great that he won't, says the set of her jaw. "He needs to be honest and trustworthy, " which probably goes along with the 'upstanding character' bit, but she's clearly putting some stress on these traits. There's a softening in Quinlys' expression as, quietly, she acknowledges: "I remember what it was like for Iolene, when we were weyrlings. Realising... it can be a lonely place to be in, even when you get along well with the people you're working with. Charlie... Ch'vaz might be a good one. He Impressed with me, had a silver thread. He's solid. Bronzerider, but not the kind who'll want to take advantage. Him, or maybe G'chet-- G'chet's a good guy. Nice. Wingsecond for Equinox. They've both got a decade on you, though. I don't know if that will be an issue." Jocelyn pays close attention to those recommendations, mouthing both names silently with a considering expression. "The number of decades above me isn't important, " she says dismissively, "so long as they aren't old enough to have been my grandfather. I don't want to step on anyone's toes, either. Is there anyone else you'd add to the list? If it were only about - preparation, I'd prefer that they didn't live here. But he needs to understand High Reaches and its people, at least to some extent." "There would be benefits to someone not of High Reaches," acknowledges Quinlys, tapping one finger to her mouth in consideration. "Except for, then you'd be subject to extra gossip about interlopers and outsiders and... that's not what you want. No, I think you're right: a local is better. Someone with a good, solid reputation. Single, and not the kind who hops from bed to bed and woman to woman. Ch'vaz, G'chet, and perhaps V'kanis-- he's a bluerider, but he was a harper first, and so understands politics better than most. Would you like me to set up a meeting for you? An introduction, even." "No, " Jocelyn agrees, lips pursing faintly, "it isn't. We have enough outsiders here if that's the sort of image I wished to give." The addition of a third name elicits a thoughtful look; a sharper nod follows for the offer. "I think that would be helpful. None of my lessons have exactly covered how best to approach someone for something like this." Even for the practical goldrider, it makes for an awkward concept. "Tell me about V'kanis. There'd be no potential advantage for him in flights." And that might be at least a partial point in his favor. "I shall endeavour not to feel like... like a matchmaker, or something along those lines," is commented on lightly, with enough apparently genuine amusement that Quinlys seems to be unbothered by it; perhaps even delighted by it. Her fingertips tap at the tabletop as she considers her next words, finally answering the rest in simple terms: "V'kanis. Vik. He Impressed from Rielsath and Vysravth's clutch, so before I was an assistant, but I knew him a little growing up; he was friends with my sister. He apprenticed as a harper, stringed instruments mostly, but he broke his hand in an accident and came back home while he recovered, ended up Impressing his Courivath instead. He's, what, twenty-eight or twenty-nine now?" Jocelyn wrinkles her nose. "Then don't, " she says dryly of feeling like a matchmaker. "I've no need of one in the usual sense." Arms folding, she sits back and listens to the bluerider's description, eyebrows lifting. "He's younger than the other two, isn't he. Stringed instruments." For a moment more, there's a thoughtful frown, then: "I'll start with Ch'vaz. If it works out well enough, it would be good to have a - safe bronzerider choice available if I should feel I need one when Aidavanth flies, even if that is some time from now. If he's looking for commitment and a weyrmate, I can't offer those things as distinct possibilities right now. I'll try someone else if those are plans on his radar." Quinlys presses her lips together, though it seems an expression closer linked to amusement than consternation. "Logical," is what she says, in the end. "All of that. I've no idea what his hopes are for the future, with regards to anything, but it can't hurt to find out. I'll talk to him." The sharp incline of her nod is punctuation and confirmation to that; she seems pleased by it. "And if none of these work, I'm sure I can come up with other names. I'd probably offer you my brother, except... well, no, that would be weird for me." "This is already a strange scenario, " Jocelyn says decidedly, waving off the idea of forming an alliance with Quinlys's brother with a flick of fingers. "Let me know if he finds the idea agreeable - or not, as the case may be." With that settled, the weyrling rises, tilting a considering look at the weyrlingmaster while she gets to her feet. "I hope it wasn't my essay that was putting you to sleep. I'm sorry you won't be taking us on our first joint trip between. I've appreciated your sensible approach." And that's probably the closest she'll get to outright expressing that she has a (more than) decent opinion of Olveraeth's as an instructor. Although mention of the essays-- or is it the near-nap?-- draws Quinlys' attention away, quite as if she's avoiding the topic, her gaze is drawn back for thet last comment as, abruptly, a smile-- a proper one, neither smug nor smirky-- blossoms across her face. "I'm sorry to disappoint," she tells the weyrling, then, straightening her stance again. "I promise Telavi will have it well in hand. You're all going to be fine." Another dip of her chin, and, "I'll let you know. Or Ch'vaz will. Go get some lunch before you're due back, Jocelyn." Jocelyn's answering smile is small, but markedly present, nonetheless. "I'm sure she will, " because Telavi must if they're all going to survive this month. At the directive to go eat, there's a prompt nod and a brisk, "Thank you for your time and advice." The redhead doesn't exactly seem relieved, but there's a more even set to her features as she crosses quickly to exit the weyrlingmaster's office, leaving the door cracked open in her wake. |
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