Logs:Matters of Duty
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| RL Date: 31 January, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: A harper and an almost-weyrwoman perform at High Reaches' gather. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr / Courtyard, High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 20, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions |
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| It's cold, but the lack of snowfall this afternoon renders it possible, if not overly pleasant, to attend the High Reaches gather. Aidavanth, burnished hide gleaming with her oiling from earlier in the morning, is settled in the bowl, watching the comings and goings about her while exchanging pleasantries with other dragons nearby. At some length, her rider finally emerges from the lower caverns looking less than pleased, despite being in her winter best; with her hair pinned back into a severe, if polished twist and her frame wrapped in a thick, fur-lined cloak that stops just above the hem of dark blue skirts, Jocelyn's destination really can't be in question. Her stride is quick as she crosses to her dragon's side, head shaking briefly at something that no doubt goes unspoken before she mounts carefully, swearing audibly while trying not to sit on her dress and create unflattering wrinkles. Quint has been at the Reaches for over a Turn now; long enough to be well-outfitted for the winter months, his thick fur coat suitable both for the winter and the cold of between. He emerges from the crafter area, carrying a case with the care and reverence of a treasured possession, crossing the bowl, boots crunching in the snow underfoot. There's not many out and about in the cold weather, and thus the harper lengthens his stride, his free hand lifted to get Jocelyn's attention. "Good afternoon, weyrling," he greets with familiarly easy, tipping his head backwards, his voice projecting with the ease of long practice. "Would you mind asking the watch dragon to hail the next dragon going to the High Reaches gather for an additional passenger? I was meant to head over there earlier this morning, but uh -- something came up." Aidavanth, still crouched low to the ground while Jocelyn gets settled, lowers her head so that she can give Quint a politely rumbling hello, spinning eyes regarding him calmly. "Harper, " returns the weyrling evenly, peering down at him while giving her just-buckled straps a final tug. Dryly, "I don't mind, no, but if it saves you the trouble of waiting for the next pair to head over, you may as well come with us." She doesn't look pleased at the prospect, but her expression at least arranges itself into something polite while she unfastens the second set of buckles behind her. "Do you need help with - anything?" With the dragon's attention on him, the harper's gaze shifts -- settling on that large eye with the sketching of a bow and a flickered grin for the queen. Quint's gaze lifts back to her rider, no doubt catching the expression that comes with the words. "It would save me the trouble of waiting, though I wouldn't wish to make your queen uncomfortable, if she were ill pleased with the suggestion." Or if her rider were -- he doesn't move yet, except to shift his wait, head tipped back to wait for the answer. "We're a little behind schedule, ourselves, " Jocelyn admits after a moment, "thanks to a last-minute issue with the kitchens that - came up, as you say." Perhaps she can be forgiven for seeming put-out by the additional delay, leaning over to gesture impatiently at him. "She'd be the last one to mind, I assure you. Come on up, harper. Quintus. We may as well be fashionably late together. Without, " she's awkwardly quick to add, "being together." A beat of silence, and then, easily: "As you wish," Quint murmurs. He's familiar enough with climbing up onto a dragon -- perhaps less so one of Aidavanth's size, all told, but his height serves him well enough, and he settles behind Jocelyn, strapping himself in place, before cradling the case to his chest after stringing the case's strap over his head. He doesn't address the awkward addition, instead asking abruptly: "Business, or pleasure?" "I've little doubt it'll end up feeling more so like the former than the latter, as these things usually go, " Jocelyn answers after checking to make sure that Quint's safely secured, "but I do plan to visit the stalls before leaving to see what's on offer." What exactly she's shopping for, she doesn't say, opting instead for a warning, "Brace yourself, " before the orange-gold mass beneath them both shifts as the queen gets to her feet. A strong push later, they're airborne, climbing higher over the caldera to afford them a clear, if gray-skied view of the weyr before they go between. Three beats later, Aidavanth steadily circles down to a landing as near to the courtyard as she can, seeming rather delighted with the cacophony of sounds, sights and smells that greets them upon their arrival. "You're here for both, I'd assume, " her rider prompts as she dismounts, expression faintly green even once she's solidly on the ground. Inhale, exhale. Repeat. The harper's immediate: "That's a shame," seems more than a rote answer; Quint sounds genuinely apologetic. "I'd heard, that--" and whatever tidbit he was going to share is ruined by her warning; he does indeed brace himself, mostly by taking a tighter hold on the case, any further attempts at conversation shelved for the duration of the flight. He waits for Jocelyn to precede him, unbuckling the straps while she seeks the solidity of the ground, carefully sliding down afterwards -- more of the care given to the safety of his case than his own, rather solid thunk of a landing on the snow-packed ground. "More business than pleasure, I'm afraid," he admits, ruefully. "Hard to escape it, when you wear the harper blue. You, at least," with a gesture, "Have the ability to remove your knot. Thank you," is added, with a nod towards her, and then Aidavanth in turn. "I can, " Jocelyn acknowledges of removing her knot, "but I'm afraid I'm more easily recognized than I used to be." Eyes more gray than blue observe his descent, the way he protects his case with a considering look. Her, "We've finally something in common, " shades wry, as does the slight curve that turns her mouth-pressed-thin into an almost-smile. "She says that you're welcome." That's relayed from Aidavanth, who takes off for the fire heights once her passengers are safely on foot to make room for other incoming traffic. "You're headed that way, I suppose." It isn't quite a question, accompanied by a little gesture toward the hold proper, but her eyebrows lift expectantly afterward. Quint's brows lift in an expression of surprise, voice lilting in questioning tone: "We do?" with a curious look. "And, well -- perhaps here. Perhaps not so much in Ista, or Southern, or Honshu, I rather suspect," he suggests, casually. The relayed words earn another, this time acknowledging, nod for the queen, stepping back to make room for her to take off. With the case tucked safely under the protective overhang of one arm, the harper's attention turns once more to the weyrling, with a lift of one corner of his mouth. Rather than answering verbally, he offers an elbow in the eternal gesture of gentlemanly conduct. Jocelyn's expression turns amused. "Don't we? We both seem to be here on matters of duty - which, you've just pointed out, are all but impossible to escape." For the suggestion of relative anonymity in more southern destinations, there's a brief shrug. "Perhaps. It's an appealing enough thought, to leave the knot at home and just be a person enjoying the scenery somewhere who happens to have a dragon." She's caught off-guard by the offer of that gentlemanly escort, however, and briefly allows it to show before she steps close enough to tuck her hand into the crook of his arm, just as his colleagues taught her to do. "Unnecessary and unexpected, " she apparently sees fit to inform him, not unkindly, "but I suppose I ought to prove that I've learned something." Self-deprecating though her humor is, the little twitch of her lips is genuine enough to reach her eyes, if only for a moment. "Don't you think that's true of a good number of people coming? At least," Quint says, with a quick smile, "We're not limited to sitting at a stall all day. Now that would be a duty that would drive me mad." He casts a sidelong glance at the weyrling, waiting until she's settled her hand in place before he begins walking, shortening his natural stride to keep pace with hers. "Appealing," he picks up the thread of conversation, "And one I hope you'll take advantage of. I have," with a ripple of faint amusement and embarrassment both, "Done so on occasion. It's nice not to be pulled in for just one more song and just enjoy the weather, the people, the food," the noise that exhales from his throat is almost wistful. Another twitch of lips follows: "Have a care, lady. I might well be the evaluator providing the final marks of how you fared." Harpers do, after all, compare notes, as everyone knows. "Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be easier to run a stall than to navigate the exchange of proper pleasantries with people who have far too many loops in their knots." Jocelyn, drily. She, at first, attempts to lengthen her stride to better match his, but quickly re-balances her gait once he's shortened his. "I didn't travel much before I Impressed, " she says at some length. "I like it here, in the mountains. It's home. To be a tourist without worrying about a hello turning into a nuanced, analyzed visit - " That, in turn, earns a wistful look from the redhead in time with Quint's exhale. Her forehead wrinkles for the term 'evaluator, ' followed by a frank acknowledgement, "You might. And then again, you might not. I've certainly no intentions of embarrassing either of us, in any case, " in the event that that's a concern of his. "Says one who will, after she graduates, likewise have far too many loops in their knot," Quint murmurs in an amused undertone. His head tips, faintly curious as he asks, "Do you plan to travel, now you have more freedom? Or after you graduate?" He certainly doesn't seem concerned, keeping that easy smile to hand, nodding to a few people as they pass into the edge of the gather, coming to a stop. "I never imagined you would. Ah-- there's Lord Devaki. Perhaps you wish to say hello? I'd best seek out my fellows -- lone blue is a target, after all," he says, with good humor. "Perhaps you'll save a dance for me, later?" "I already have, " Jocelyn answers of traveling more, tipping a long-suffering look up at Quint as they come upon the edge of the gather grounds. "Whether or not I wish to say hello, it appears that I now must, " she replies easily enough, expression briefly inscrutable as she slips her hand from his arm. "I'm sure you'll fade into the throngs with more ease than I will." In the wake of his request, she keeps her stare short, already arranging her features into something pleasant enough for her upcoming encounter with Lord High Reaches. "Perhaps I shall. Enjoy your stay, harper." Chin up, shoulders back - and then it's forward to engage in the pleasantries dictated by politesse, demeanor measured and polite. "Lesson number... mm, I guess eighty-five or so of diplomacy: always get the upper hand by greeting them, so they can't spring a greeting on you at an opportune time. Plus, then you won't have to worry about it for the rest of the gather." With a rueful, knowing, and entirely unapologetic grin, Quint steps away to do just what she suggests -- blend into the crowd. Some time later, after Jocelyn's taken to wandering the stalls, secured a fresh sweetroll and has wiped her hands clean enough to survive a quick, if stiff turn about the dancing square with another High Reaches rider, the redhead steps away from the other dancers in search of water, waving off the first offer of wine that comes her way instead. Pale eyes watch clusters of people, the dancers, the harpers - and there, for a time, they pause, lips pursing faintly as she, despite herself, taps a foot mostly in time with the current piece. Having shed her cloak for the dance, she sets down her now-empty cup in favor of crossing both arms over her chest, casting a considering look toward the hold proper where, perhaps, her outerwear awaits. She might well catch glimpses of Quintus here and there -- he (along with the other harpers), do stand out -- deliberately -- in their harper blue clothes. He spends most of the afternoon on or near the dais set up for the harpers next to the dance floor, visible enough for those taking a turn around it. By the time Jocelyn returns to enjoy the music, there's no sign of the Reachian harper, undoubtedly taking a break. It's only when she glances towards the Hold that she might note his approach -- visible enough, in his harper blue -- and outstretched hand, expectant, as he gives a nod towards the dance floor in invitation. "Not going to sneak away before that dance, were you?" with a grin that suggests he's not that offended, not really. The weyrling's smile presses a little thin for Quint's approach, but she isn't outright frowning. "Wouldn't dream of it. I'm hardly willing to risk receiving unfavorable marks, " Jocelyn deadpans as she takes his hand and allows herself to be drawn to whatever spot on the floor he pleases. "More to the point, " she says briskly enough while awkwardly arranging her arms into the proper places, "I do keep my word." Never mind that she had said 'perhaps.' She permits herself an uncomfortable clearing of her throat, keeping the movements of her feet careful as she keeps her attention somewhere near the center of his forehead. Self-conscious, much? "That's... flattering to hear," Quint replies, with only the faintest of emphasis on the word, one corner of his mouth twitching higher. The song is an easy one to dance to -- not too speedy as to prevent casual talk in between the steps and twirls. If nothing else, Quint is an excellent dancer, leading with confidence -- he seems at ease in contrast, the small talk deliberately casual as if to distract her: "You seem to have survived the encounter with the Lord Holder, at least. Surely the evening can only look up from there?" Jocelyn might never become a truly fantastic dancer, but sets upon sets in harper classrooms with some of Quint's peers have trained her muscle memory well enough that she can follow his leading respectably, even if she does glance down to their feet from time to time, apparently fascinated by the way they move together despite the unscripted steps. "Surely, " she agrees with his assessment, nose wrinkling faintly. "I find dancing almost as challenging, as I'm sure you've heard, " and perhaps witnessed, "but this isn't so very bad. Your own duties have been passing well enough, I trust? I'll try to keep this one on its course by not stepping on your feet." "Don't look down," Quint's voice is not so much chiding as a familiar teacher's tone, correcting; "Feel the movements in the contact of your hands with me. Like most things in life," his familiar, easy grin now surfaces, "It merely takes practice. And, well -- let's just say in the course of teaching I've had plenty of practice having my toes stepped on -- and neither toes nor feet are needed for my guitar." He's genial enough throughout the rest of the dance, focusing on light topics while steering her with the expertise of long practice through the rest of the dance until the music shifts to something faster. He doesn't seem apt to test her abilities with the faster song, however; instead bowing to her once the dance is finished, murmuring his thanks with that easy gleam of blue eyes, and bidding her farewell before his return to his duties. "It's - interesting, " Jocelyn confesses once she forces her gaze to remain steadily on his, "watching the way that they move together, like that. Sometimes, if it flows just right, it almost feels as if I'm watching someone else's feet. They're so - " For a moment, she tries to explain her fascination, then shelves it soon after with a dismissive grimace. "Your hands, at least, are out of harm's way." And aside from the fact that hers grow slightly damp with perspiration as they maneuver through the remainder of this particular song, she's able to be guided easily enough to the final cadence before the tempo accelerates. She's noticeably relieved when they part, and even manages a small smile on the heels of her wishes for a good evening while watching his departure for some minutes before she disappears into the foot traffic heading to collect jackets and cloaks. |
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