Logs:Meet the Family
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| RL Date: 14 February, 2016 |
| Who: C'ris, Quinlys, Risca |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys meets C'ris' mom. |
| Where: Romantic Hideaway Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 1, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
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| It has been a long day for C'ris, between getting up early for drills and sweeps, and then the time he has started to put into the dragon's infirmary--. Yet still, it hasn't managed to drag down his nervous energy as he repositions the new addition of a refurbished rocking chair, working it to a meticulous angle between the couch and the fireplace. "She said that she'd get a dragon on duty to bring her up. She's bringing dinner, if you haven't already eaten--," is said to his companion, though there's already a frown working at his lips. "We should have done this in the living cavern. I warned her that we didn't have a table." All these months into her pregnancy, and Quinlys has-- by necessity-- mellowed a little; she's mostly too tired for anything else. Tonight, she's curled up on the couch with her arms around her belly, watching C'ris rather than participating in the repositioning. "It'll be fine," she soothes, voice firm. "Don't worry about it, C'ris. She knows there's no table, so she won't expect one. We've eaten up here a dozen times and it's been fine, right? So. It'll be fine." They are still deep in conversation when he leads Risca into the weyr. She's not all that much older than Quinlys, all told; she looks as if she has a decade. Her features are an even darker echo of C'ris', with those wide eyes and dark hair. Those eyes go directly to Quinlys rather than observing the weyr, and she steps past her son to greet, "You must be the Weyrlingmaster and the woman carrying my grandchild." "That was when it was just the two of us, though--," replies C'ris, that worry uneased even with the attempt though it doesn't stop him from stilling to watch her and the bump that is his child for a moment, a soft smile creeping onto his lips. It's only after that he agrees, "It'll be fine. She's going to like you. She's going to--." But then there's the sound of a dragon arriving, distantly, from the ledge. "I'll be right back," is promised, before he moves quickly out to the ledge. Voices sound from there in a conversation, too far away to hear much but the cadence of conversation, which is dominated for once not by the bluerider's ramblings but a firmer, female voice. That age difference, or lackthereof, is probably not a happy think for Quinlys; she seems momentarily unnerved by it, then hurries to move herself into action, clambering awkwardly off the couch so that she can reach out politely with both hands and say, "Quinlys. And you must be Risca. It's good to finally meet you; I've heard a lot about you." "Don't get up," has all the ring of a command, though tempered with concern for the pregnant woman. Risca does accept her hands in a gesture of greeting, though one of hers is preoccupied with a basket. Edged with humor, she agrees, "No doubt you have, and I have too. I don't know that I've ever met anyone who loved to talk quite as much as my son." She casts a glance, briefly, back to C'ris as he flushes. He protests, "I've only ever said good things about you, you know." "But, I would like to know more about you from you," Risca continues in invitation, rather than respond to her son. She even goes so far as to make a gesture to invite Quinlys to sit again as she unpacks the basket. Apparently, since it is her son's weyr, she will take it to mean it is just as much hers. Quinlys' gaze flicks towards C'ris, her expression holding the merest hint that she's a little overwhelmed, quickly overshadowed by a more determined just of her chin. Even so, there's something a little wary about the way she sinks back into the couch, arms once again going to rest beneath the curve of her belly, as if to prop it up away from her lap. "Where would you like me to start? This is actually the first time I've met anyone's parent in... this kind of situation. I turned thirty-four at the end of last turn. I was born and raised here in the Weyr; my parents are both riders. I have three siblings." Even that hint is enough to draw a protective side from C'ris, who is quickly crossing the weyr to settle down on the couch next to Quinlys rather than volunteering to help his mother. "I want to know about you and my son," is what Risca answers precisely, the hint of a curve to her brow. "You've never done anything serious, I gather, so why him?" "This isn't-- Don't make this an interrogation, mom," C'ris injects immediately, not giving her a chance to answer as he reaches over to lay his fingers against hers in a gesture. "It's just dinner, and conversation. Did I tell you guys yet? That Leova took me on for some dragonhealer training." "It's fine, Ris," is what Quinlys says, focusing her attention back on her boyfriend with a smile that is only a little tentative. "Though I will pause to say I think the dragonhealing is great. Risca-- why do we fall for anyone? I like your son. I care about him a great deal. He wanted serious; I decided I was willing to try it. I can't promise that we'll be together forever, the way my parents have been, but we are going to have a bond, forever, in the form of our child. So we'll try." That attempt to change the topic only gets a look from Risca, a look that promises she will come back to that as she studies her son. But then her attention is turned back to the woman. There is a long moment where the kitchen aid works on unpacking the basket and assembling plates; she doesn't just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. Instead, when she speaks, "And to me as well. It is my grandchild there. For that, at least, I am happy and grateful. I know it pleases C'ris." But she doesn't quite look at Quinlys after she says it, instead glancing briefly to her own son. "And I love you," is C'ris' answer to that, a simple thing paired with his usual easy smile. He doesn't meet his mom's gaze, but instead shifts to grab a plate only to offer it in turn to Quinlys. Again, Quinlys' gaze shifts between mother and son, softening on the son as she gives him a tentative smile; more serious, in turn, as she considers Risca. "Yes," she agrees. "To you as well. We're all connected, now. This baby... he or she is wanted. I need you to know that. I never wanted children especially, but I do want C'ris'." She accepts the plate, letting one hand rest upon C'ris' wrist for a moment before she releases it. Risca seems to accept that with a nod, not seemingly as inclined as her son to respond to everything with a smile. Instead, she says, "I know." A pause as she settles herself with her own plate into the rocking chair, before she launches into, "What are your plans for when the baby gets here? Will the baby be living with you? With C'ris? Will you be living together? Do you have a crib and clothes and diapers?" "Oh. Uhm, well. We--." C'ris casts his own helpless look to Quinlys now, before he takes a large bite from his own plate. This time, Quinlys does not glance back at C'ris, though perhaps she's felt that helpless glance all the same; she, at least, seems undaunted by this. "The storerooms will provide everything we need," she tells Risca, calmly. "And the rest we will work out, day by day. We're lucky that my job will permit me some flexibility-- my mother was unable to breastfeed us, for example, because of her sweeps schedule. Ultimately, of course, it's impractical to raise children in a weyr. Eventually, he or she will need to join the other children in the nurseries." "Eventually, during the day, but-- I mean, not at night. We could drop them off before drills and get them at the end of the day," C'ris does speak up to say, though his words are a quiet murmur that could easily be dismissed. "And once the baby is big enough, we can find a bigger weyr. They have some with separate bedrooms. We could-- I mean, or I could figure that out." But then he's back to picking at his plate, frowning down at it rather than looking at either of the two women. Risca slides a glance between both blueriders, before settling on Quinlys. She does ignore her son, or perhaps she doesn't want to go into it because she only offers, "At least all of your weyrlings will be graduated by the time of the birth. Less stress on you and the baby." The line of Quinlys' expression tightens a little in answer to C'ris' reply; plainly, she's aware that this obvious indication of their lack of discussion can't be making them look good. Still, she's firm in her, "Yes, that's true. Even if Aidavanth takes after her dam in rising early, I should have the better part of a turn between clutches, too. Given that, it's likely I'll end up working in the wings for some of it, but it is my intention to make sure I have time to focus on the baby, too." "I will be around to help when you need me, as well," Risca says in a way that sounds more like a statement than an offer. But she moves on to ask with lighter interest, "And your parents? You said that they were riders? Are they excited by having a grandchild?" There's nothing from C'ris' side of the couch, only a silence as he worries over his food. "We'll be glad of the assistance," Quinlys says, firmly, perhaps with more enthusiasm than she necessarily feels; C'ris, at least, might be able to see that in her expression, Risca if she's particularly astute. "My parents are both riders, yes. They're delighted; my younger sister has a daughter, but she lives at Monaco, so it's not quite the same. I believe my mother, in particular, hopes to make up for all the time she was unable to spend with my siblings and I after the Comet Pass began." "It sounds as if he or she will be well-loved and well-doted on by both sides, then," Risca replies with the same attempt at lighter conversation. "I'd like to meet your parents too, I think. It is all the same bond, whether you and C'ris stay together forever or not." It is a subtle edge to that statement, a subtle hint of a mother's protectiveness, but the woman doesn't linger over it. Instead, she smiles for the first time at Quinlys, and it does transform her face into something more pleasant. "I haven't even met them yet, mom. Just-- I mean, it'll happen. But it's not that big of a deal for you to meet them," C'ris attempts to interject at that, briefly. He glances, finally, to Quinlys with almost an apology. Quinlys hesitates, as if she's about to say something, but Risca's smile draws pause from her; her brows furrow, her frown subsiding. Abruptly, she glances back at C'ris. "No, no, it's fine," she tells him. "Your mother is right. To be honest, I'm surprised my mother hasn't tracked you down already... we'll have to do a dinner with them, or something. We are all connected, now." It's only now, finally, that she picks up her fork to begin eating, as if only now is she relaxed enough to do so. C'ris mumbles something; it isn't loud or pronounced enough for even Quinlys to make out on the couch beside him, but it is followed with a tip of his chin in an agreeing nod. It is Risca that invites, conversationally, "So, tell me, how are you feeling? What are the healers saying?" And after that, she will prompt about weyrlings and work, and taking things easy, but she does manage to keep her questions and conversation light for the rest of dinner. No doubt Quinlys and C'ris will have a few conversations of their own to have, following this; for now, however, the redhead is happy to match Risca's lightness, answering openly and honestly about all of these less sensitive topics until it is time, finally, to bring the evening to an end. Phew. |
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