Logs:Not Opening Up
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| RL Date: 14 November, 2015 |
| Who: Quinlys, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: C'ris has the plague. Weyrlings nonetheless still need to hunt. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions |
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| Now that even the smallest dragons are hunting for themselves, that's one less thing for their weyrlings to worry about... although hunting is time-consuming (for the moment) as the dragons find their feet. This morning, however, things have been taking even longer than usual: there's no C'ris about, and rumours are already spreading about his absence (and the absence of his usual pastry delivery, too). Lessons ought to have started, but Quinlys is just leaning up against the wall with her eyes closed, as weyrlings mill about her-- some confused, some relieved, some entirely unsure. And at least one completely oblivious. "Faranth is it //oppressive// here." Silva's taken the time to do her hair before oiling Zaisyreth within an inch of his life and coming out among the others. The long faces don't quite dampen her spirits. She never has to cut meat AGAIN. Praises abound! She even has half a skip in her step. If she doesn't manage to piss everyone off it'll be a close thing. More than one person is absolutely horrified at Silva's cheerfulness; a few even cast scowls towards her. "I thought she liked C'ris," someone mutters. That, at least, is enough to straighten Quinlys from her wall perch, her shoulders drawn back. "That is enough," she says, warningly. Silva surely HEARS all the whispers, but she's choosing to rise above them. There isn't much of her hair to flip, but she's going to try anyway. "I DOUBT," not that Silva actually knows C'ris all that well, "he'd want us to be all boo-hoo and cry our eyes out. //I// am going to keep living, Because, like, what else is the point?" Maybe she DOES care after all, and that is the reason behind the make up. Surprisingly, Quinlys actually gives Silva a long, lingering glance, her brows ever so slightly raised. But then she nods, abruptly straightening further. "She's right," she says, lifting her voice to spread to all of the assembled weyrlings. "It's true that C'ris has confirmed to us that he has the plague. But he's young, healthy rider, and there's no reason to think he won't recover." Quinlys does not, for once, sound entirely convinced; she seems to be taking this personally. "So I think we need to simply continue with our lives and do the best we can." Wait. What? Quinlys' words actually bring Silva to a stumbling halt. She is RIGHT? Her entire world view shifts under her. But only for a second before she's shaking it off. Head tilts upwards slightly and she nods once. Of COURSE she is right. Zaisyreth clambers over the fence into the feeding pens and that brings a wince to Silva's face. Ew. No, TURNING AWAY. Some of the other weyrlings murmur amongst themselves; Quinlys takes the opportunity to head towards Silva, and in a way, perhaps she's glad of the distraction of that wince. "You're going to need to get used to it," she reminds the girl, (semi) cheerful, but mostly kind. "He'll be eating like this for the rest of his life. But... you won't always need to watch, either. It does get easier. How're you doing, otherwise?" "But like, as you said, I don't hae to WATCH. Red just looks //all// wrong on him. I mean like," a glance over at Zaisyreth who manages to HURT an animal, but not quite get it to the killing point. "It just clashes." As for the question Silva keeps her face turned away and shrugs one. "I mean, like, it is what it is." She hasn't //really// made any friends with the other weyrlings, mostly because her personality clashes so hard core. Quinlys, dryly: "It's pretty natural, though. And at least it isn't green-- I know I would prefer not to see him covered in his own ichor." That would be bad. Although Quinlys has often shown exasperation with Silva, there's sympathy, now, as she says, "Weyrlinghood can be difficult that way. But... it's a time for you to grow within yourself, too. Try different things out. Learn how to be 'Silva and Zaisyreth' rather than just Silva. If that makes sense?" "I went and got Zaisy's claws clipped when he was little because he kept clipping them. But like, now they have to be sharp again. Ichor is such a gross color." Those words? They totally hold overtones of the amount of self-protection Silva's layering upon herself. She's probably figured out by now that she COULD make friends if she was all nice and ass-kissy, but it might reveal her as weak. So she's banished her tears except for late at night when only Zaisyreth is there to see them, and holds up arrogance as a protection during the day. Even though she says, "I'll keep that in mind, sir," it's a good bet that she isn't actually paying any heed. "Don't call me sir." That is sharper than it probably needs to be; Quinlys is not quite glaring, but there's some hint of it. "Weyrlingmaster. Ma'am if you must. I'm not a man." And, perhaps more to the point: "You don't... Silva. The only thing stopping you from being part of that group? Is you. You'll get another chance to start over when you graduate into the wings, but after that... eventually, everyone will just see you as what you present, and it'll be difficult to change their opinions. Keep that in mind." That whole did-something-right? Yeah, it's gone. Silva's eyes hit the ground and she scowls faintly. "It doesn't matter." She mutters it, and crosses her arms on her chest. Those words come VERY close to bringing the tears up again, and only pur subborness keeps them at bay. "Yes," counters Quinlys. "It does. Everyone needs people around them." She pauses-- for a moment, her own eyes may seem glassy. "Our dragons aren't a substitute for that." There's a hint of water in Silva's eyes and she reaches up to brush it away quickly, and just so that she doesn't mess up her make up. Squared shoulders. "It's fine. Did you have something that I needed to do," and she doesn't make a mistake, "Ma'am?"
Silva takes one step away from Quinlys and pauses, "I am sorry he's sick. I really did like him." She doesn't even catch the ast tense she accidently puts into the words, and really doesn't mean it. And then she's off, but not towards Zaisyreth taking down an animal (Finally) and tearing into it. "You do like him--" begins Quinlys, aiming to force that correction lest Silva jinx the whole situation. But the younger bluerider is moving on, and the elder? She's struggling to compose her expression. Perhaps it's better if she leaves it at that. |
Comments
C'ris (15:47, 14 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Omg, Silva. XD Writing me off before I even die!
Silva (19:22, 14 November 2015 (PST)) said...
It was an accidental slip of the tongue!!
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