Logs:Quinlys Gets What She Wants
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| RL Date: 9 May, 2012 |
| Who: Meara, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: With Ysavaeth's eggs soon to hit the sands, Quinlys has a request. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 26, Month 9, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions |
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| The weyrlings from Rielsath and Vysravth's clutch have graduated, now, and it's been over a turn since Quinlys and her cohort joined the wings. It's strange, not being the newest anymore, but also satisfying: getting to show someone else the ropes, getting that teeny tiny little bit more seniority. Was it really only a turn ago that she was one of them, all bright-eyed and excited? Quinlys finds it difficult to remember, exactly. Ysavaeth will be on the sands any day now, she supposes, and that means there will be another group in the barracks, in time. One turn since graduation doesn't seem terribly long to be thinking about promotional opportunities, but Quinlys has been thinking about this one for a long, long time. It could be turns before she gets another chance. Iovniath might wait turns and turns to go up. It's an Interval, after all, and with three producing queens, there's no need for her to do it often. Quinlys doesn't really want to wait. She finds Meara in her office, cleaning out records of one group in preparation for the next. The barracks are in the process of being cleaned, too; no weyrlings have lived in there for months, now, of course, but there's still the detritus of young lives scattered about. Meara looks at her with those dark eyes, the same way she did a turn and more ago; Quinlys wonders whether her old teacher likes what she sees. She's never really been able to tell. "What can I do for you, Quinlys?" It's a direct question, and yet, despite her earlier resolve, Quinlys falters. "Quinlys?" She takes in a deep breath, swallowing the air before it comes back up again, filling her nostrils. "I want to help with the weyrlings. With Ysavaeth's weyrlings." She doesn't suppose Meara is completely surprised. She's been talking about wanting this for a while; it's not the kind of thing that ought really to escape the Weyrlingmaster's attention. But Meara, who turned sixty a few months ago even if she doesn't really look it yet, favours her with such a peculiar glance that Quinlys begins to panic. "I don't-- I mean-- only if it works out. If you need another assistant." "Why do you want back into my barracks so soon, Quinlys? I thought you were glad to leave." "I was." That much is true. "I was ready not to be a weyrling. But I've always - that is, ever since I Impressed, it's something that Olly and I have talked about. We've got a good bond. We remember what it was like to be that young, that confused. I mean, some of them may even be older than I am!" She could babble on, fill the Weyrlingmaster's ears with explanations, but something in Meara's expression makes her stop. She waits. "Will they respect you, Quinlys? These weyrlings who might be older than you." "People respected K'del." Meara's mouth twists at that, rueful and amused and full of things she doesn't seem to intend to say. "You'll have an answer for everything. I see that now. I'll give you a trial, Quinlys. A trial, nothing more. We'll see how you do. No-- don't thank me, not yet. You'd better go tell F'der." Olly! We get a trial! Quinlys' thoughts were singing as she scarpered away from the barracks, back across the wet bowl. She's really, truly going to let us! « Of course she is, » is the blue's smug reply. « She would be mad not to. » |
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