Logs:Respect and Roles
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| RL Date: 10 October, 2015 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea has questions. Jocelyn has frank answers. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 13, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, Giorda/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions |
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| It's early yet in the afternoon, but weyrfolk still straggle in and out of the nighthearth to grab something quick and warm on the way to their next destination between spells of snowfall. Tucked neatly into a chair equidistant from both the hearth and the doorway, Jocelyn's only half-listening to the young stores assistant nattering on in front of her, attention mostly on ensuring that the shirts, trousers and socks in the basket at her feet are getting folded properly. "Do your best, " the redhead says when the teen breaks briefly in her monologue, "and that's all anyone can ask of you. If you have questions, ask a headwoman." And she waves the girl off with a long exhale, reaching up to rub at her forehead with one hand before leaning down to hunt for another sock, presumably cerulean to match the one she's holding. "Just that easy?" Lycinea's mezzo voice rises from her unobtrusive seat quite near the hearth as she snips the tough thread on the last of the firestone sacks in need of mending. It joins its fellows in the basket at the foot of her chair and she's pushing onto her feet in the next moment. "Just do your best," the words seem to have taken the blonde with the small be-shelled and beaded braids tucked up on top of her head in a style that merges rustic resources with an elegant sort of up-do down a thoughtful bent. Thinking is, in this case, compatible with fetching herself a mug of klah from the hearth. "Truthful, which doesn't necessarily equate to easy, " is Jocelyn's off-handed response as light eyes lift to appraise the other. Recognition elicits a flicker across her expression, which turns measuring. "You're one of Irianke's assistants, " she places after a moment, even if the name isn't quite as forthcoming. Several more beats of fishing around in her basket result in a satisfied nod as she fetches the other blue sock, deftly folding one over the other into a neatly bundled pair to be set aside. "Mm," is a sound of acknowledgement that might address both Jocelyn's answer and her placement of the blonde. "Lya," she offers at the tail end of the blow across the top of her mug to encourage the steam off and the temperature within to temper to something more mouth-friendly. Her gait is the sort that naturally doesn't draw attention if the attention isn't already there and her steps lead her to a chair next to the assistant headwoman. "Rosvelth afforded me a white knot for the eggs," is added with no small measure of trepidation. "You too, I think. I've seen you in the barracks, haven't I?" Given Lya's unobtrusive demeanor when she's not actively being a pain in the ass, it wouldn't be surprising if her presence in the past handful of days had gone unnoticed amid the other new faces. Jocelyn continues to sort through the laundry at her feet for some minutes more, glancing up again only once she's aware that Lya's taken the seat next to her. "Lya, " she repeats, straightening to more fully take in the blonde's features. "You probably have seen me in there, " looking grumpily at people who are particularly talkative in the evenings and aside from ensuring that she's snagged a cot near the other, older candidates, keeping much to herself. Lips purse faintly for the other's trepidation, then: "I suppose this is your first stand?" That "Mm," is sounded again in confirmation, this time with just the slightest dip of her chin in a curt sort of nod. "Yours?" Lya's blue-green gaze draws up to Jocelyn's face from her own mug, squinting just a touch as she perhaps tries to remember if she'd seen the assistant as an assistant or as a candidate the last time there were eggs on the sands. "This is my fourth overall, although my first in almost seven turns, " more wryly, "and probably my last." In some cases, the third time isn't the charm. Jocelyn half-watches the younger candidate, half-watches the shirts she's folding briskly in her lap. "You'll go back to Irianke after, if this is for naught?" Short though the query is, she's curious if that expectant lift of eyebrows is anything to go by. "Fourth," is repeated with an increase in the squinting. "I've probably seen you Standing then," but who really remembers the faces of those who don't Impress? Not Lycinea, apparently. "I-- no, I don't think I can." She looks disquieted by the words that come out of her mouth, perhaps it's even the first time she's admitted this is so many words. "What's it like to be an assistant headwoman?" might seem an abrupt change, only the proximity of the answer and the question must link the two and reveal it as more than just curiosity into Jocelyn's experience with her position. Jocelyn carefully sets another folded shirt aside before giving Lycinea a longer, more probing look. "No, " she repeats thoughtfully in the wake of the other's disquiet, casting a quick look out of habit across the way to the kitchen assistant who's quietly slipped in to check the status of the items readily available at the hearth. There's a low noise, perhaps in approval for the girl's discreet efficiency as she exits as unobtrusively as she entered. "What do you suppose it to be like?" is her non-answer. "Lya. You have some experience assisting someone with responsibilities to match the size of their knot." "I do, but assisting Irianke is personal. It's getting her stationary every day, it's ensuring her meals are things she likes and delivered timely, it's helping her with her hair and dresses and-- Well. There's more to it, of course, but it's not the same domain as assisting someone with the well-being of the Weyr, I imagine. Unless you help Headwoman Jounine with her hair and dresses, too," this last manages to be wry, but the lift of a single brow in Jocelyn's direction indicates some uncertainty that it should be suggested in jest. "I assure you, I'd have no idea of where to begin with someone's hair and manner of dress." Jocelyn eyes the next item from her basket with some distaste - a terribly faded pair of work-trousers that hasn't quite shed all of its stains - before beginning to crease it in the appropriate places. "You don't look much older than I was when I began with Giorda, " merely an observation, "and it was - is - a lot of work to jump into headfirst. You're not the stores assistant or the laundry assistant; you'll eventually be helping to supervise these people and ensure that they're doing their jobs correctly. There are reports to file on a daily basis and inventories to tally. When there's a candidate class in the barracks, you will help keep them organized. When the order comes down to prepare for a celebratory feast, you'll help oversee parts of that, too. It's an important responsibility that you accept when you put on that knot, to care for and keep the lower caverns running smoothly. Jounine and the weyrwomen oversee everything at the top level, of course, but people bring us the day-to-day minutiae." Lycinea's silence is one that is punctuated by sips and furrowed brow. It takes time for Jocelyn's description to sink in and it's the sort of thing that one might almost need more time than the here and now could ever afford to fully wrap one's head around. "It sounds like it's something you enjoy. A role you respect." The blonde observes after those necessary moments have been taken. "Is it-- why are you standing?" She changes the question as the words start to come out wrong. Jounine's assistant, however temporarily she's not by virtue of her white knot, takes her time in answering, gaze dropping to catalogue what remains in her basket. "If you don't take pride in and have respect for what you do, others surely won't do it for you." There's a frankness to her expression when she leans back into her seat, studying Lycinea's demeanor in a manner far from subtle. "The Weyr needs as many bodies of eligible age as it can get right now, " she says at last. "If nothing goes amiss, we'll lose fifteen out of the barracks when Niahvth's latest hatches, and still need to have enough on-hand for Roszadyth's to follow. I wasn't planning on standing again after becoming a headwoman, but if one more person out there helps them to choose among the others - well. I'll have fulfilled my duty to my home." It's a simple, if fierce sentiment. Lycinea's fingers pluck at her lower lip as she listens, hand dropping away when she decides to take another sip of her klah. She shifts a little more to look at the assistant, expression still pensive. "You wouldn't regret leaving your work to someone else if you Impress?" It's not a challenge to the fierceness of Jocelyn's resolve, though this being Lya is easily could be save for the serious turn of this conversation and her quiet response. "I'm not sure why I'm standing." This is confessed quietly in the next breath, but it's the klah mug that gets the blonde's stare. Jocelyn's mouth opens briefly, then promptly closes again. "I don't know if there would be room for regret in that scenario. Certainly I'd miss what I do now, but I'd have to serve wherever the Weyr needed if that - happened." And while the catch she allows in her voice nearly belies her exterior certainty, that gets pushed back in favor of raised eyebrows for the blonde's confession. Briskly, "You must have had something in mind when you said yes to - Rosvelth, was it? No childhood dreams of dragonriding, then?" It might be the briskness of the inquiry that lets the flush into Lya's face before she has a chance to control it. She stares hard at that mug, though the stare is now more of a glare. Her eyelids pinch together a brief moment before her head shakes. "I was thinking how angry Rhey'd made me by saying not to accept." It's a great reason to chance changing one's life irrevocably, surely. A breath is drawn and released and the klah mug is moved to rest on her knee before she adds, "When I was a child, I dreamt of a mother and father, of a happy home where I was loved. Not a dragon. Dragons are a lot of work, and they fly," how dare they, "and sometimes they make their riders miserable. Or not less miserable. Rosvelth does Rhey anyway, seems like. I don't want to end up bitter about it all." Like him, she doesn't say. A low exhale escapes Jocelyn, a frustrated little huff that isn't quite in tune with the almost-kindness that gentles her tone. "I can't pretend to know what it's like to have one, but I imagine it's much like any other experience: it'll be what you would make of it, happiness, misery or whatever else you approach it with." Still, she's uncomfortable as she gathers up her basket, clearing her throat as she gets to her feet. "Look, Lya. If you think you'd want to be a steward of this place after - or any place, really - go talk to Jounine about the possibility. See if she'd be alright with changing your duty roster for a seven so that you can work closely with one or another of the assistants. Sometimes helping to sort through things ... " And she lets that trail off, concluding with a shrug. "At any rate, it can't hurt to expand your skillset." There's a tenseness to her shoulders as she abruptly heads for the hallway, jaw set tightly in an expression more heavy than anything else. Lycinea's eyes follow Jocelyn as she goes, brow wrinkled in answer to her last recommendations. "Hm," isn't quite the same 'mm' as all her confirmations before, but it isn't far off. As places her mug back with the other dirty dishes, she glances back over her shoulder in the direction of the now long-gone assistant. "Hm," is for no one but herself this time but keeps her lips pursed as she collects her mended sacks and makes to head back to her own duties. |
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