Logs:Rolemodels
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 1 November, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn, C'ris |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and C'ris harass Jocelyn. Or something. |
| Where: Weyrling Training Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Risca/Mentions, Risa/Mentions, Faryn/Mentions, J'vain/Mentions |
   |
| Jocelyn likely doesn't have much to be worried about when it comes to the upcoming placement exams; still, the redheaded weyrling can be found seated studiously next door to the barracks more frequently when she isn't tending to her lifemate as the sevens together now almost add up to their first month. Sleep deprivation necessitates that she review more often to satisfy their dual drive for success, but she's set her notes aside at some point during the past half-hour in favor of scribbling quietly on a spare sheet. Her expression waxes amused every few minutes - this is probably not an academic endeavor, but surely she can't be begrudged a break when her time is, for the moment, her own. It is C'ris' rest day today! One can tell because he has spent most of the day shadowing the weyrlingmasters around like a puppy dog, bundled into a soft, blue sweater rather than his usual leathers. Even it being a rest day, however, it's been a long day. And so his current run has been down to the kitchens for klah, which is what he brings back with him. The covered pot is sloshed onto the table, thudding heavily there even as he calls lightly to Jocelyn, "Hey there! Do you--." He pauses, taking in the notes and wincing in apology. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt. Have you gotten dinner?" Pencil pausing in mid-air, pale eyes lift to seek the source of that thud, even as the tell-tale scent of klah makes Jocelyn's nose twitch. Inhale. "You're not interrupting, " she says after a moment, brow creasing in the wake of his inquiry as she shuffles her paper back into the neat little stack on the table. "Haven't yet. She's usually awake again and ready for another meal around this time, so I'll go afterward." There's a faint frown, then, as she looks the bluerider up and down. "You're around a lot, but you aren't one of the weyrlingmasters." It's more matter-of-fact than question, particularly as she tilts a nod toward the covered pot, then back up to his soft-looking sweater. "Is there a reason you appear to be the weyrlingmaster's glorified errand-runner?" It's mild, if curious. The day is long gone, and that means a large portion of Farideh's weyrwomanly duties, too. It's in this time, with the snow piled high in the bowl that she chooses to poke her head into the weyrling complex, eyes searching the assembled faces. Jocelyn, and then C'ris, both get hefty stares; her body appears soon after, rounded-abdomen more apparent in trousers and sweater. "C'ris," she greets first, with a sunny smile, "Jocelyn," as her hands fall quite naturally to her hips. You know, just a goldrider, hanging out. "Kind of, " repeats Jocelyn, dubiously, eyebrows raised. "Forgive me for saying so, but fetching klah seems to fall under the category of 'character-building' rather than - training. Not, " and her tone shades wry, "that I know a thing about how weyrlingmasters are made." Although it seems she's about to say something more, there's a glance for the doorway at the sound of her name; her next words, instead, turn into a light, "Farideh. Good afternoon." And as C'ris pours, she's quick to retrieve her notes off of the table with a cautious look, even if their original placement didn't quite leave them in the splash zone. "Farideh," is a gentle, warm greeting, sincerely happy to see the goldrider if the smile on C'ris' lips is any indication. He does not take a sip from his klah, instead crossing closer to her to offer the mug to the junior weyrwoman. "It isn't. I used to do it for Farideh's class, too. But, I mean, I get other lessons, now. From Quinlys. And observing. The klah-fetching is just-- I'm always in the kitchens anyways." He mumbles something else, mussing at fluffy hair. "Oh, thank you." Klah! Farideh takes the mug between her hands, carefully, and puts her nose close to the curl of steam of appreciation the-- smell? warmth? "What? Are we describing our roles now? Weyrwoman, paper pusher, fork counter, rolemodel-- mentor?" Her smile stretches, but there's a very obvious question in her eyes. Something briefly lights up Jocelyn's expression, leading her to pat at her ear that's devoid of the expected pencil before she plucks the writing utensil up from the table, shuffling notes aside to add another scribble to a sheet near the back. "A phrase for the letter 'p'. Excellent." Her triumph is short-lived, even as she silently mouths 'fork counter' with a frown in the wake of Farideh's list. There's a shrug for the other woman's questioning look, another appraising one for C'ris that lingers over that hair mussing. "It's - " Gray eyes flick briefly to the barracks before an almost constipated grimace twists at her mouth, " - kind of you. The klah." Thank you! "She'd asked me about-- You know, my hanging around," explains C'ris lightly, offering a quick smile. "I think your class had the same questions, too. Though, you know, I think they had some more creative descriptions for it." He pulls out a chair from Jocelyn's table, but he doesn't sit in it. It might even just be a subconscious gesture, as Farideh continues to stand there. "I have my own wing, though. I am a wingrider in Frostbite, so I have drills and duties with them, too." "Are you complaining?" Widened eyes flick from C'ris to Jocelyn, with the mug hovering close to her mouth. "You can just consider him Quinlys' assistant, like Faryn and Risa are-- were," expression darkening, "mine." Farideh's lips continue to press in a thin line, despite the chair, despite-- oh, a chair! She promptly sits, without acknowledgement and sighs. "C'ris, you're a gem. They'll come to appreciate you eventually like we did. Remember how much of a nuisance I thought you were?" Did he know? Well, now he does. There's a considering sort of noise from Jocelyn, who straightens from where she had been leaning back into her seat to better study her former roommate as Farideh gets settled. "Have you found a new one yet? I'd think you'll have greater need of one in the coming months." Her gaze turns distinctly interested, then, mouth curving into a wry half-smile. "Indeed? What did you do to annoy this one?" That last is to C'ris of Farideh, demeanor expectant. Drex pages: Nah, he deliberately supressed it all. "What? I didn't-- I mean, there was that one time that we disagreed about K'del," replies C'ris thoughtfully, frowning slightly down at Farideh before he moves to pour himself his own mug of klah. "I wasn't that much of a nuisance, though." "No," Farideh says, sullenly. "You will find out in due time that it's not easy to find assistants. I suppose if all you want is someone to bring you meals and tidy your weyr for you, but I tend to think of mine as more like companions. I don't want someone to draw me a bath or--" She makes a face and half-turns to look up at C'ris. "You could have licked K'del's boots. No one deserves that kind of devotion, especially not K'del. He's fine now, but not above reproach, you know." Jocelyn's forehead wrinkles; a flicker of surprise crosses her features before they smooth again. Perhaps the concept of having her own assistants in the future never quite registered until now. "In due time, " she agrees at length, squaring her stack of papers with a single, sharp tap against the table. Whether her growing discomfort is due to a hungry, baby dragon or the turn in their conversation, the weyrling's lips press thin as she stands. "Dinner time, " is the explanation she gives with a glance for the barracks before departing, short nods given in farewell for both riders. "He's our Weyrleader. The dragons pick him time and time again, even different ones and even when-- And he's done nothing but good things for us! We should be loyal to our leaders. Just like I am loyal to you or Irianke or--." The bluerider stops himself, flushing. He only sets down the pitcher of klah sharply. It is likely a relief when Jocelyn excuses herself, since it pulls his attention from Farideh to High Reaches' newest goldrider. He is quick to offer a polite, "See you around. Take care." "Weyrleader-- schmeyrleader. Cadejoth catches, not K'del. You know, M'kris was Weyrleader too. Would you follow him blindly, given everything he's done?" Farideh's eyes track the other goldrider's progress, briefly, before returning to C'ris. "And M'kris stepped down! And they didn't convict him," C'ris points out, frowning. "And K'del isn't M'kris! He's our Weyrleader and he's better than him." He exhales a sigh, rubbing a hand again through his hair, before he mutters in addition, "I don't want to fight with you. Do you want to-- go grab a pastry? I know they're making them tonight." "Why are you getting all--" says the pregnant lady, eyes widening again, as she continues to stare at C'ris and squeeze the klah mug between her hands. "Pastries?" Farideh's mouth slowly breaks into a smile. "I can't say no to that. That's like saying no to a bubble bath or a-- but the--" Her head turns so she can gaze back towards the inner barracks. "Oh, they'll be fine," and she scoots to the end of her seat. "J'vain is in the office, if there's anything," points out C'ris reasonably, following her look towards the barracks for a moment. "And you can, uhm, meet. My mother. She works in the kitchens." There's no shame in that statement, only a little embarrassment for offering a weyrwoman to meet his mother. "Your mother," is nearly a squeal, and Farideh pushes up from her seat, using one hand for leverage, and offers that hand, once she's steady, to the bluerider. "Come on. I want allies in the kitchen. Your mother. Tell me, is she good at making desserts? Pies? Tarts? Cake?" Tell her more, tell her more! C'ris will take the hand carefully, politely, but with a slow smile of his own. "Yeah. She's been around for a long time. She's trusted with the pastries and cakes because they're more delicate than meats or soups or anything like that," he explains. "You might have met her before. Risca?" It only takes his acceptance of the hand for Farideh to start walking, pulling if he doesn't follow, towards the bowl and the lower caverns, wherein the kitchen lies. "Risca-- Risca-- oh, she's your mother? Tsk, she doesn't look old enough to have a son your age." Still, Farideh offers a smile to show her amusement; no harm done, see? "She was, uh, very young. When she had me. The Weyr gave her a place to work and make her own way," C'ris murmurs, though his gaze only drops to their hands rather than meeting her smile with his own. He will walk with her, barely needing to watch where he's going to make his way to the kitchen. "The Weyr was the right place for her to raise me. For her, at least." "Was she from elsewhere?" Farideh glances at the bluerider from the corners of her eyes, lifting her mug to take a sip even as they walk; it's dicey. "If I was a single mother, I'd probably raise my child in a Weyr, too. Less prejudice and name-calling, that way." "From a cothold near Tillek. My father was a dragonrider, but she never-- knew who he was. But she came to the Weyr before I was born, figured I'd belong here, too," agrees C'ris easily, slipping his hand from Farideh's and finally glancing up at the goldrider to offer her a warm smile. "I think you'll like her. You're a lot like her, y'know. I think." "Tillek," Farideh repeats. "I would have never known, but you're right. You did. You Impressed, didn't you?" She doesn't take his hand-dropping badly, but gives him an amused smile as she grips her mug now with both hands. "Am I? A bratty holder girl who's kind of emotional and bitchy?" And then she laughs. "I did," agrees C'ris simply with a smile to match. But, it's her questions that draw a Look from the bluerider, settling there before he answers. "No, no. Stubborn and strong and determined, and not willing to take nonsense from anyone. Even if it sometimes means that you miss out." "You think I'm stubborn?" Farideh stops walking abruptly, to mock-frown at C'ris. "You could at least be honest. Mulish, obstinate, hard-headed-- stubborn." She makes a clucking sound with her tongue, before starting for the caverns again with quick steps. "And you have a hard time seeing other people's points of view," is what C'ris will mumble-call to Farideh's back, but he's smiling the entire time before he picks up his pace with hers. The murmured reply doesn't reach Farideh's ears, or else the goldrider pretends not to hear, because her quickening strides are bringing her ever-closer to the lower caverns and from there, to the kitchen, with friendly bluerider in tow. |
Leave A Comment