Logs:Seeking Approval
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 20 July, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Leova and H'kon share some noodles and observations. And Leova shares some advice. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 4, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: N'ky/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions |
  |
| Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr No rain today, or at least none that's gotten up the gumption to leave the damp air as actual falling water. It's just waiting. Lurking. Less characteristically patient is the greenrider, her hair's summer sun-rust chopped off into short auburn spikes, who leans on one of the higher counters. She's watching another woman, not a rider, not bulky with pregnancy, who's preparing her a between-meals snack. The woman's chattering. The greenrider's waiting, a line developing between her brows. She shifts from one foot to the other. Nothing changes. Much like the brown who's only now taking up a place on the rim for watching the skies, much like the nanny out in the bowl, ready to call the playing weyrbrats under cover at a raindrop's notice, H'kon is wary. H'kon's wariness, however, has come indoors, even if he's still dressed for the outside, for the air, in full dew-dripped leathers. Damp gloves have been folded together into his left hand, and he pauses, halfway into the kitchens, to check over his shoulder. Only when there proves to be no following whoever does he turn his back fully to the main cavern, and head in deeper. Proximity to snackables should lead him nearer the waiting greenrider. Chances are good he's not come around to recognition just yet. He's too busy looking over his shoulder once more. "H'kon." Leova. "Who's after you?" H'kon, turning, looking. Taking a moment. "Leova." Wringing gloves. "Perhaps no one." The man's brow furrows. "If fortune is with me." "Mm." Amber eyes watch the gloves, not the man: does water fall? "Usually works that way," wry. H'kon doesn't so much raise one eyebrow above the other, as he tilts his head to an uneven access to offer a look of faint disbelief Leova's way. "An unusual month, though." The woman, the one chattering and presumably making preparations, receives a look in turn. "Worthwhile wait?" Nor does Leova. One corner of her mouth, though, yes. One shoulder, too, rather than clarify. "Hope so." Some sort of soft noodles, finely chopped nuts, butter and a light hand with the sweetening. "Someone finds you? Can hide behind me." That one-cornered smile hikes higher. "Generous," H'kon acknowledges, shoulders drawing back and together - the incredible shrinking brownrider, except not - while the greenrider's frame is given quick inspection. The prospect finds one more look going out toward the cavern, but as of yet, he remains seemingly unpursued. And waiting. "Hungry?" Leova follows up, before she looks out, too. 'Or just hiding?' asks her glance, returning. The woman takes the pan off the heat and, with a tap, sends the buttery noodles slithering into their shallow bowl. The rest gets dusted over the top before the woman says for the second time, kindly enough, "Leova." This time, Leova hears. She thanks her, takes it, but going to sit down would mean moving. She doesn't, yet. H'kon gives a curt nod of his head. "Sweeps," can raise an appetite, perhaps. H'kon is far too much H'kon to sniff at Leova's plate, but he does eyeball it with some interest. "Dining has not been private, of late. Even at odd times." "Why? Do you reckon." Leova. "You know, there's a little extra if you'd like," not-Leova, with a wiggle of the pan to go with her smile. Leova looks pained. H'kon gives his attention to the pan, to not-Leova, first. "Over-eagerness," is an answer to the greenrider's question, however. "You should be sure you have your fill," is probably addressed to them both, for all he's looking to the rider. Leova grunts, at that. The other woman waits on the greenrider, if in part due to the brownrider. Finally, "Less space to fill. You can have it." As preparing the other half-bowl commences, Leova adds right before starting off to the nearest booth, "Save you a spot. Against the crowd." The non-existent crowd. "Is that how it works," is a bit dry, but perhaps more impressively, comes with amusement playing just at the edges of the brownrider's mouth. There's lag enough not only for his portion of Leova's noodles to be doled out, but also for her offer to be considered, before H'kon makes his way after her. He still does check back out toward the caverns before he sits. Just in case. "Weyrlings?" Leova checks once he's gotten himself settled. She's already started, her coat off, the straps of overalls showing above her light sweater. "Could slide in, less visible. But less chance to run." "Just the one," H'kon returns, bowl and gloves set down on the table. He does indeed slide in before working out of his riding jacket. Apparently, the inability to run is a risk he's willing to take. "He is... persistent in seeking approval." It makes H'kon's Face show even to think about it. "Ah." Leova's shows brief sympathy. "They do that." Then, "Got a few in Glacier. Though less with the attention-seeking, that way, anyhow. Being Glacier." H'kon stirs at his noodles, a wearied nod of his head acknowledging whatever sympathy she might have for him. "I've been asked to help guide new riders in the past. Even when K'del was weyrleader proper..." He shakes his head, and dips his head to sample one of said noodles. He chews it more than a noodle warrants, shakes his head again, and reiterates, "Persistent." "You can handle it," says his once-assistant weyrlingmaster, but as a matter of fact. "Don't mean it's a good time." Leova winds one around and around her fork, around and around again. "The last one. What was that like?" H'kon certainly doesn't dispute Leova's assessment, nor does he set right away for more noodles. "I've no concern with fresh riders wishing to better understand formations, the cohesion and," a pause to find the proper word, "dynamics within a new wing. But there is an element of independence as well, which is required." Before she bites in, "Do you find this pair ill-trained?" Leova asks. "I've no complaint with his ability to execute manoeuvres. I imagine if they'd not have been able to accomplish so much, Sisha would not have brought then into the wing. Avalanche's role is not rehabilitation." And in Sisha he trusts, implicit in all this. H'kon now does start chasing another noodle. "But," and here he proceeds thoughtfully, carefully, "the need for constant reassurance could prove a hindrance to his performance." Leova nods, even as she stares at her own plate with some disgruntlement. She waits on pursuing her next helping, going so far as to set down her fork and lace her hands over the top of her belly. "Like to think, once he's settled in, that'll ease up. Once he and his know their place." Amber eyes pause on the brownrider, there. "I believe," and H'kon looks up, away from the half-curled noodle, when he comes to feel Leova's eyes upon him, "it will more be a matter of understanding that the place is theirs. And claiming it and seeking it as such." There's something strange in speaking this to his former weyrlingmaster, and the brownrider shifts a bit in his seat, though his gaze doesn't waver. "I wonder," and Leova continues to observe the brownrider, "whether he's heard that in so many words. Though being told is not the same. Some might say it defeats the purpose." "I imagine," and H'kon lifts the forkful of noodle, "that hearing it straight out might just bring him one more thing on which to seek approval. Which would certainly defeat the purpose." Noodle meets the brownrider's mouth. It's not a long-lived association. "I reckon," and Leova widens the fan of her fingers over her belly, "you were picked for a reason. Like to think so, anyhow. Why you? Do you think." "Arekoth." The certainty in H'kon's answer certainly warrants the direct nature of it, this time. He goes for another noodle. "The boy and I had spoken of his green even as a weyrling." "Arekoth." Leova listens to this, unperturbed. "Does he show a... particular interest. Or should I say, affiliation?" "No more in Cailluneth than in any of the others. She is certainly not one of his faovurites. But, as you know," and H'kon offers Leova a dip of his head, "our growth was nothing simple. The difference, of course, was that I always had expectations of right, and this boy does not." The eating of the noodles becomes focused here. Perhaps that was a closing statement. Leova shifts, finally. She picks up her fork, only to set it down once again. "Informing a young man that there is a place that needs claiming," she says, "need not be the same as informing him what that is. Informing him that there has been a rope flung to him, that he is to grasp it and pull himself out of the water, need not be the same as tying it around him and pulling him out yourself." "You would have me tell him that his two feet are there for standing on." It's said in a musing, just as H'kon is pushing the now-emptied half-bowl back from himself, just enough to show he's done with eating, near done with sitting. "And I will then look forward to his displaying his standing, that I might tell him how well he's doing it." When he stands, though, there at least goes to Leova an appreciative bow of his head. "You have my thanks for what shelter you've provided." "Yes." He muses, she's now amused. "I would say, one step at a time," but it's standing. Leova stays sitting. "Welcome, H'kon." Such as it is. She doesn't touch her noodles again. |
Leave A Comment