Logs:Teaching Teachers
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| RL Date: 12 May, 2015 |
| Who: C'ris, Farideh, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyrlings (including Farideh) run laps. Quinlys schools C'ris in the art of weyrling wrangling. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Yesia/Mentions |
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| A group of very, very lucky weyrlings (no, really!) are running laps with firestone sacks as weights. It may be a lovely morning, weather-wise, but it's clear that not all of them are having a great time, and that, in turn... well. Quinlys seems pleased enough, watching from a sunny spot not too far from the barracks, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. C'ris' first duties are to his wing, by matter of course, but he has been fairly routinely appearing around the weyrling complex in the times that he isn't with Frostbite. Today, he comes directly from drills, still wrapped into his flight jacket and with fluffy, dark hair wind-mussed, smelling of firestone and dragonhide himself. Mivength, however, is nowhere to be seen as the bluerider loops across the bowl, setting his path directly towards Quinlys as he notices the weyring group and the Weyrlingmaster. "Hey there," he greets brightly, lifting a hand in a salute- hybrid-wave. If Quinlys has been impressed by C'ris' diligence, she's not mentioned it to the bluerider on the occasions they've had the opportunity to talk. On the plus side, though, as she turns her blue-eyed gaze towards the other rider, now, her immediate response is to give him a shallow nod, and that could well be taken as approval. "See we haven't scared you off just yet," she remarks, easily. Laughter escapes from C'ris as easily as breathing, his warm eyes crinkling up at the corners with it. "I don't scare easily. Just, uh, stubborn that way I guess," is his answer to the Weyrlingmaster, flashing a bigger grin at her as he settles in next to Quinlys in that spot of sun, not exactly in her personal space but close enough for those that like to have a large one. His first question is a curious, "Why are only some of them out here, doing this?" Quinlys turns her head to consider C'ris, expression cool, though she otherwise doesn't react to his proximity. "Stubborn," she repeats. "Ha. The others have all finished. This lot are the stragglers-- the ones who still can't finish their laps within the allotted time." It's morning, and the younger bluerider has just joined the weyrlingmaster, who observes a handful of weyrlings still attempting to finish their firestone-sack weighted laps. C'ris meets that cool expression with an awkward hesitation, the faintest touch of a wince across his expression, before it's erased with him offering another bright smile to Quinlys. Surely that will make a difference. But his gaze will slide back out to the weyrlings, offering, "Poor guys. It can be tough. Especially when you aren't used to any physical, you know, whatever." Among those stranglers -- it's likely not a surprising -- is the former-laundress, huffing and puffing in her endeavor to complete her weighted laps; life is hard enough without adding firestone sack juggling (thanks Quinlys). With reddened cheeks and perspiration dampening her hairline, Farideh comes to a complete halt, arms trembling under the weight, until she simply, drops the sack right there on the ground and bends over, hands on her knees, to glower in the direction of the two blueriders. Her face screams belligerent-on-the-verge-mutiny; just try and make her carry that sack again! "It's been two and a half months," points out Quinlys. "Two and a half months of regular conditioning. They should be learning." And they are; let's face it, Quinlys is just criticising for the sake of criticising. That Farideh drops her sack right as the bluerider speaks is pure coincidence, no doubt, though the red-head appears to take it as proof, pointing a finger directly at the poor weyrling. "Your assessment, C'ris? What would you do at this point, if you were actually in charge?" "Uh, well," hesitates C'ris at the question, his hand lifting to scrubb at fluffy dark hair in a sheepish gesture as he looks to Farideh. "Maybe, uh, she could have a break and come back to it. Muscles don't all have to build overnight, so. I mean, she'll be better tomorrow." He-- smiles in Farideh's direction, a supportive thing even from a distance, while Quinlys points at her like that. The weyrling's glare sharpens, at that gesture from the weyrlingmaster, and no amount of supportive smiles from C'ris will make it better! It could be that her pride is pricked, or that she's just had enough, but she straightens and, after a brief pause, starts ambling quickly towards the two blueriders. Farideh may be short, she may be slow, but she's upon them in a small amount of time, and, once there, retains her disdain. "Are we done? Can't I go?" "You don't think," says Quinlys, her brows arching, "that that will tell a weyrling that they can manipulate you? That they don't need to do what you say, because you'll just back down?" That is said as Farideh approaches, though no doubt part of it will be audible to the weyrling. Chin lifting, she turns her attention towards the goldrider. "Have you finished your assigned laps, Farideh?" Her tone, for what it's worth (probably not much), is sympathetic. C'ris' lips twist into a frown, losing their usual smile as he mulls over Quinlys' questions. His answers don't come immediately, but that is perhaps only because there is Farideh right there and maybe he doesn't want to answer her in front of the goldrider. Instead, he falls silent to observe the interaction between Weyrlingmaster and weyrling. "You know damn well that I haven't, Quinlys," Farideh says in an angry-but-open-to-sarcasm way, and tosses her head, to slant angry hazel eyes at C'ris. Useless, her condescending expression seems to say, before she's redirecting that annoyance towards the weyrlingmaster. "I was a laundress, not one of Lord Aughan's personally trained guard. I'm going to pass out or throw up, I'm not sure which yet," gets to be accusatory by the end, her arms crossing defensively across her chest. "Weyrlingmaster," says the bearer of that title, quietly but firmly; a reminder, this time, if one that carries a faint hint of warning: anger or no anger, generally friendly interactions or no generally friendly interactions, Quinlys won't accept that. She glances, just for a moment, in C'ris' direction, but the volunteer is witness, not subject, here. "You were a laundress; that's true. Now you're a weyrling, and you've been one for two-and-a-half months. If you give up now, you won't improve for tomorrow. One more lap without the sack, and then you can put it away," which involves more heavy lifting, of course, "until tomorrow. But I expect a proper effort, Farideh." Slanted looks directed towards him don't seem to sit well with C'ris, who attempts a gentle smile in response, encouraging, "One lap is nothing. You can do that. And then tomorrow, it won't be as hard." See, positive! "Weyrlingmaster," sounds uninterested. "Two and a half months isn't enough time for anything. I wouldn't trust anyone who said they'd become a world-class dancer in just two and a half months." Farideh is adamant, every inch the insubordinate teenage, even in front of supportive and encouraging boy-next-door C'ris; attitude stops for no one! "Fine," the brunette bites, at last, out in irritation, and turns, dragging her feet back towards where she left her sack on the ground. Quinlys waits, rather than replying to Farideh, a tactic that clearly pays off when Farideh turns to head back to her laps. "See," explains the bluerider, glancing side-long at C'ris. "That works better. You don't make them feel as if they have no power at all, or that you're not listening to them, but you make sure they know that you have permitted any deviation. I hated running laps, too, but that doesn't mean they're not worth doing. And Farideh, in particular, needs to learn not to sulk. Of course... sometimes you can't be flexible. Some of them need to learn how to obey." "Yeah, that was better," than what, C'ris doesn't say, but clearly his approval for the Weyrlingmaster's tactics is brightly laid in his tone as he offers a smile in return for side-long glances. "I didn't remember being so unhappy as a weyrling, but--." But what, he never says, as he watches Farideh drag her feet. There is a lot of eye rolling going on, that they can't see, as Farideh trudges back to her sack of firestone. She makes a show of throw them both a couple more glares, and then she's off, jogging at a tidy pace, without Quinlys' insisted-upon burden; she'll jog until she's made an obvious pass of the track, and more grudgingly, heft her firestone sack back to its delegated spot. "There's a lot riding on her shoulders. A lot of pressure." Quinlys' words are quiet and full of feeling; it's plain that she feels protective of Farideh as much as she is inclined to push. "You and I didn't have that." Her eyes follow the weyrling, and though she has an approving nod as she finishes, it likely doesn't actually reach its intended audience. "She takes careful handling, in any case. You can't push too hard, or too soft. You don't want to make her feel entitled and better than her classmates... but there are ways in which her path is obviously different. It's hard." "Your, uh, other weyrlings, too, though," C'ris replies, his hand lifting again to fluff through hair in a gesture of excess energy. He pauses, before telling Quinlys hesitatingly, "I think Yesia's being bullied. She said something about the other girls not being nice, or something." Mention of Yesia, and in that context, makes Quinlys' mouth twitch; she smirks. "Yesia is a bully herself," she explains, keeping her voice low so as to avoid it carrying to those few weyrlings still running (fewer and fewer, now). "I'm not saying the other weyrlings are kind to her, because I suspect they're not. But she's not kind to them, either, from what I've seen and heard. Having said that, it's plain she's unhappy. It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to be someone she's willing to talk to, as long as you take what she says with a grain of salt." "Hard to know who started what, I imagine," C'ris will agree, but he agrees with a little frown that seems out of place. "But, yeah. What, uh, do you do as a Weyrlingmaster about it? I mean, if the girls are picking on her and she's picking on the other girls--." Her advice, however, is received eagerly enough, with a nod on the part of the younger bluerider. Quinlys', "Some situations are like that," is neutral, though it's plain she doesn't have much fondness for the greenrider in question. That question, however, gives her more pause. "To some degree, it's a matter of waiting and watching. Anything we catch, we can act on, but-- they're growing up. Would you want someone intervening in your squabbles as an adult? Once they start working as a team-- a wing-- things change, of course. If they can't learn together, the whole wing fails." It may be that even as plain as it is, Quinlys' feelings go over C'ris' head even as he muses a sympathetic, "Got to be hard, especially if the other girls get away with it and are never caught. Hard to be the bigger person in all of that, on either side, and-- Yeah, teenagers; growing up." All that, implies the agreement of his tone. He changes the subject easily enough, however, with a bright, "I should go grab some breakfast. Didn't get any before drills. Do you want some?" "Mmm," says Quinlys, largely non-commital. She'd probably say something else, but C'ris' bright subject change distracts her. "What? Oh. No, no, I'm fine. Go eat. Thanks for dropping by. I'd better round up these stragglers before they run into lunchtime." "I'll bring you back some klah," answers C'ris, as if he didn't even hear that answer of Quinlys', but he pairs it with a boyish grin to the other bluerider. "I'll be back like a flash," he adds with a light salute to the Weyrlingmaster, walking backwards for a few paces away from her before turning himself towards the living caverns. And Quinlys? She just shakes her head. C'ris is weird. |
Comments
Edyis (22:39, 12 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
I loved this, poor Farideh."
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