Logs:The Moral of the Story
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| RL Date: 30 January, 2016 |
| Who: Jo, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint tells a story, and then he and Jo exchange favors. |
| Where: Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alysce/Mentions, Ryneton/Mentions |
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A rustic and unadorned vestibule leads in from hewn spiral steps to a
refitted ledge, enclosed by limestone pillars. Sturdy wooden framework
captures elongated glass panes, tilted to absorb the most light during the
day. The wash of heat from within, lush and humid, persists even into the
dead of winter; the air is heady with the scent of fresh-turned soil and
various flora.
Long, deep troughs of soil line the inner stone wall, planted with an
assortment of broad, leafy tropicals - practical and decorative alike.
Fruit and vegetable baskets hang from rafters, optimizing space, tempting
in reach with a perpetually ripening harvest. A series of stone shelving
is devoted to flourishing, aromatic herbs and new green shoots; even the
softest touch releases a burst of savory scent from tender leaves. Amidst
the greenery, a handful of wooden benches have been scattered, making this
a temptingly warm and secluded spot to sit.
Shuttered vents serve to regulate humidity and heat given off from a small
hot spring recessed into an alcove at the back; a secondary pool with
cooler waters siphons off to provide a constant, fresh supply for
irrigation. A small potting station nearby is cluttered with watering cans
and gardening tools of various uses, with a wooden bin for composting
materials tucked underneath. With it being so cold outside, one would expect all the warm places to be occupied. The greenhouse may be the case with Jo having settled towards the back of the place, sitting at a table with her dark leather jacket draped over a stool as she tends to one of the plants. She looks a bit preoccupied with her thoughts, and she doesn't seem to much notice the one tender near the entrance preparing to head out for the evening. Perhaps that's why Quint's entrance is easy to miss, too -- the rush of cooler air that indicates his arrival occurs as the tender is leaving, each nodding wordlessly to the other. The door shuts, and stillness and tranquility return to the greenhouse. The harper's steps are near silent, though it doesn't seem like he's trying to be -- heading for one of the benches -- pausing as he catches sight of a familiar figure, and angling instead for the back of the greenhouse. He hefts himself up to sit at the table next to her jacket, resting the guitar on his knees. The first pluck is a low note, near inaudible, though the second, and third seem to carry further. The sound of the door closing has Jo looking towards the entrance even though she cannot see it all the way from her vantage. Dark eyes land on the harper as he approaches, and follows him until he's settled at the table. Plucking that guitar draws her focus and a slight grin before she queries, "Yer gonna serenade me tonight, harper? Do I have to pay?" It's a familiar tease in her voice as she sets down the small clippers in favor of her flask. While his grin might say a lot, it's more the harper's typical demeanor than any attempt to rise to her flirtations. "This isn't exactly a serenading song," Quint confesses, as a few more notes follow, easily able to keep the tune going while he converses. "Consider it a freebie. I certainly don't mean to interrupt your... work," gaze flickers to the flask, with a low chuckle, while fingers continue to strum mostly low-toned notes. "The acoustics in here are interesting, especially when you get to the higher notes," he observes, picking one or two that seem to resonate and linger in the air longer than the lower notes. "Then what song is it?" Jo asks before she waves at what she's doing and adds for his sake, "It's not work, darlin'. It's just....it's somethin' I do when I need to think'n unwind. It works for me. The drink does, too." Right. She raises the flask briefly in a sort of toast, but she quiets down to hear those notes, watching Quint with a mixture of quiet interest. In the end, "Betcha have a nice voice," she comments idly. "Ah," Quint nods, understandingly. "The equivalent of me playing is your gardening?" with a twitch of lips, as if surprised by that notion when associated with the bluerider. Of the song, he straightens, voice projecting: "It's about a holder who took advantage of tragedy, married his nephew's widow, adopted his nephew's child, took over his holding," a briefly upbeat tone, followed by a darker one, as the harper speaks, "And sought to install his own son as heir. Only he learned -- too late -- that it was his new wife was the one that disposed of his nephew in the first place, and she wasn't too pleased with his ambitiousness, being ambitious herself. It ended rather poorly for all of them, all told." The thrum of his guitar ends on downbeat notes, though he's smiling for all that. "You haven't had the fortune of hearing me sing? Well -- that's not my forte, admittedly," he says, not playing modesty so much as blandly honest. "I know," Jo says to his twitch of lips. "It goes against all that is me. Well, it's my way of throwin' folks off. Keep y'all on yer toes. Ya can't figure me out." The words are quick, decisive. Rehearsed. Listening about the song, she inclines her head to that with a spreading grin before answering with, "Sounds inspirin'. Odd choice of song to be playin' if ya wanna unwind. 'Less yer into tragedies. So ya play better than ya can sing." There's slight amusement there. "I'm a harper," Quint points out, without missing a beat, "You're like an open book to me," with a smile and a tilt of head that could be read as apologetic. "Oh, I don't know," he disagrees with her view on his song choice, "There's beauty and truth in tragedies. Lessons to be learned, by not just those involved." His strumming changes, tempo increasing slightly. "I play better than I sing," he echoes in agreement, "And I compose better than I play, and I teach better than I compose. Now you know the story of Quint-the-harper," he sing-songs, with an amused twitch of lips. "Harper though'n through," Jo remarks wryly, leaning her elbow back on the table. "Well, I'm no harper but folks interest me, too." Pause. "What lesson did you learn from this song?" she has to ask now, her interest piqued. Quint's last draw something close to laughter before the wingsecond states, "Ya should teach me somethin' sometime, then. I'm ever the earnest student from my days." The accusation of being a harper is accepted by Quint with an easy smile that might've otherwise substituted for a spread of his hands, if they were free. "What does it tell one?" his gaze goes upwards towards that glass roof. "That one's ambition doesn't preclude another's, and one's actions don't preclude others. We tend to think the story revolves around us, and thus it's sometimes a surprise to learn the story was about someone else, and we were merely a bit player in their epic," the strum of the guitar swells as he says the word epic, and goes silent as his fingers still the strings with a gentle press. "Oh?" the harper's brows go upwards in the universal request for further information, though the glint of eyes perhaps hints he might well guess at her notion. "That's a good way of sayin' it," Jo seems like his summarization and lesson learned of the song. "It can be applied to many things beyond ambition." The words are a little sobering, even. Still, her dark gaze lingers on Quint's fingers as they strum, his last lifts her gaze to his own before she lifts one brow herself and tilts her head a little. "Worried that I'm seducin' ya?" It's a tease, before she adds, "I'm tryin' to be good. Ya can teach me how to strum that guitar, even." "It can indeed," Quint agrees, as he shifts his grip on the guitar, into a position where it rests comfortably on his knees. "Not worried. Certain you're trying. But I hear that is par for the course, and I'm flattered I'm not being overlooked," the harper says with an easy chuckle. His brows go up in mute surprise for a moment at her last, however, "You want to learn?" A beat of his intent gaze, and then: "Why?" "So my flirtacions have no effect on ya," Jo angles that like a question to what Quint says, chin lifting a bit. Nodding to the guitar before answering, "'Cause I like tryin' different things. I didn' grow up around music. I don' like to close myself off to new experiences if they should expose itself." "I didn't say that," Quint points out, without missing a beat. And to, he continues just as smoothly as if the aside didn't happen: "I'd be happy to teach you sometime. Not now, though -- the dirt would get all over the strings. And it helps to be... sober," with a little clearing of his throat, before he tips his head, quizzically. "What sort of music have you heard that you like?" "No, ya didn' exactly," Jo chases right behind Quint's aside without a pause. "Good, though, I'm all manner of sober-" well, likely not exactly, either, "-but the next time yer free, I'll be sure to keep the flask away. It's become quite a habit, anyway." As to the sort of music that she likes, that gets her silence as if the bluerider is considering how to answer that. There's a slight crinkle of her brows before she answers him with, "I hear lots of tragedy. Love songs. Those songs that make ya wanna sing along'n dance. Sad songs. Sometimes it's more of the words rather than the music for me. A lot of times I prefer the sad songs. The tragic songs." There's a flicker of a smile, which holds while the harper regards the bluerider in silence while she contemplates. Quint seems perfectly at ease in the silent, waiting. "There's certainly no dearth of such songs in a harper's repertoire," he admits, with a rueful shake of his head. "I'll find some that you might like -- I find it's easier to learn by playing things you like, that appeal to you." His finger runs along the edge of the guitar, a gesture absent and loving in equal measures. "The question is, what can you offer me in return, wingsecond?" the use of her title is no doubt deliberate reminder. "Ya must have a lot of patience," Jo notes on his teaching, wry. "I'm not even wingleader'n the shit I have to do...havin' 'mates runnin' around after me is still takin' some gettin' use to. But yeah, somethin' appealin' would do. Hopefully I'm a quick study." Her dark gaze can't help to follow that finger that runs along with guitar edge before meeting his gaze again, and Quint's last drawing a flicker of curiosity. With only a breath of a second to pass, "What would'ja want in return, harper?" "That's what makes me an excellent teacher, and only a mediocre singer," Quint replies, with a low laugh. "It is something, getting used to having people rely on you, look to you for guidance. Sometimes it feels like I'd be better served with children than apprentices -- but then I guess I get to hand the apprentices back to the hall, eventually." He makes another wry kind of face as he considers that. Gaze drifts back towards the bluerider, lips quirking at one side of his mouth. "How about some trips, here and there, to start with. Some information, now and then. You can veto one or the other, if it makes you uncomfortable. Oh, and a... day of shadowing you on your normal duties about the wing. Sound fair?" Laughing with him, "Yeah, I get it," Jo says back at him with ease. "Yeah, 'least ya only have those apprentices for an amount of time. Ya have any here?" As for favors returns, the bluerider chuckles once to that and inclines to head without much thought. "'Course," she gives in agreement. "I can do all that. It's what I do anyway, so, that's easy. Fair," and she sticks out her hand for him to shake on it. There's a brief twitch of Quint's expression at Jo's question about his apprentices. "Alysce's been with me about a Turn and a half, while I was still posted to Boll. Ryneton for about a Turn, when I was posted here. I'm afraid Alysce might've decided she's going to follow me around for the rest of my Journeymanship -- which might be some time, indeed." His smile brightens at her acceptance, and he stretches out his hand to clasp hers, his other keeping a solid grip on the guitar. "Deal," he echoes. "Sounds like she's been inspired by ya," Jo says on Alysce, grinning. "Can't blame the girl. What will ya do once ya make Master? Will ya be posted back to the Hall?" Her grip on his is firm, sealing the deal made before she loosens her hold. "Although," she goes on to add, "ya didn' need to get that outta a deal. I would've done that without charge, bein'-" a gesturing wave towards her own knot. "'N ya bein' all respectable'n all." "Inspired might be the wrong word. I imagine it's hard to find one's muse with the weight of one's parents breathing down one's neck," Quint speculates, briefly. "Me? Oh, no. I'm not for getting shackled to the hall. I'm content to journey for the rest of my days. Teaching is as much about learning oneself, as anything. Sitting still gives one a narrowed field of view, intentionally or not, after a time." His hand drops, and he grins, giving an easy shrug. "Well, then -- it's a great deal for you, wingsecond." If he's upset about it, it certainly doesn't show. Jo seems to be mulling over what's said about Alysce before Quint's answer on future plans earns a grunt of approval from her. "I couldn' agree more," she answers, nodding. "Large reason why I left home. In hindsight, it was worth everythin' I went through to end up here. I'll admit I dunno much 'bout how the Halls work with their folks." To the last, she's easy to add, "As in, I could throw in a contact to someone I know that likes to build instruments. I think ya'd like'em, 'n he doesn' often travel for clients. If yer interested, I can take ya to him sometime. Consider it part of the deal." "It's good one when can look back on the decisions one has made and find few regrets," Quint allows with a smile that is a tad more fleeting than the words might suggest it should be. As to instruments: "We make our own, though -- admittedly -- some better than others." He tugs a hand through his hair, exhales and says, "Sure. Love to meet him," because what harper would pass up a contact, either way? He slides off the stool, standing. "I'd best go prep for tomorrow's lesson -- I'll leave you to your, mm, musing," he says, with a grin. "If only it were that easy," Jo admits on regrets, some of her smile fading. She nods upon hearing that they make their own instruments, but when Quint agrees to the contact, the grin is back and she says, "I'll let him know, then. Good seein' ya, Quint. Soon." It's a promise as she returns to her tending. "If only," Quint echoes her tone precisely, expression even. He gives a nod for her setting up the contact, and agrees: "Soon. Have a good evening, Jo," with another nod for her, this time in farewell, he picks his way amongst the greenery, the rush of cold air indicating his departure soon after. |
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