Logs:Unwanted Consequences
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| RL Date: 15 December, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke assesses Jocelyn's reaction to the topic of flights and offers advice. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 20, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| The Snowasis is the location of the meeting Irianke requested of Jocelyn, and the Weyrwoman is early, nursing a glass of something or other and seated at a table near a lively game of darts. She carries a casual conversation with some of the players, remarking on their skill or lack thereof, with all the jocular familiarity of having been intimate with one or more at any given moment in time. But eventually, the game gets more serious, with bets being laid, and Irianke is silent as she waits; silent, even, in her lifted hand request for another. Jocelyn isn't a very frequent Snowasis patron, but she's lately shown up every now and then as weyrling restrictions are lifted - usually to have one drink alone or with her mentor, and promptly leaves some time thereafter. Tonight, there's a set to her shoulders and little pinch in her forehead as she places her order for a glass of something sweet and white before she heads to join Irianke. A flick of a glance is spared for those nearby dart players; her mouth thins as she takes the seat across from the Weyrwoman, although it smooths itself into a polite expression once she's settled. "You wanted to see me, Weyrwoman, " she says without preamble, folding her hands neatly atop the table. Jocelyn arrives just as Irianke's refill does, and the older woman smiles her appreciation at the server and voices, "Thanks," to the departing woman's back. For the weyrling, the smile tempers, a slight drop of her chin indicating yes, and then a hand gestures to the dart game. "A moment. F'lyn would never forgive me if we broke his concentration and he lost. There's a week of dawn sweeps on the line." An interesting, though not necessarily goodlooking, man is up to bat. "How dreadful, " says Jocelyn drily, attention moving with the other goldrider's gesture to better take in the ongoing game and its current turn-taker. "Good odds to you." Over a series of small sips from her glass, the redhead has enough manners to afford F'lyn a small nod, observing what comes of his attempt with an even glance and a considerate enough silence. Silence. Then cheers as F'lyn does it and he high-fives his friends, while the loser, a lanky brownrider with spectacles frowns. "Good, good," says Irianke cheerfully, turning from watching the outcome to Jocelyn. "Do you know many of the riders in the Weyr? I've never been a lower caverns worker so I never truly comprehend the social divide, if there is any, between dragonriders and their lower caverns counterparts." Jocelyn has an almost-sympathetic look for the bespectacled brownrider, even if it comes off as more of a grimace than anything else. Back to Irianke: "Do I know many? No. I know of quite a few. Some are just faces and some are just names with reputations. I ran into people looking to requisition items from our stores fairly frequently, of course, so some people aren't wholly unfamiliar to me - even if I know them more by their dragons' names, at times." It helps that Aidavanth's well-known, by now, for striking up conversations with nearly any and everyone. It's not quite a complete answer to the question, but it's a frank one. Speaking of Aidavanth, the elder goldrider slants Jocelyn a speculative look before looking down to her new glass. She lifts it, sipping slowly, and considers the crowd in the Snowasis. "Do you have many you'd consider friends, Jocelyn? I mean, generally, not just riders." "Do you suppose me to be entirely friendless?" Jocelyn's exhale on the tail end of that too-neutral query is followed by an apologetic wince. "There are a few whom I consider to be - friends, " she allows after some moments, warily. "We don't braid each other's hair and tuck each other in at night, but we talk." That is what friends do, right? Irianke laughs, though it's not entirely humored. "No. But you seem the type to keep few as friends and even fewer as acquaintances. Your circle," the goldrider notes with a tip of her glass towards Jocelyn, "I imagine, is deliberately small." Jocelyn's mouth twitches faintly, her own glass lifting for another sip. Blue-gray eyes consider the Weyrwoman over the rim before it lowers again. "Of course it is." That's matter-of-fact, accompanied by a lingering hint of amusement. "And it will no doubt stay that way." Even without taking her own demeanor into consideration. "I'm sure there are advantages to having larger circles for different purposes, but that's not my style. Ma'am." "Tend to your garden, your circle. It's easier when it's small but hurts more deeply when a flower is lost." Irianke, not typically prone towards purple prose, looks down at her glass with shades of melancholy flickering in her gaze. Her head shakes, and when she looks up again, a crooked, not quite smile is there. "You were born and bred in the Weyr. In this Weyr. Your dragon is getting older. I'm sure the thoughts of how you may behave or Aidavanth might change when proddy, have surfaced by now." Uncertainty briefly softens Jocelyn's features; she, too, glances down at her glass, takes another sip for good measure before she meets Irianke's gaze again with a small, sharp nod. She'll try. "If by 'thoughts' you mean dread for the unpredictability? Plenty." Her posture stiffens. Wryly, "I don't suppose I can lock myself into my study once she takes it into her head to rise until it's over with." She might be at least half in earnest. "You would likely find the actuality of that less enjoyable then just giving into it," says Irianke, that crooked mouth shape deepening into something that still is not quite amused. Inscrutable, really. "In the moment, it is very difficult for some to recognize what is going on and that something is different. Even those of us that are," she pauses, purses her lips, and acknowledges something of Jocelyn, "Who are incredibly introspective." "I'll be astonished if it's enjoyable, " says the redheaded kill-joy. There's an awkward twist to her nose before she barrels onward: "I found feeling the influence off of any flight overhead to be discomfiting, at best. I tried to lock myself into my room or get lost in the stores, usually with something to alphabetize in order to - " Not give in. A breath, then, "I'd like to think I'll have at least some idea, when the time comes, but I know I'll be flying blind the first time." And Jocelyn's gaze sharpens, more attentively. "Niahvth's first time. Did you know, at first?" "Can you imagine disassociating yourself from your dragon so much you can ignore her needs?" Irianke asks the kill-joy quietly, assessing the woman's expression, body language, her general reaction as she asks the question and for a long while afterwards. Jocelyn's jaw opens, then abruptly closes again. There's a swear written on her face, in the way her lips push together for a syllable that's swallowed down, forced away as a hand pushes her wine glass aside. Quietly: "No. Just because I have no desire to - no. There are coping strategies for people who don't like the experience very much, aren't there?" It's almost a plea. Irianke sees it all and reacts in no way discernible, except to nod once. "Do you remember when you first Impressed? I know it's different for everyone, but there's usually at least one distinct truth and similarity to it all. The inability to distinguish between their hunger and yours. Their needs and yours and their emotions and yours." The academic in Jocelyn can't help but to seize on the offered information, even as the processing of what that means elicits a deeply furrowed frown. "And when you can't tell which is whose, is it - harmful to not - do whatever it is she might think I should do during that time, if the majority of the feelings are hers? This isn't like getting a meal to survive. If she decides to spend her time being coquettish or something with a nearby male, will it hurt her if I work really hard to not do the same?" "If you even realize it's happening," says Irianke, the same thing said differently might still fall in deaf ears. Jocelyn's stare turns defeated at some length, and her eyes scrunch shut momentarily before they pop open again. "I probably won't, will I. Anything can be chalked up to our own cyclical nature." After some consideration, she retrieves her previously abandoned glass, taking a much longer drink. Then a second. "Is there anything in particular you'd recommend I do to keep the experience as safe for both of us as I can?" No escape. "You know the rote stuff. Only let her blood, hold on to that shred and force her to only blood," Irianke states, draining her glass in one, "Other than that, afterwards, I say give into her feelings. Let it free you, if only for a moment. The rest will go easier if you aren't worried how much damage is being done to your reputation or personality. You can pick up the pieces in the morning. But it's safer for the both of you to be as one as possible after the blooding." The weyrling's chin ducks into a silent nod as she listens, hand rotating and rotating her glass throughout. "Alright, " she says at last, soberly. "I'll - remember that. For her sake, I'll work on getting more okay with the concept. I won't let anything happen to her." There's a fierceness present in Jocelyn's last, even as she gives another sharp nod. Reputation and personality damage, well. There's no underlying concern for those visible in her expression with the reminder that Aidavanth's safety will be paramount; some of their discussion must be getting through. There's a beat. "And while I encourage the Weyr to procreate, I would rather not have another goldrider with child so close together. I'd advise an extra beat in between the day after a flight, preferably not on Aidavanth. Find a friend." Irianke says that with a heavy sigh following and looks at Jocelyn. "Niahvth's first flight was difficult even with my sexual history and free," the air quotes are tangibly heard, "Way of growing up. It is definitely the worst and best sensation I've ever felt and I never feel quite as close with Niahvth as in those moments, when we are a hybrid between human and beast with nothing, no filters, no consequences, stopping us from being together. It is better now, with several flights together, to just enjoy the ride but I would never lie and say the first was easy." "I'll take whatever the healers deem appropriate on top of the trip between if it'll guarantee a lack of unwanted consequences." Jocelyn, clearly not on board with procreating, herself. Irianke's description is taken in with a look that shades more thoughtful than dreadful by its conclusion. "I appreciate your honesty, " she offers, then, genuinely respectful. "And your time, " is added after with a tilt of her head toward their surroundings. "I hope I haven't taken up too much of your evening." "No. I'm back to my old schedule of turning work off after I eat dinner. This," she gestures to the Snowasis, the people, the table and then holds up the empty glass before her, "Is hardly work. But I've promised some of my time to loser of that dart game, and he's been waiting patiently so if you don't mind." Irianke gets up from the table, dropping a few partial mark pieces on the table. "Have a good night, Jocelyn." "Of course, " and Jocelyn gets to her feet in the elder goldrider's wake. "Enjoy your evening, Weyrwoman." She adds the sum of her drink to the other's pile of marks before striding promptly for the exit, hands shoved into her trouser pockets. |
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