Logs:Wingleaders are Watching
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2013 |
| Who: Quinlys, K'zin, Olveraeth, Rasavyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin's performance is lousy. Weyrlingmaster Quinlys intervenes. Turns out, the problem might be more than either of them know how to deal with. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 3, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder. |
| Mentions: Sabella/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Some angst. Not a lot, but some. |
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| Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space. It is a rare day of cloudless sunshine, though the temperatures are markedly colder.
Cirrus' drills have come to a close, now; Sabella and her Wingseconds have dismissed the wing, and everyone is now dispersing towards their first day of shadowing the first wing of their choice. The cold weather has kept Meara from attending this morning's drills - her arthritis is worse than ever, they say, and surely she must be intending to retire - but Quinlys has been there, watching, and now, before K'zin and Rasavyth can get too far, Olveraeth reaches for the bronze. « Stay, » he prompts. « We need to talk to you and yours. » That phrase is foreboding. It always is. K'zin's eyes go to his lifemate and his lips pull tight, and he nods his understanding. They wait, looking casual as the others take their leave. K'zin busies himself with re-checking Rasavyth's straps, which are, of course, perfectly fine and safe, but best not to look like you're getting pulled aside, even when you are. Once the dragons have dispersed for the most part, he and Rasavyth head toward the blue pair, K'zin at a jog, Rasavyth at a lumber. "Reporting as requested, Weyrlingmaster." He salutes the bluerider upon arrival, as he begins to speak. "At ease," is Quinlys' answer; she's already got her shoulders slouched, her hands dug deep into the pockets of her coat. "This is less formal conversation and more... do you want to end up in a reject wing? And don't try and tell me there's no such thing. Your performance is, frankly, lousy. At this rate, no one'll want you, because you look half trained at best." She sounds frustrated more than angry, and her gaze is searching, as if she can find the answers to all of her questions in K'zin's expression, or perhaps in her stance. "I'm sorry... What?" K'zin's brows draw up in both surprise and confusion, as Quinlys had been speaking gibberish. Quinlys, as it turns out, doesn't need to repeat herself, because, of course, Rasavyth is there to give K'zin an instant replay, or perhaps just mentally smack him. The dragon huffs softly and K'zin's head gives a little shake, "I'm sorry." He starts again, sounding more 'with it' this time. "Not intentionally, ma'am, although Rasavyth points out that our talents might be put to best use in a wing that is struggling. But that doesn't mean that's where we want to go." He shifts his weight, away from his dragon. "I'd be glad to fly with any wing that will have me. Except Taiga." Rasavyth's rumble interrupts the silence that might have followed, prompting a roll of K'zin's eyes. "He has some specific ideas about which wings he'd like to be in." Can she see the undercurrent of annoyance as he relays this? "We're not-- we're not being lousy on purpose, if that's what you're asking." K'zin's arms can't help but curl themselves across his chest, a silent expression of discomfort and defensiveness. "But you are being lousy," points out Quinlys, who shifts her attention between one member of the pair and the other, her gaze lingering on Rasavyth for longer than may be polite. "Frankly, at the moment, there's not much point in him having preferences. In either of you. I'm half tempted to say you shouldn't graduate at all, unless you can pull yourselves together. What is going on, K'zin?" She's looking at him again. "You didn't used to be this abysmal." His arms tighten a little expression going from neutral to frustrated. K'zin shoots a look that isn't altogether friendly toward Rasavyth. "Sorry. We're--" The bronzerider shakes his head, not sure how to explain. "We're having a rough time of it. But we're working on it. There's been a lot of stuff messing up my head. I'm getting it straight, it just-- doesn't happen overnight." He shifts, dropping his arms to his sides, fingers curling into fists and uncurling once more. It's an expression of energy just needing a way out, not an aggressive move or one inspired by anger. Quinlys is silent for a few seconds longer than she needs to be, and her expression is increasingly concerned - which may or may not be an improvement on her earlier frustration. "Do you want to talk about it?" she wonders, just short of uncertain. "Because I can listen. I guess-- it's better you do this now than later. I just don't want to see your future put in jeopardy because of it." Beat. "You can come up and using my punching bag, if you need to. Or - do you need something to distract you?" K'zin's dropping all formality now. Yeah, she's his Weyrlingmaster, but right now, he doesn't really need a weyrlingmaster. He looks to Rasavyth who dips his head down a little bit to get a better look at the two riders. "I'm not really sure how I'd explain." Because, of course, he can't tell Quinlys everything. Or chooses not to. "Basically, after thinking we were on the same page, I've found my dragon's been reading from a different book, and we're having trouble getting back on the same one. But we are trying." He emphasizes this. "Add that to the shipwreck," And all those dead bodies, "And feeling pretty much completely lost and not sure if I'm still in the same world I was born into doesn't help matters. The punching bag, does. I actually ended up getting one of my own. Second or maybe third hand, but it works. I turned the extra bedroom into a training space. Help me blow off some steam. Nothing's working as an overnight cure. I'm hoping that everything combined is working." After a moment of a chewed lower lip, "A distraction would be nice." The delivery of everything, for all that some of the word choices imply a certain amount of drama, is very cut and dry. Here's how it is and they're doing what they can. Listening, there can be no question that Quinlys' sympathy is genuine, or that her nose wrinkles demonstrates not understanding as such, but certainly acknowledgement. "That must be difficult," she admits, sucking her cheeks in. And, "The drinking, though. You didn't mention that, and you can't really believe I haven't heard about that. Anyway - I was going to say, you should go find a harper who can draw and try to get down the faces of the men on the ship, but if the shipwreck is adding to your problems right now... don't." The drinking. K'zin doesn't look happy, but he doesn't have an answer for it. The drinking is what it is. At least he's not blindingly drunk... most nights. "Funny that you should mention that," K'zin clears his throat. "I burnt most of the sketches I did of them. But there's still some in one of my sketchbooks. I used to sketch naked women. Now dead men. Go figure." The last is said wryly but with too much weight to actually be humorous. "You..." Quinlys clearly doesn't know how to tackle that one. She looks worried, now, and much more serious than she was. "Shells, Waki. Are you... things really aren't okay, are they?" She rubs her fingers through her hair, the curls loose to her shoulders beneath her wool cap. "Forget all of that, if you can. Focus on good things. Graduation, in a month. Spring. And... just fix yourself, okay? See a healer if you need to. Just..." She's sucking her cheeks in again. "Don't let all of this bring you down." From the look on K'zin's face, he doesn't expect Quinlys to know what to do with that. What would anyone know what to do with that? What would he? "No." His answer to her not-question comes quietly, solemnly, "No. Things are not okay. But..." Ras' head descends as a low croon is given, K'zin's hand rising up to touch the tip of his nose. "We're trying. I know it's not good enough, Quin, but we're giving it all we've got. We'll get there. It just-- things aren't okay right now." Then a deep breath and a nod. "I'll see Madilla." He strokes Rasavyth's nose gently a moment before he adds, "I'm sorry, Quin. That you had to deal with me because of this. We were trying to be good enough." The words are wistful. They're not, and it doesn't matter that they have a reasonable reason. It's the gesture between dragon and rider that Quinlys watches, her lips parting just slightly as K'zin strokes Rasavyth's nose. "Don't be sorry, K'zin. Be better. For yourselves, not for me. The important thing is that you work all of this out, one way or another." She takes in a breath, then exhales, letting the white breath escape into the day. "Just keep doing the best you can. You will get a wing, and there are always ways to move around, later. You'll come see me, if you need anything?" It's something like a dismissal. "One way or another." K'zin echoes, his tone quietly resolute. "I'll come see you if I need anything." He shoves a hand through his hair, looking a little uneasy, and not leaving just yet. "Quin? Did anyone go looking for the woman that wrote that note I gave you?" Quinlys is surprised: she clearly hadn't anticipated K'zin staying, and his question catches her unawares. "Not... that I know of," she answers. "Certainly, no one's mentioned it to me. And how could they? I have the note. Who else would know about her?" K'zin's confusion goes beyond Quinlys' answer to-- something deeper. "Right. Who else could know." He chews his lower lip a moment and then nods. His brown eyes flick up the ground to Quinlys, "I just-- didn't know." A pause, "Could I? It-- I was thinking finding her might give me some closure. Put the whole thing to rest. Unless you think no one should?" The edge on that last is just the tiniest bit hopeful that she'll say yes and save him from the mire he unthinkingly put one toe into. Again, Quinlys opens her mouth, though she's short of words and takes her time to formulate them. "If you think it would help her, and help you... I don't see why you can't try, sure. Just don't let it interfere with your duties, K'zin, all right? And don't meddle too much. She'll be suffering enough, I think. Be sensitive." "I think I can. Help her, that is. And be sensitive about it. Thanks, Quin. Ma'am." And then the hats are back on, Weyrling and Weyrlingmaster. K'zin salutes crisply and then he and Rasavyth are heading off to continue the duty day. |
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