Logs:Wisdom for Weyrlings
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| RL Date: 8 December, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Lys, V'ret |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh dispenses advice to weyrlings V'ret and Lys. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dorbin/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions |
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>---< Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr(#1549RJ) >------------------------------< With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. -----------------------------< Active Players >----------------------------- Farideh F 21 5'5 slim, brown hair, hazel eyes 0s Lys F 20 5'5" slender, blonde hair, blue-green eyes 0s V'ret M 20 6'2" fit, brown hair, blue eyes 5m A late afternoon in summer, with temperate weather to boot, still sees one goldrider tucked in the nighthearth heedless of the time of day or myriad weyrfolk who pass by on their way to other venues. It's not as though she's been out of late, and it is surprising to some -- we're looking at you, Auntie Del, with your unsolicited you should be taking care of that baby advice -- that she's even showing her slimmed-down face in public this soon. Curled up in one of the chairs afforded the bubble cavern, with a throw over her legs, she's leisurely flipping through a series of papers and reference books, and doesn't seem to pay any attention to anyone else. "So," Lys flops into the seat beside Farideh, drawing her small bowl of nuts into her lap, "going to be teaching tomorrow's dancing lesson?" It's asked casually and doesn't distract from the nutcracker being positioned to bust the first shell with a pop. The green weyrling's hair is still damp and she doesn't have a slew of books with her, so this was probably a stop on her way to elsewhere until the goldrider was spotted. "How are you feeling?" Klah and peace and quiet. V'ret manages to acquire one of them relatively quickly upon entering, and his lack of attention to anybody else suggests that the plan was nothing more than that. But voices are distinctive things, and it does draw at least a look over in the direction of the two women. After that point, he spends considerably longer dressing his klah than usual, and otherwise avoiding any suggestion that he's noticed them there. "I think dancing is out for the foreseeable future-- weeks, at least." Though it be weak, it is an attempt at humor. "You'll have to bear with whomever else they find. A harper? Quinlys is a lovely dancer, herself. Perhaps not taught in the refined way, but you'd never know it if you didn't know it," which, ultimately, doesn't make any sense. She settles a weary, but patient smile on the greenrider, letting her book close on its own; don't worry, her eyes lift to mark V'ret, too. "I feel like Roszadyth sat on top of me, and Niahvth too. How are you, V'ret?" It takes a mild sidetrack as her focus separates from the blonde. Blue-green eyes follow Farideh's attention and Lys looks at the bronze weyrling with his klah. She doesn't interrupt the weyrwoman nor in fact speak directly to V'ret, but her brows do lift just a little to echo silently Farideh's question. Her attention moves back to the goldrider, "Well, being able to tell the difference is what we're learning thanks to this fancy string in our knots," the silver one, "I suppose. That and all the advanced dances." Her nose wrinkles for that. Perhaps Lys would prefer the Quinlys variety of dances over the fancy sort. "Have the healers said when you'll be feeling more yourself again?" Assuming Farideh doesn't normally feel like a pair of golds have sat on her. Escape is impossible once he's been noted. But the way V'ret smiles, he can't possibly mind that, can he? He brings his mug over there, and perches on the arm of Lys' chair rather than sitting down properly like a normal person. "I'm doing very well, thank you. She dances better than she thinks she does." He would say that, it should be noted, no matter how it is that his fellow weyrling actually performs in that class. "I think we're surviving well enough for there to be no particular rush." "You'll have the time to practice in reality and not on each other. It's less of a chore when you're concentrating all your efforts on not tripping Lord Dorbin with your clumsy feet," Farideh replies, merrily; maybe she enjoys imagining that sort of thing. "You'll both insufferable. Are you getting good marks in lessons? Memorized all of Lady Tevrane's family tree? Know your regional traditions and local variations?" Pleasant. "Oh, they're always telling me to take it easy, but I don't ever get a clear estimate. Months. Irianke is being conservative, of course," is much milder. Certainly, among V'ret's list of desired reactions to that compliment must have been Lys' lips pressing into a tight, unhappy line, right? Well, that's how things unfold. Though the blonde doesn't seem to object to his choice of seat, the brief look she gives him isn't encouraging of that angle. "I'm looking forward to experience with different partners," Lys tells Farideh with a smile that doesn't touch her eyes. "Maybe better to be conservative in this kind of thing." That comes from a place of genuine support for Farideh's well-being, but is followed by a roll of her eyes and a shrug. "Some better than others, and no and no, but I'm not destined for greatness, like you, and V'ret," that cast of attention back on the bronzerider must be deliberate, "so what will it matter if I mistake Tevrane's nephew for her niece." She even says that with a straight face. "If Lord Dorbin wants to dance with me, I promise I will be a perfect gentleman and he won't have the slightest worry about falling flat on his face," says V'ret, cheery through that like it might cover up Lys' non-smile. But he makes a face about lessons; let's not forget he's still attempting to keep up the image of not caring much about those things. "Anyway, I would much sooner not have to deal with that, but there's no telling what life has in store. Unexpected things happen." The lack of mention of their respective responses, to each other, should be well enough to show that she doesn't have any clue what they're going on about. Still, Farideh gives Lys and V'ret both individual looks. "You'll be lucky to get that close to any of them, and V'ret-- he's no one special yet and he may never be. It's not as though every bronzerider becomes somebody. You have as good a chance of being someone as he does," she supplies, sunnily enough; it is not, after all, her life that they're guessing about. All seriousness aside, Lys' comment has the goldrider's hands clapping over her mouth, trying to cover a laugh. "Lys, you can't." How terribly confusing life sometimes is. This time when Lys looks briefly displeased it's at Farideh's words about V'ret. It prompts a shifting of the blonde a little forward in her chair as if a decrease in proximity somehow shows solidarity. She's careful to pull the heretofore forgotten bowl of nuts up onto the unoccupied armrest so that it doesn't fall. "If I'm going to be someone, let it be the greenrider who made overtures to Tevrane's neph--niece?" The blonde suffuses her tone with humor and drama in equal parts. "Honest mistake. Anyone could make it." She decides the story ahead of time, just in case. Somehow, the blonde's ruffled feathers do something to soothe V'ret's, and he's able to smile despite the dismissive language, even if at first it has made his fingers tighten to white-knuckle around his mug. Just for a moment. Or maybe his hands are just chilly. "If the closest I ever get to any of Nabol's Blood or the rest of them is practicing dancing with people I actually like, that seems like not a bad deal, to me." Though the answer is more for Farideh, it seems, the smile is more for Lys, but it might be laying it on slightly thicker than required. Farideh finally frowns, looking between the two of them, but weyrlings are strange creatures and she only sighs, eyes lifting ceiling ward in frustration. "One day-- one day you could need any of it. The lessons, the dancing, the manners. Don't discount it now when you never know what could happen, especially you, Lys. Mielline and Sisha both have stood in the place where many a bronze and brownrider wish they could." Now that she's dropped that nugget of wisdom, she turns her head away and yawns, setting the book in her lap on the table beside her. "It doesn't matter, really," she says, after exhaling loudly. "What are you doing now? Flying? Weyrs come next month?" V'ret's smile gets a singularly unimpressed look from Lys, but she's not sparing him much attention in the wake of that abundance of slickness. Instead, she's leaning toward Farideh, placing her elbow on the armrest and her chin on her fist, fingers curled and covering her mouth as the goldrider talks. It's an attentive pose. "So what you're saying is, if you're ever in need of a truly spectacular weyrleader that doesn't have a great big--" ... "--bronze between his legs, I'll be your first choice?" She smiles prettily at Farideh, winningly. Then, "Flying. We can go to the hot springs now. Weyrs next month, but Jocelyn moved out early because--" She cuts off, shrugging her shoulders. Maybe that's not information for public consumption. "She doesn't have to fly to get there, I guess," says V'ret, as though construing this as Lys perhaps not having any more idea than he does. He seems not at all put off by the lack of attention. She's still sitting in the chair right there, she hasn't run screaming, apparently by his standards of female attention it's enough. He's not making such a show of being attentive to Farideh, but does he need to? "Flying's feeling downright easy, but I guess it has to, won't have much time to think about the basics when we're doing complicated drills." The weyrwoman holds up a finger to Lys, mouth curved in a smile. "You can be my first choice if you retain all that they're teaching you, not if you mistake our area Blood for the wrong gender. Politico, social engagements-- " Farideh slants V'ret a disapproving glance. "Is it easy? I don't remember it ever being easy. Perhaps I should suggest to Quinlys she get you all to practice getting in the straps one-armed, or no-legged, or-- blindfolded. If it's so easy," she says, smile widening at the bronze weyrling, and then: "Jocelyn? Yes. I suppose it's time. She's got considerably more to learn and needs to focus more. I can't remember how anyone got any studying done in the barracks." Lys' great sigh and sinking back into her chair is expressive enough of how put-upon she is by Farideh's requirements of her being a good option for weyrleader. It's playful though. "Do you always make life so easy for your friends?" The greenrider might be trying to remind the gold that punishment for one is punishment for all. "It probably helps," she offers to V'ret more seriously, "that they've had so much practice flying without us." It might just be happenstance that this helps justify his remark. "That's the point of training, though, right? For things that are initially hard to get easier, to master those concepts and tackle other new or hard things." "If I've somehow misplaced my legs, I think I have bigger problems than not being able to mount my dragon, but I don't think it'd hurt to know how." So, not entirely a protest. Granted, it's not V'ret's own legs that he looks at, just there. Briefly. Only briefly. "Jocelyn will probably know more than the rest of us put together by the time we're done, but I think the rest of us are doing okay." "If the Weyr is at stake--" Farideh doesn't look too bothered by the future of the Weyr, etiquette-endowed acting weyrleader or not. "Training is to learn, but I wouldn't call flying easy, not even now." She gives them both, another, disapproving stare, but such things being as they are, she shifts to the side to swing her legs out from the chair. "I do hope so," of Jocelyn, "but I don't understand the constant discounting. It's not my problem. Lys, V'ret--" On that note, she stands, sweeping the throw blanket off her legs and into her arms; it's a juggling act once she reaches for the books and papers. "Go. Study. Be-- weyrlings," she tells them, giving them a hefty perusal and a sigh. Young people, amirite? Lys' legs cross. It's total coincidence. There's a number of things the green weyrling doesn't comment on. Not on Jocelyn, not on Farideh's words of wisdom. What she does say is, "Yes, ma'am," with mock meekness and solemnity. There's a flick of a look toward V'ret, something that might perhaps herald more of her attention for him, if the goldrider is indeed taking her leave. There's a not-very-effective salute, there, but it's at least not fully mockery--just entirely too casual to have been worth V'ret's effort. "We will work very hard at being weyrlings," dutifully. And he manages to go a few whole moments without ogling the girl next to him, so that's as much a gesture of respect under the circumstances as any of them. Only a few. Suspicious. Highly suspicious. But it's only a narrowing of Farideh's eyes that relays that thought, before she's shuffling out of the cavern, arms bundled up with her things and attitude definitively uninterested in anything and everyone else. It's only after Farideh's gone a safe distance that Lys moves to rise, to take the bowl of nuts and replace them on the table of snacks for someone else to enjoy. "Want to play cards after dinner?" she invites over her shoulder in an impressively neutral tone. Perhaps she has the makings of a politic someone yet. Probably for the best that V'ret doesn't manage to come up with a suggestion first. Patience. That's a thing. "I'd love to." Despite having less distance, it takes him longer to properly stand and then trail afterwards. "You'll sit with me?" See, when she's actually there, it's a question, not a presumption. Or at least it's phrased that way. Lys doesn't look at him, apparently busy with replacing the nutcracker just so with the rest of its fellows. "That depends." She doesn't make him ask though, going on a moment later, looking sidelong at him, "Are you going to behave?" "How have I not been behaving?" It sounds more amused than affronted, at least. If she's attending to something else, then that gives V'ret's eyes more space to drink their fill. Maybe it'll hold him off for a little while, later. "I've been a perfect gentleman." Well, nobody's perfect. He turns his attention to the nutcracker, for just a moment, like he might be jealous of the handling it warrants. "You've been behaving like I'm one of the girls you're used to," Lys tells him, turning to face him, though one hand lingers on the table behind her, perhaps for support. "Farideh's my friend, V'ret. I don't take compliments well," something that apparently bears repeating, "and I'm embarrassed when you do that stupid 'I'm so smooth' thing and put attention on me. I might want your attention, but that doesn't mean I want her attention on the fact that I want your attention." It's convoluted woman talk, but at least it's straight-shooting convoluted woman talk? There's a protest just getting primed on his lips, there, with a pass of the tip of his tongue, but then it gets swallowed back. "No, that's... understandable," V'ret says, eyes turning to where Farideh went. "Of course you wouldn't want your friends to think... no, I'm sorry." The apologies are easier than apologies are supposed to be, usually. Something about the bronze weyrling's words have a little sigh escaping Lys. "V'ret," is softer, and she moves the hand from the table to seek his, to twine her fingers with his, if he'll let her do so in a way that doesn't require drawing attention from anyone else that might be around. "All this is complicated for me. Because of me. It gets so much more complicated the more people become involved or have opinions about it." No, in this moment, V'ret hardly even risks eye contact, but his hand finds hers, his grasp more than just a light touch. "It's not like it's less complicated for me." Pause. "It's never been this complicated. I wouldn't have been willing to go through this much just to see a girl naked even when I was fifteen." But it's enough of a joke to be worth a smile. "But you..." You've been hung up on someone I have also been hung up on if for completely different reasons? No, there are still limits on how open he gets. "Maybe we should find somewhere quiet, for cards. If it's less complicated. And I can find somewhere else to sit at dinner." "Does it make it easier for you? To distract yourself with the attention of others instead of focusing on what's complicated between us?" Lys doesn't add 'or me,' but the the question is there, paired, loaded. Still, she seems earnest in her wondering. "I'd like to sit together at dinner," is only awkward to admit because, "I like watching you talk to the others," which isn't weird at all. "But we could find somewhere quiet for cards. It might be more complicated, but less, too." Evidently the convoluted woman talk isn't at an end yet. A little hand wave like this should be obvious. "They don't really matter." Of course talking about generalities. Not her friends. Even though probably, yeah, her friends. "Even you didn't really matter until... you did." The convoluted is contagious, but apparently V'ret thinks that counts as an answer. "Okay. That sounds... fine. Sure. That sounds good." Good is better than fine, isn't it? His hand squeezes hers more firmly, he glances over at a couple silver-haired types talking closer to the hearth for whom the affairs of a couple weyrlings are of absolutely zero concern. Still, his voice has dropped quieter for all this, now. "Do you prefer red or white, if I can get a bottle after supper?" "You're the expert," Lys doesn't verbally address anything but the wine, squeezing his hand back in response to the rest. She smiles at him, a real smile, a cheeky and challenging smile. "Surprise me, if you can get a bottle." If. With that, she'll slip her hand away from his and run her hand through her hair, now dried fully. "See you at dinner," is her parting assurance before heading out. A hand to his heart: "Well. I am, but just remember, I haven't had much of an income for a few months, here. So--I'll do the best I can." The hand that was holding hers, of course. Wine. Wine is easier than all this other stuff. "See you at dinner," and then he goes to apparently make whatever arrangements he can. |
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