Logs:A Perfect Storm of Circumstance - Revision history

Faryn at 17:28, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T17:28:04Z

Faryn at 16:46, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T16:46:41Z

Faryn at 16:17, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T16:17:01Z

Faryn at 08:45, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:45:45Z

Faryn: I'm literally never posting a log after midnight again in my life.

2015-09-17T08:39:42Z

I'm literally never posting a log after midnight again in my life.

Faryn at 08:14, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:14:52Z

Faryn at 08:08, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:08:14Z

Faryn at 08:07, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:07:01Z

Faryn at 08:05, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:05:32Z

Faryn at 08:02, 17 September 2015

2015-09-17T08:02:12Z

@@ Line 63: / Line 63: @@
 It had been easy to forget, with the weyr on hypersexual edge and the two resultant goldflights, that there were bigger things. There were always bigger things. She could be forgiven for wanting to focus on the good things, while the bad slipped off to the wayside.
-Good. She wouldn’t worry about her opportunities with two clutches on the Sands.
+Good. She wouldn't worry about her opportunities with two clutches on the Sands.
 Good. She would Stand again before she aged out.
 Good. She would move on with her life without a niggling doubt for what could be, whether it held a lifemate or a loan from one suspicious bluerider for a stable somewhere sunny.
-Good. When the letter from the hall was delivered, There was still no letter attached to an itemized bill from the Crafthall, just one that told her the terms of her disengagement. No blame, no threats. Just a promise. She would not be welcome back in the craft after this. She’d ducked the wire that they placed out after she left. Despite the letter, she did the math based on estimations of what she thought her education would cost. Her guilt blossomed like an ink-stain in the flood of relief she felt, knowing the request wouldn’t come.
+Good.  There was still no letter attached to an itemized bill from the Crafthall, just one that told her the terms of her disengagement. No blame, no threats. Just a promise. She would not be welcome back in the craft after this. She'd ducked the wire that they placed out after she left. Despite the letter, she did the math based on estimations of what she thought her education would cost. Her guilt blossomed like an ink-stain in the flood of relief she felt, knowing the request wouldn't come.
-It took an off-hand mention of K’del to make her remember that a bill wasn't the biggest issue. It had been easy to pretend there were no problems when the golds were glowing, even given the dire circumstances of the first, but now that it was all over she could plainly recall a promise made, even if it was informal. Make it seem okay. Figure out a way that Hanson -- and the other craftmasters by extension, before they got any ideas -- could view Search of their apprentices in rosy light. She thought it might be easier to convince a dragon to eat her alive.
+It took an off-hand mention of K'del to make her remember that a bill wasn't the biggest issue. It had been easy to pretend there were no problems when the golds were glowing, even given the dire circumstances of the first, but now that it was all over she could plainly recall a promise made, even if it was informal. Make it seem okay. Figure out a way that Hanson -- and the other craftmasters by extension, before they got any ideas -- could view Search of their apprentices in rosy light. She thought it might be easier to convince a dragon to eat her alive.
 -----

@@ Line 69: / Line 69: @@
 Good. She would move on with her life without a niggling doubt for what could be, whether it held a lifemate or a loan from one suspicious bluerider for a stable somewhere sunny.
-Good. There was still no letter attached to an itemized bill from the Crafthall, just one that told her the terms of her disengagement. No blame, no threats. Just a promise. She would not be welcome back in the craft after this. No charges. She’d ducked the wire that they placed out after she left. Despite the letter, she did the math based on estimations of what she thought her education would cost. Her guilt blossomed like an ink-stain in the flood of relief she felt, knowing the request wouldn’t come.
+Good. When the letter from the hall was delivered, There was still no letter attached to an itemized bill from the Crafthall, just one that told her the terms of her disengagement. No blame, no threats. Just a promise. She would not be welcome back in the craft after this. She’d ducked the wire that they placed out after she left. Despite the letter, she did the math based on estimations of what she thought her education would cost. Her guilt blossomed like an ink-stain in the flood of relief she felt, knowing the request wouldn’t come.
 It took an off-hand mention of K’del to make her remember that a bill wasn't the biggest issue. It had been easy to pretend there were no problems when the golds were glowing, even given the dire circumstances of the first, but now that it was all over she could plainly recall a promise made, even if it was informal. Make it seem okay. Figure out a way that Hanson -- and the other craftmasters by extension, before they got any ideas -- could view Search of their apprentices in rosy light. She thought it might be easier to convince a dragon to eat her alive.

@@ Line 11: / Line 11: @@
 |gamedate=2015.09.16
 |quote="How much're y'paying for your maybe, Faryn?"
-|mentions=Fadra, Farideh, Irianke, Jo, K'del, Quinlys, T'mic
+|mentions=Fadra, Farideh, Hanson, Irianke, Jo, K'del, Kierna, Quinlys, T'mic
 |type=Vignette
 |icons-new=Icon faryn alone.jpg,
@@ Line 20: / Line 21: @@
 Nobody had any reason to question her, at any rate. She wasn’t familiar to anyone but the junior weyrwoman’s assistant, with few exceptions, and so was left alone when she propped up the wall near the weyrleader’s complex, all pint-sized bravado and knowing looks, wearing that smug little grin that was, for Faryn, like looking into a mirror. If she had any right to be there, she most assuredly shouldn’t have had the gall to wait there, sipping from a flask and critically eyeing all the passing residents so intently many grew uncomfortable under her stare. It didn’t matter; she wasn’t waiting for ‘’them’’.
-When Faryn finally came jogging down the steps, hauling her bag and still shrugging into the handsome brown-bronze flight jacket, there was no official greeting; it was just, “Catch,” and something silver catching what little sunlight remained in the autumn afternoon, sloshing as it twisted through the air.
+When Faryn finally came jogging down the steps, hauling her bag and still shrugging into a handsome brown-bronze flight jacket, there was no official greeting; it was just, “Catch,” and something silver catching what little sunlight remained in the autumn afternoon, sloshing as it twisted through the air.
-Faryn’s reaction was reflexive, her fingers touching the cool steel, and of course it would be a second flask. Of course, when she thumbed it open, it wafted the strong scent of Tillekien spiced whiskey. Of course, Faryn capped it and took the last few steps down until she was on a level with the brownrider. “Mum.”
+Faryn’s reaction was reflexive, her fingers touching the cool steel, and of course it was a second flask. Of course, when she thumbed it open, it wafted the strong scent of Tillekien spiced whiskey. Of course, Faryn capped it and took the last few steps down until she was on a level with the brownrider. “Mum.”
 “Came t’see how y’were farin’, now the herders aren’t letting th’weyrs Search.” Fadra’s drawl was Ista, of course, but it was Tillek too. The marriage was rough and familiar, and Faryn might lean into its dropped vowels and rolled consonants like a cat if given half the chance. She didn’t, rather rocking back on her heels and ‘’away’’ as Fadra continued. “Thought maybe y’might like something t’pick up your spirits. Nice jacket. In bed with a bronzerider?”
-“Blue,” corrected Faryn, like it mattered, but it was good enough, and there were enough loose ends for ignore the rest of her mother’s discourse. "It was a gift." And then, since they both knew it -- Fadra was staring at the peek of Faryn’s knot beneath said jacket, and she’d been waiting ‘’here’’, not in the stables or near the apprentice dorms, and for all the alcohol she was still so very calculating -- she added dutifully, “As soon as Niahvth clutches, I’ve been promised a knot. By Quinlys.” Fadra’s mouth twitched, almost into one of her deeper frowns, but then it reversed into a smile. Faryn wanted to bolt.
+“Blue,” corrected Faryn, like it mattered, but there were enough loose ends for her to ignore the rest of her mother’s discourse. "It was a gift." From a bronzerider, she does not add. And then, since they both already knew -- Fadra was staring at the peek of Faryn’s knot beneath said jacket, and she’d been waiting ‘’here’’, not in the stables or near the apprentice dorms, and for all the alcohol she was still so very calculating -- she added dutifully, “As soon as Niahvth clutches, I’ve been promised a knot. By Quinlys.” Fadra’s mouth twitched, almost into one of her deeper frowns, but then it reversed into a smile. Faryn wanted to bolt.
 “How much’re y’paying for your ‘’maybe’’, Faryn?”
@@ Line 32: / Line 33: @@
 “Nothing. The craft didn’t charge me." Yet. "And it’s not a maybe.”
-Fadra’s scoff was a more refined version of Faryn’s own, the kind one earns through trial and perfects after turns. “A maybe ‘’dragon’’,” she specifies, sounding a little disgusted. “Y’quit ten shardin’ turns for a silly dream y’had from a babe and to be a glorified messenger for a junior goldrider. And if’n y’can’t have th’life y’want, y’break it instead, for everyone else?” She tipped her flask back again and held it out like some courtesy; the conversation was not meant to be a sober one. “Can’t say y’don’t get this bullshit honestly, but I hoped your da would make it manageable.”
+Fadra’s scoff was a more refined version of Faryn’s own, the kind one earns through trial and perfects after turns. “A maybe ‘’dragon’’,” she specifies, sounding a little disgusted. “Y’quit ten shardin’ turns for a silly dream y’had from a babe and t'be a glorified messenger for a junior goldrider. And if’n y’can’t have th’life y’want, y’break it instead, for everyone else?” She tipped her flask back again and held it out like some courtesy; the conversation was not meant to be a sober one. “Can’t say y’don’t get this bullshit honestly, but I hoped your da would make it manageable.”
 Faryn’s anger was suddenly seething and she didn’t know when she’d crossed her arms or she’d started glaring, sullenly, like a teenager. Her fury met Fadra’s surprisingly lucid gaze and that infuriating smile. “Faranth forbid I do what you did. I didn’t think--”
@@ Line 38: / Line 39: @@
 “Of fuckin course, y’didn’t, Faryn. Y’’’never’’ fuckin ‘’think’’.” Fadra wasn’t deterred that Faryn flinched back when she lifted a hand, and her rap of knuckles between the eyes wasn’t gentle. “I ‘’made’’ my mistakes, and I told y’so y’wouldn’t have t’make ‘em yourself. If you’re too fuckin stupid t’realize that, then hell with ya.”
-It hurt. Not just the rap of knuckles but all of it. Faryn stood there, vibrating with the barely contained tirade she carried for her mother everywhere, always. Just when she thought it might slip out, words like bile in the back of her throat, she felt Fadra’s arm slide over her shoulders companionably. Not a hug. They both balked from that, but this was as close as it would get. Across the bowl, Sulizath's craggy, mountainous bulk was easy to spot, and Fadra steered them that way; Faryn watched the ground. “C’mon. We’ll take ya t’your business, then t’the Sandbar.”
+It hurt. Not just the rap of knuckles,  but all of it. Faryn stood there, vibrating with the barely contained tirade she carried for her mother everywhere, always. Just when she thought it might slip out, words like bile in the back of her throat, she felt Fadra’s arm slide over her shoulders companionably. Not a hug. They both balked from that, but this was as close as it would get, them shoulder to shoulder and pointing to a point on the compass. Across the bowl, Sulizath's craggy, mountainous bulk was easy to spot, and Fadra steered them that way; Faryn watched the ground. “C’mon. We’ll take ya t’your business, then t’the Sandbar.”
-Faryn, for once, didn’t protest, though her skin crawled under the touch. She was too busy ''thinking'', because it was impossible to explain she'd thought this all through. That it had blown up in her face was a different matter entirely.
+Faryn, for once, didn’t protest, though her skin crawled under the touch. She was too busy ''thinking'', contrary to popular belief, because it was impossible for her to stop. She couldn't explain she'd thought this all through. That it had blown up in her face was a different matter entirely.
 -----
@@ Line 48: / Line 49: @@
 T'mic told her to leave, and her mistakes spent the week resurfacing like old bruises.
-She’d slept in the stables the first night, where some of her comforts still lived. The runner in the third stall from the heavy doors never did sleep well, and had greeted her like an old friend. She’d stood there, her head pressed against the mare’s wide forehead, grateful for the contact until it struck her as deeply perverse, that she could draw that comfort from a beast, but not with a person. She’d left them too, when they became too demanding, asked too much of her identity than she was willing to part with.
+She’d slept in the stables the first night, where some of her comforts still lived. The runner in the third stall from the heavy doors never did sleep well, and had greeted her like an old friend. She’d stood there, her head pressed against the mare’s wide forehead, grateful for the contact until it struck her as deeply perverse, that she could draw that comfort from a beast, but not with a person. She’d left them too, when they became too demanding, asked for a larger piece of her identity than she was willing to part with.
 Disengaging was easier than it had ever been with T’mic; nothing had taken root, and the runner’s affections would always stay the same for anyone who was warm and kept sugar in their pockets, and sometimes the first was optional.
@@ Line 70: / Line 71: @@
 Good. There was still no letter attached to an itemized bill from the Crafthall, just one that told her the terms of her disengagement. No blame, no threats. Just a promise. She would not be welcome back in the craft after this. No charges. She’d ducked the wire that they placed out after she left. Despite the letter, she did the math based on estimations of what she thought her education would cost. Her guilt blossomed like an ink-stain in the flood of relief she felt, knowing the request wouldn’t come.
-It took an off-hand mention of K’del to make her remember that a bill wasn't the biggest issue. It had been easy to pretend there were no problems when the golds were glowing, even given the dire circumstances of the first, but now that it was over she could plainly recall a promise made, even if it was informal. Make it seem okay. Figure out a way that Hanson -- and the other craftmasters by extension, before they got any ideas -- could view Search of their apprentices in rosy light. She thought it might be easier to convince a dragon to eat her alive.
+It took an off-hand mention of K’del to make her remember that a bill wasn't the biggest issue. It had been easy to pretend there were no problems when the golds were glowing, even given the dire circumstances of the first, but now that it was all over she could plainly recall a promise made, even if it was informal. Make it seem okay. Figure out a way that Hanson -- and the other craftmasters by extension, before they got any ideas -- could view Search of their apprentices in rosy light. She thought it might be easier to convince a dragon to eat her alive.
 -----

@@ Line 26: / Line 26: @@
 “Came t’see how y’were farin’, now the herders aren’t letting th’weyrs Search.” Fadra’s drawl was Ista, of course, but it was Tillek too. The marriage was rough and familiar, and Faryn might lean into its dropped vowels and rolled consonants like a cat if given half the chance. She didn’t, rather rocking back on her heels and ‘’away’’ as Fadra continued. “Thought maybe y’might like something t’pick up your spirits. Nice jacket. In bed with a bronzerider?”
-“Blue,” corrected Faryn, like it mattered, but it was good enough, and there were enough loose ends for ignore the rest of her mother’s discourse. And then, since they both knew it -- Fadra was staring at the peek of Faryn’s knot beneath said jacket, and she’d been waiting ‘’here’’, not in the stables or near the apprentice dorms, and for all the alcohol she was still so very calculating -- she added dutifully, “As soon as one of the golds rises, I’ve been promised a knot. By Quinlys.” Fadra’s mouth twitched, almost into one of her deeper frowns, but then it reversed into a smile. Faryn wanted to bolt.
+“Blue,” corrected Faryn, like it mattered, but it was good enough, and there were enough loose ends for ignore the rest of her mother’s discourse. "It was a gift." And then, since they both knew it -- Fadra was staring at the peek of Faryn’s knot beneath said jacket, and she’d been waiting ‘’here’’, not in the stables or near the apprentice dorms, and for all the alcohol she was still so very calculating -- she added dutifully, “As soon as Niahvth clutches, I’ve been promised a knot. By Quinlys.” Fadra’s mouth twitched, almost into one of her deeper frowns, but then it reversed into a smile. Faryn wanted to bolt.
 “How much’re y’paying for your ‘’maybe’’, Faryn?”

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
 {{Log
 |who=Faryn
-|what=Faryn's got plenty of balls in the air -- she just didn't expect thmoem to all fall at once, at such inconvenient angles.
+|what=Faryn's got plenty of balls in the air -- she just didn't expect them to all fall at once, at such inconvenient angles.
 |involves=High Reaches Weyr, Beastcraft Hall, Ista Weyr
 |custom=Months 9-10, Turn 38, Interval 10
 |day=22
 |month=10
@@ Line 11: / Line 10: @@
 |IP2=10
 |gamedate=2015.09.16
 |mentions=Fadra, Farideh, Irianke, Jo, K'del, Quinlys, T'mic
 |type=Vignette

@@ Line 57: / Line 57: @@
 -----
-‘’’’’Day 8, Month 10’’’’’
+'''''Day 8, Month 10'''''
 It had been easy to forget, with the weyr on hypersexual edge and the two resultant goldflights, that there were bigger things. There were always bigger things. She could be forgiven for wanting to focus on the good things, while the bad slipped off to the wayside.