K'del: Created page with "{{Log |who=Quinlys, Telavi |what=Telavi is miffed about Yesia. Quinlys is a good boss. |where=Starry Dreams Weyr (Quinlys'), High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day..."

2015-06-29T05:21:34Z

Created page with "{{Log |who=Quinlys, Telavi |what=Telavi is miffed about Yesia. Quinlys is a good boss. |where=Starry Dreams Weyr (Quinlys'), High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day..."

New page

{{Log
|who=Quinlys, Telavi
|what=Telavi is miffed about Yesia. Quinlys is a good boss.
|where=Starry Dreams Weyr (Quinlys'), High Reaches Weyr
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|day=16
|month=1
|turn=38
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
|gamedate=2015.06.28
|quote="You're allowed to be upset."
|mentions=B'ren, I'daur, J'vain, K'zin, Meara, Yesia
|type=Log
|icons-new=Icon quinlys casual.jpg, Icon telavi.jpg,
|log=Now that the weyrlings are in their own weyrs, there's no ''reason'' for anyone to be on duty in the evening-- not that there's been much reason for a while. Still, it makes it easier to have a pleasant evening, even if the weather is chilly. This afternoon, Quinlys invited Telavi over for a nightcap; now, the shadows long-since lengthened, the evening long-since stretched out towards night, she has a bottle of something clear and very faintly pink on the table, and two glasses. Outside on the ledge, Olveraeth watches the stars, obscured by clouds though they are.

They don't delay; Solith floats down and around to Olveraeth's ledge, her thoughts warm and airy-pleased-- it's just that there's also that hint of smolder in the background. As to that smolder's source, when Telavi too touches down she's clad in comfortable clothes that are nevertheless high of neck and long of sleeve, her hair braided back tightly enough to show scalp. She lands. She looks wistfully out, and then at Olveraeth to whom she waves, right before hurrying in to meet... Quinlys. And ''drinks.'' Drinks that are ''pink''. "Oh, ''Q''."

Olveraeth huffs warm air at Solith and then Telavi in turn, his whirling gaze focused upon one then the other. Then, it's back to the stars, their constellations shared with Solith quite as if she doesn't have eyes to see on her own. "Tela," says Quinlys, rising from her perch to greet her assistant. Her sweats are comfortable, her hair is loose, and her expression... well, there's watchfulness there, beneath the warmth of her greeting. "Come. Have a drink. There's some kind of flower in it, and it's just ''so pretty''."

It's not that Solith ''can't'' see; it's that those stars are ''even better'' when she can tuck herself in with Olveraeth, wings swept close against the winter cold, and feel just what to him they mean. As ever, she makes for an appreciative audience, and if it's a distraction from other things, ''so much the better''. As for Telavi, there's no tucking. There ''is'' a would-be hesitant step-- twigging on the watchfulness-- but ''flower'' and ''pretty'' and-- "Is it ''that'' obvious?" As though that snippiness around Yesia couldn't have been.

Besides, in Olveraeth's thoughts? The constellations can be brighter and less obscured by clouds... and ''surely'' there's not actually a nebula in view, cascading pretty colours amidst the stars. "A little," is Quinlys' answer, as she reaches for the bottle to pour out a small measure for both of them, reclaiming her seat as she slides one glass to the other seat, just for Telavi. "Want to talk about it?"

"No?" really does have that question mark; Telavi hovers, one hand holding the folds of her jacket together by her throat. Green-just-now eyes dip down, then back up at Quinlys, not even purposefully through her lashes. But the-bluerider-or-is-it-her-boss has gone to the trouble and-- "I don't even know where to begin," Tela admits, a little tremble in her lower lip.

"You're upset because one of the weyrlings, one you ''like'' even if I can't quite understand why, tried to seduce your boyfriend. Despite knowing he was your boyfriend. And it doesn't matter that he said ''no''-- which was good of him on so many levels I can't begin to say-- because she shouldn't have asked. And ''he''..." But Quinlys stops in her recitation of events, then, reaching to wrap her fingers about her own glass and meet Telavi's gaze. "You're allowed to be upset."

She is? All of a sudden Telavi has to bite that tell-tale lip, her gaze suddenly glossy. She starts for the chair-- but doesn't make it far because, "'But'?"

"But she's a holdbred teenage girl who had just been told by an attractive man she respects that she needs to go out and have sex. While in her weyr, even." Quinlys raises that glass to her mouth to sip.

Biting her lip becomes pressing her lips together hard, no teeth now, becomes-- right when Tela's starting to let her jacket slip free-- "''In'' her ''weyr?!''" Someone left out that part.

Quinlys' brow furrows, then knits, hard. It stays that way for a moment-- two moments-- and then releases and then, blandly, "In her weyr. Yes." ''That'' calls for another sip from her glass, blue-eyed gaze never quite leaving the greenrider.

''Accusing'' green eyes. "In," Telavi repeats with deliberation. "Her." That chair, she takes hold of it like it's going to hold her up, knuckles paling. "Wey--" and that's when it all breaks into, "Quinlys what was he ''thinking'' in her weyr really ''not'' in her ''weyr'' ''what''."

This time, Quinlys sets down her glass and presses both hands flat to the table, head angled upwards so as better to watch Telavi, her mouth pressed tight together. It's pretty plain that ''she'' doesn't much approve, ''either''. "Because he's an idiot who thought it would make her more comfortable." Which... well, it worked! "''Believe'' me, he won't be doing that again."

"He ''is'', isn't he," Telavi sighs. ''Gustily.'' "He probably-- oh, ''K'zin''. How-- I'm sure he meant well, Q. I do." She ''does'', it's all right there in her voice and in the way she slumps into that chair, sighing partway onto the table even, so she can peek at Quinlys through the glass with just one eye. "''Why.'' Did ''J'vain'' ever do anything like this? Did Meara pass you any stories?"

Despite Quinlys' own sigh, and her obvious agreement with the ''intentions'' behind K'zin's stupidity, she's stopped short from actually commenting by that mention of J'vain, which sets her to giggling. "Can you imagine J'vain being young and stupid? Actually... I can imagine him just saying yes and going with it. But no, not so much. I wonder if anyone ever made eyes at I'dau-- but you wouldn't remember him. I barely do."

Her giggling lets Telavi laugh, and come up for air to sip her ''pink drink'' for the first time. "I can too," she admits with relief. "All-- wait, 'don't mean stupid' man, that one?-- all 'yes, let me show you the bluerider way,'" complete to a teasing wiggle of her brows.

It's that wiggle that sends Quinlys spiralling back down into laughter, laughter she eventually covers with one hand, composing herself over the space of a few moments. "That one," she confirms, harking back to I'daur. "He died long before I was a rider, of course, but you hear the ''stories''. And let me just say: J'vain's bluerider way and ''mine''... ''completely'' different, thank you very much." She reaches for her glass again, now, sniffing at it before she takes her next sip.

Telavi looks exaggeratedly doubtful; then, seeing Quinlys inhale, "Do you like the hibiscus for tea? This is even tastier, thank you. And I'm sure there must have been someone eyeing up stupid-man; I mean, if he made it to weyrlingmaster... some people ''really like'' that." She casts eyes at Quinlys, just as exaggerated as the earlier tease with her brows; the whole early issue might even have been forgotten.

"Even old, he was..." Quinlys trails off, her sigh of recollection an obvious indication of what she means: hot. Very hot. Even to her. Even if she couldn't have been more than thirteen or so when he died. "So I bet a lot of girls threw themselves at him. I suppose there's just something about older men." She can wink at the greenrider, as she says that, and grin as she adds, "You're welcome. The tea is good, too, not that I'm ''much'' of a tea drinker. The trouble is that most things smell better than they taste, where tea is concerned."

"Sweetening will do only so much," Telavi admits with a sigh. She'd blushed just a little, prettily, for the ''older men''; now she starts to take another sip and then, abruptly, puts the glass down to hold it between her hands. "He's not ''that'' much older," she says with a sniff. "I mean, not like that. Not that he ''should'' be much older! I mean, not like J'vain, ugh. And it's not like he's ''not'' handsome, and he's ''nice'', but ''still''."

"''Telavi''," is teasing, Quinlys' expression far too smug to be anything but deeply and heartily amused.

"What?!" ''Sniff.''

Then? Quinlys is laughing again. "Nothing," she says, lifting her glass to her mouth again.

For that, Telavi will aim to poke her. Under the table. With her ''toes''.

Which, for the record, only makes Quinlys ''giggle''.

Poke poke. Except, that isn't helping, is it? "What what." Sniff ''again''.

Slowly, carefully, Quinlys manages to control herself again. Of course, she's still ''so smug'', but that's par for the course, isn't it? She reaches for the bottle, aiming to refill her glass. "There's nothing wrong with older men," is what she says, firmly this time. "As long as they're not ''really'' old."

"How old do ''you'' think is really old?" Tela challenges, and of course, she's sliding her not-empty glass close enough to get refilled ''too''.

That's a difficult question, it seems; it takes Quinlys, looking thoughtful, until both glasses are refilled to come up with an appropriate answer. "I think it's partly in the mindset. And the aging process. ''Some'' people look old at fifty, you know? But some are still hot at sixty-five."

Telavi's crinkle of her nose displays great dubiousness. "Who's hot at sixty-five?" she wonders ''after'' she's gotten her glass back. "At least, from your point of view," she adds more generously, given how Quinlys has the advantage in future decrepitude as well as curvy pulchritude.

"I'daur would've been," is Quinlys' surprisingly prompt answer. "B'ren's only a few turns younger than that... ''he'' might be, but we'll have to see how the next few turns progress. Not," she adds, swirling the liquor in her glass and giving Telavi a cheerful, unrepentent grin, "that I'm interested in sleeping with either of them. Even in fantasy-land."

Telavi peeks at the other woman first more from one eye, then the other-- is she ''sure''?-- and then just dimples. "Who, then?" They are off-duty, aren't they?

"Now, now," says Quinlys, around the rim of her glass. "You know I tend to be more interested in women than men. There's a ''delightful'' brownrider at Benden I've spent a few afternoons with. She's ''got'' to be sixty, at least, but you'd scarcely know it to look at her."

"Did I limit it to men?" Telavi sniffs, all nose-in-the-air certainty that no, no she did not! "Benden... I'd know her, then. Al''though''..." she spends a few moments playing guessing games, some of the names gleefully ''wrong''.

"No, no, ''no'', well, ''maybe'', and ''definitely not''," taunts Quinlys, too smug for her own good, and obviously enjoying this game immensely. It sobers her, though, somewhat; sobers her despite the sip she takes from her glass, and the quieter, "Should I schedule you away from Yesia for a little while? Be honest."

Tela dips her head, the trace of dimple disappearing: ''Yesia'' again, spoiling the greenrider's ''fun''. "How 'nice' do I have to be," the younger woman wants to know. It's only a little over a whisper, but it is for all that. "I see her and I just-- it's not like I'm letting myself-- I know ''people'' don't like her, but I thought we were friends! Sort of friends, anyway," except not 'sort of' at all.

Quinlys lets the left corner of her mouth twist up, and nods. "I know," she says. "I don't need you to be ''nice'', or super friendly, or... just don't pick on her. Don't make a fuss. Be ''better'' than that. Remember: she didn't win. K'zin ''didn't'' sleep with her."

Something about that phrasing, maybe it's the ''winning'', doesn't sit well with Telavi; she pulls her feet in tight, right up to one corner of her chair, sitting forward a little with her hand pressed to her side. "That's only because he didn't fall for it," she points out. "But that-- I can't trust her." Her voice gets quieter, tighter; she looks down and past the glass. "I hate not making a fuss. I hate it. It's always-- some people get to and they're 'just being dramatic,' it's attractive, it's not like they lose their job or their friends or, or ''anything'', it's just they ''care''."

"You won't lose your job. You--" Quinlys stops herself, glancing at the pink booze, then back up at Telavi. "I don't mind you having it out with her, Telavi. Outside of work hours. I just don't want it to mean you can't deal with her in a professional capacity ''during'' work hours. Does that make sense?"

Telavi looks up a little too late, and when she does it's with her hand covering her mouth. Then she's nodding, quickly. "I will, too." In case Quinlys had ''any doubts''. "After work. All right. But I-- 'I' what?"

"What?" Quinlys is prompt, leaning forward in her chair.

"You started to say I wouldn't lose this, that I-- something," only Tela makes it into a little bit of a question.

"You're ''allowed'' to be upset by this. You're allowed to react. The only thing you're not allowed to do is let it interfere with your work," is what Quinlys says, finally, watching Telavi as she speaks. "Frankly, I think Yesia needs the reminder."

Tela's got free rein now, and yet she doesn't look ''happy''. Her nod is muted. She says after a moment, "You still want to... to ''explode'' sometimes, don't you?"

Quietly, simply: "Often." And then, "Maybe you and I should go out to the middle of nowhere, sometime, and just ''yell''. Get things off our chests."

"I would ''love'' that," Tela says, heartfelt.

Quinlys lifts her glass, as if to toast this idea. "Then we will," she promises. "Next time we send the weyrlings off with one of the wings."

To which Telavi lifts ''hers'', and reaches over to clink besides. "It'l be ''forever''," she supposes, but less mutedly now; at the end of that tunnel there's a light.

"Not at all," promises Quinlys, clinking her glass and then drawing it back for a sip. "I'll make sure of it. And we'll do it as often as we need to. Not ''so'' much longer before they're senior weyrlings."

Tela sips too; of course she does. "There's that! Speaking of..." If not senior weyrlings, at least the prospective next sets of wingleaders and 'seconds, plus a wing that's ''already'' sniffing around the group.

To all of this, Quinlys has ready answers, and a smile on her face. There's more pink drink, after all, and the evening is still (more or less) young.
}}

Logs:Drinks That Are Pink - Revision history

K'del: Created page with "{{Log |who=Quinlys, Telavi |what=Telavi is miffed about Yesia. Quinlys is a good boss. |where=Starry Dreams Weyr (Quinlys'), High Reaches Weyr |involves=High Reaches Weyr |day..."