Difference between revisions of "Logs:Proper Places"

Classes on formations, flight theory and how to transfer their experience of drilling on the ground into the air; for the class from Roszadyth's clutch, these topics are no longer just something to be written and memorized in theory now that the pairs are flying together. Still, the lectures continue - and for those with silver threads in their knots, they continue with increasing detail. It's well over an hour and nearly two before today's general session is finally dismissed late in the morning. There's a little bit of time left before the midday meal is served in the living cavern, and at least one weyrling is taking advantage of the time to ask questions and argue against several points: Jocelyn, expression polite even if her chin is tilted at an obstinate angle, finishes her discussion with one of the instructors at some length and turns to begin gathering up her notes, brow still puckered into a frown.

Sitting at the back, one would have thought V'ret would have been the first out. But, no. While Jocelyn is having her argument-or-discussion-or-whatever, he seems to be still finishing with his notes on whatever was being discussed at the tail end of class. He makes a face down at the last thing he wrote, starts to collect them. As the instructor departs: "Can I see your last page or two? I got behind, barely caught some of the stuff at the end."

The look Jocelyn cuts in the bronzerider's direction is, to her credit, only slightly reproving. Although her interactions with him remain more barbed than overly friendly, her reluctance to engage him in conversation has altered somewhat since they began leadership classes together. She may work to keep those conversations few and brief, but perhaps businesslike is a positive enough step away from completely snippy. Wordlessly, she heads to the back of the room to pass him the last two pages of her notes. Her hand is legible, if sharp. And the notes themselves, well. They're as cramped with detail as one might expect from her. "He didn't segue very smoothly between his penultimate and last topic, " she observes evenly after some minutes pass.

The notes that V'ret copies over are considerably more succinct than hers. Enough to jog the memory, not enough to provide historians with a later record of the exact events of the class. But it's still more than he had before. The entire volume of his morning's notes is considerably slimmer. "This material can drag at the best of times. I'd rather be out doing it." Not that he'd be the first to have voiced this particular complaint, and it's probably not his first time. "I think you've managed to use more words for this than he did," glancing over her pages one last time with faint amazement.

"I think it's more effective to pair theory with action, " agrees Jocelyn, attention flicking to his succinct, terser copy before light eyes lift back to his with a tolerantly amused look for his last. "You can't tell me that our extra classes and experiences aren't helping you to fill in some of the blanks, too." Some of it may well just be good deduction and insanely organized notes on her part; scribbled hastily into one margin on that top sheet is 'see theory from LC10A - explains why maneuver requires turn and repositioning.' There's a brief pause, then, begrudgingly: "You seem to be holding up well enough with all of our extra - everything." Her way of asking how he's coping with it, perhaps?

"No reason not to be. I'm still breathing, aren't I?" V'ret shrugs, at that, then pauses as he passes her those couple sheets back. "And I didn't lose anyone close." That he knows about. "Everything else pales in comparison to those two things. None of my problems seem like they could possibly rate. Nothing that can't be solved with an extra cup of klah now and then for a pick-me-up." He straightens his own notes again and then carefully tucks them into a folder of others. "You having trouble?" The tone is polite, solicitous, even if the words could be taken for slightly provocative.

"Nothing that can't be solved with extra klah - and plenty of practice, I hope." Jocelyn's features twist into a grimace for everything neatly wrapped into that last word: distaste, resignation, weariness. Perhaps it's also the result of the effort required to keep her tone almost equally polite. "Be glad that you don't have to take extra classes with that uppity harper who taught our general etiquette sessions. 'Respect, weyrling. Don't insult by poor usage of flatware. We do not scowl at Lord Such-and-Such even if he steps on your foot.'" Her imitation of him is spot-on in inflection, if not at all in tone or pitch.

The last bit gets a bit of an odd look, with eyebrows raised. "I would have thought, really, that flatware would come naturally if you'd been on the headwoman's staff. You just have to stay aware of your surroundings, no different with dishes as in formation. Everything goes where it goes." V'ret's fingers trace some patterns on the table like he might really remember all those forks. Or all those dragons. One or the other. "And you don't have to respect someone to smile at them." Which might render the smile that follows slightly less trustworthy.

"Formal flatware, " Jocelyn appends testily, crossing to stuff her notes back into her own folder sharply. "I could have told you how many place settings large events required, but not when each fork should be used or how to leave your spoons afterward." And as for his subsequent smile? Her eyes narrow at that in the wake of his statement, expression stiffening. "Indeed not." The curve that arcs at her own mouth is a brief, brittle thing that gives way to a careful neutrality. Deliberately lighter, as she gathers up her belongings, "I suppose I'll be seeing you at lunch, unless you plan to use your hour elsewhere."

"I want to make a quick stop to check in on Zoth, but I'll be there. If you get there before I do, tell Lys to save me a seat?" V'ret gets himself to his feet. "I'll only be a few minutes. Missed a spot oiling, earlier, and I think he's having another growth spurt, the way he's eating, so I don't want to just let it go."

Jocelyn can sympathize with the need to check for oil-free spots; at least, so says her expression, which softens slightly in some semblance of understanding. "I think Aidavanth's on the cusp of one, too. She's already as large as some of the smaller adult greens. I don't know how much longer the length I added to her first set of straps will hold." That's concluded with a small shrug - what can they do, really? Of Lys and saving seats: "I'll tell her." It's a little short, but the goldrider's passing, "See you there, " is less so as she makes for the lower caverns.