Difference between revisions of "Logs:Just Say No"

Sheltered from the winds while still open to the sunlight, High Reaches
  Hold's orchards provide ordered row after ordered row of carefully        
  cultivated fruit trees. Even here, inland from the main hold, the faint   
  tang of salt is recognisable in the air, mingling with sweeter scents from
  the fruit; on fine days, this can be a pleasant spot indeed to spend a few
  hours.

Silva wasn't up and at'em this morning, but she did eventually get out and about. A few appologizes has her catching up on her responsibilities before Silva gets out from the weyr proper. Zaisyreth hovers outside the trees like a ghost himself (large as he may have gotten now,) as Silva walks among the trees. It's cold outside, but Silva's taken care of that by bundling up completely. Everything she wears has her own particular touch of style to it, though she's still sans make up and hair that's actually done beyond getting it out of her face.

Quint is at High Reaches Hold often enough; comparing notes (and exchanging songs) with his fellow harpers in the region. The fact that there's actually no snow or rain might account for why the pair of harpers are strolling outside, enjoying the comparatively nicer weather for winter at the Reaches. It's the shorter one that notices the blue dragon, and the taller one that notices her rider; they confer for a little while longer, before the taller of the pair breaks away, striding through the orchards on an intercept course to meet Silva's path, silent and unobtrusive intent on falling into step with the weyrling rider.

Silva doesn't realize right away that someone has fallen in beside her, not until the harper steps on a stick and causes it to crack. The abrupt loud sound has Silva straight up jumping to one side, pulling in an abrupt breath until she recognizes who has settled beside her. "Oh. Oh. Right." Deep breaths. "Journeyman Quint. I'm sorry, I was, um, I was thinking."

Quint has the grace, at least, to look apologetic for the reaction the loud crack of the stick has on the weyrling. "I could tell," he says, with one of his typically easy smiles. "I didn't want to interrupt." The glance he gives her, sidelong, is curious without being too intrusive. "Are you feeling better?"

"Oh well, it's fine. I um." Silva returns to her walking, this time kicking a rock at appears before them down the trail a ways. "I'm... okay. Thanks for helping. I kinda let myself get taken in... I told Jocelyn thanks too." Her hands come in front of her and settle primly within one another as she squares her shoulders. "It was stupid of me."

The harper gives a little flicker of hands, as if waving away her thanks. "Think nothing of it," Quint says. "Although, there is one favor you could do for me, in return," he says, casting another sidelong glance at the weyrling as if to judge her reaction.

"Well, I kinda can't like, think nothing. I mean, I don't know what //could// have happened." Silva keeps shrugging, like she's trying to push something uncomfortable off them. When he mentions something Silva can do in return Silva slows her steps, and pushes back her hood to look over at him. "What could I do for you?"

"In my experience," Quint says, "If we live our lives thinking about what could have been, it only leads to paralyzing indecision." His boots crunch underfoot, as he shortens his steps, slowing to meet Silva's new pace. The harper gives a small -- just a small one -- as he says: "Tell me no."

"Um?" Silva steps thrice before she has any particular answer for the Journeyman Harper. And when it comes, there's an honest, "I guess? I haven't really thought about it much." Silva doesn't actually think about much for all her gloom.

And those three steps take her three beyond where Quint stops, looking expectantly at Silva as he folds gloved hands one over the other.

Lack of footsteps moving along have Silva stopping and turning back towards the harper. "I... don't understand what you're asking."

"I want you to practice. Get used to it. Get comfortable with saying no to people of all stripes." Quint gives another of those flickered smiles. "Think of it as homework, and me as the first test subject," he spreads his arms. "I promise, I won't be upset."

Confusion still ripples across Silva's face as she parses her way through his words. "So... like... you want me to say no... but like, not really say no? Because if I say no... then it's no I won't do that, so I... shouldn't keep doing it? Or I should." Silva's logic is starting to wind around itself.

Despite himself, that makes Quint chuckle, taking two steps to close the distance between them. "This is one you shouldn't think too hard about," he says. "Try this instead: pretend I'm your... acquaintance from last night. Now that you're sober, what do you want to say to him?"

"He //seemed// nice until the end!" Silva's eyes are firmly down on her boots now, the tip of a toe digging into the ground. "I thought he just wanted to buy me a drink. I don't know, it was nice to be noticed. To be told I was pretty. I know he's a jerk //now//."

"Different expectations," Quint agrees, musingly, his voice gentle while his gaze remains on Silva. "Perhaps you ought to sticking to drinks with girlfriends until you're a better judge of others -- or your own expectations."

THAT brings a serious flush to Silva's face. "I don't... really have many girlfriends." Like, any girlfriends. "I... asked Jocelyn but you know how she is. I mean, she doesn't get out." Silva's kinda stinging from the morning of offering out the invitation to the goldrider and it not going really well. Lifting her boot out of the frozen dirt Silva knocks it lightly against a tree to get rid of some of the mud that sticks to it. "I probably just shouldn't like, drink at all. I mean, it's not like it's a useful passtime or whatever."

"Sounds to me like you'd both benefit from it," comes Quint's easy, largely unchanging expression as she brings up Jocelyn. He watches the weyrling cleaning her boot for a moment, breath exhaling for a moment. "That sounds like an eminently wise idea," he says, with an approving smile. "So -- drinking is out. Needlework -- the finer types -- are out. Perhaps it's time for you to find new pasttimes, now that you're almost graduated."

"Actually!" Silva's head comes up and there's a hint of sparkle in her eyes for the last. "I saw one of the Lady Holder's," Silva, getting an A+ on knowing who is whom, "and she was wearing these really thin gloves. I think if I could get a pair, that maybe I could sew again. I just have to find them. But... I don't know. What else do people do for fun?"

It seems the weyrling's enthusiasm is reflected in the harper's expression, growing brighter in the face of her excitement. "Indeed? Sounds like an idea. I can ask my sister if she can find -- or make -- a pair, if you like. She's at Fort at the moment, but she says she's got a lot of down time between chores." His brows go upwards, as she asks him about fun. "Well," he says, slowly. "That might be a better question for people closer to your age. My idea of fun likely isn't your idea of fun," he gives a wry twist of lips. "But, well -- gathers, festivals, and get-togethers with family are always good places to start. Some people find fun in exploring new places or trying new things." His head tilts, as if to see whether any of those are of interest.

There's a CLEAR wince there on Silva's face when Quint mentions family off hand. She's really bunk at hiding her emotions most of the time. Back on goes the hood with a tug, to try to mask some of the ouch that single word causes. "I'll look into it? Just not drinking. No to wine."

It'd be hard pressed for Quint to miss that reaction, even where he not trained to take note of it, and yet there's no mention; no visible reaction other than a slight pause. "Let me know how you go," he says, with a smile. Glancing across the orchard, he says, "Well, I'd best get going. I need to copy some more notes before my ride back to the Weyr comes." He takes a step, pauses, looks at her: "I know it may not seem like it now, but you'll find your place."

"I've got Zaisyreth, right?" So Silva knows she'll always have a place. The question is if she'll ever really be completely comfortable in that place. "Thank you again... you've been really nice." A smile for him, a real one, before Silva takes her footsteps away from him, towards her blue dragon waiting patiently.

"You're welcome," Quint replies, without reservation, echoing that smile. "Good afternoon, weyrling," is added, his path diverging from hers; back towards the Hold proper.