Difference between revisions of "Logs:I'zech's Last Chance"

Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr

Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise from the barracks beyond, the Weyrlingmaster's Office is a comfortable, quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together with twisted rags that stretches from wall to wall, just leaving room for the long bookshelves and filing cabinets. On the back wall, a tapestry of the Weyr's badge is hung, providing both insulation and decoration.

In one corner sits a small green plant, growing strong despite the lack of sunlight in this windowless room. Beside it rests a tea cart, prepped and ready.

It's early in the morning when Olveraeth's request comes, Quinlys' blue reaching out for Rojeth with a certain amount of gentle authority. « You're wanted in the office, » he says. « In the weyrling office. » A quiet correction. « Now. » That B'ren has been at the end of his tether is well-known, but this? This is probably a surprise. The weyrlings are in the middle of harper classes, in the training cavern, but the door to the office - no doubt well remembered from weyrling days - is open. Quinlys is inside, keeping half an eye on the cavern beyond as she works through paperwork; the very picture of weyrlingmasterly authority.

« Both of us? » comes Rojeth's quiet seethe, the glug of swamp bubbles, tinged with a bit of the sardonic humor that his Wingleader has been so fond of over these past few months. There's no lingering contact of his mind though, no sense that he's waiting for an answer, just the distant sense of movement that he leaves Olveraeth with before things go silent. As it is early in the morning and this was not an expected call, it would appear that everyone is lucky I'zech bothered to get dressed. He turns up with hair smashed to one side, a bit of sleep in his eyes, boots still untied. A step trudges him into the doorway, forearm leaned to the frame, and he lifts a brow at the woman at the desk. He's here. What does she want? And she might be the very picture of authority if she didn't look so much like a chewy little piece of candy.

It's true: Quinlys is far too cute to look properly authoritative, though the disapproving look she gives I'zech does its very best. "I'zech. Do you have any idea how much you need to get on my good side?" There's a definite sense that she enjoys this part of her job: the part where she gets to lord over other people. "Come in, close the door, and sit down. Unless, of course, you want to end up on watchrider duty in the icy wastes somewhere until you're too old and blind to be of any use to anyone? Let's be clear: right now, I'm the only person standing between you and that."

I'zech looks to the left, to the right. "I wasn't aware you had another side," he answers, too dull for it to be a compliment. At the very best, it's not one with any feeling behind it. But he drags in a breath to rally himself from the lean against the doorway, closes the thing behind him and approaches her desk on the shuffle and thunk of loose-fitting boots. "Am I in trouble, Weyrli-" It was going to be a dark, dry suggestion, except then that whole thing about watchrider duty sinks in. He comes up behind the chair he's supposed to sit in and plants his hands on the back of it, leaning heavily. But at least his eyes are sharper now, so he might be paying attention. "What are you talking about?"

Quinlys' brows raise for that not-compliment; her glance is long, and dubious. She waits to answer until after he's finished talking, regarding him levelly all the while. "B'ren's had jack of you," she says, simply, resorting to less professional language in an effort to make herself understood. "He's asked us to sort you out, and if not... I don't like screwups in my barracks," my barracks, "but Meara and I, we're willing to give you a chance. From today, you're our assistant. Not on assistant weyrlingmaster pay, mind. You're on probation. You pull your weight, you make sure you're useful, and you don't end up in the icy wastes. B'ren seems to believe we might be able to turn you into a useful rider; I'd like to prove him right. Wouldn't you?" As motivational speeches go...

Her choice of language has that brow lifting again, or maybe it's as if he's going to pretend he doesn't have a clue about B'ren's feelings. His weight rocks forward and back, flexing his lean on the chair, and I'zech waits for her to finish speaking. After that, his smile is tight, sharp, but a smile nonetheless. "It's what every little boy dreams of." Being turned into a useful rider. "So what do you want me to do?" The question is wary rather than encouraged. Like he can barely bother with the gesture, his head tips back, all unshaven throat as he indicates the door behind him and the weyrlings beyond it. Just what responsiblities does an assistant-weyrlingmaster-on-probation have?

"What skills do you have?" The question is prompt, though Quinlys seems... dubious about this part, as though she honestly has no idea what to suggest, despite her obvious bravado. "I'd like to keep you from that watchrider position. I would. But you're going to have to work with me. Try. Believe me, I'll be easier on you than Meara will."

She'll make it easy? I'zech hitches half of a dark grin for that, but at least he gives in enough to round the chair and sink into it in a loose sprawl of legs, a hand rubbing over the mussed hair, evening out the dishevelment. "I can do anything a weyrling is supposed to be able to do? Are you looking for more than that?" He's doubtful, but he'll sling out some points in his favor. "I'm a regular prodigy at sitting on a dragon and letting him do the flying. I'm great with kids." He doesn't put any effort into that lie at all. As if summoned by his mention, Rojeth's touch reaches out to Olveraeth, just an eerie, distant wind, a reminder or a warning. I'zech continues on. "Look, you want me to work for you? I'll work for you. You want to save me from sitting on ice until I'm gray? Thanks." It's not the most heartfelt gratitude, but it might look like trying.

Quinlys shrugs, saying, "It would be easier if there were something you felt comfortable teaching. For now... help out where you can, especially if you see someone struggling. Shadow, basically. We'll try and teach you how to... teach, I guess. But don't lie to me." It's a long, meaningful look that time, almost dismissive, except she isn't actually dismissing him. "I'm doing what I can for you, I'zech. You have to do the rest. Olveraeth returns Rojeth's touch with a a breath of solar wind, the luminosity of a nebula; not a rebuke, but close. You're on probation, too, buster.

I'zech might look just a touch insulted by all this teaching to teach talk. His face scrunches for a beat. "Well, what are the rest of you focusing on? Does everyone else here have some kind of specialty? Butchering carcasses? Fitting straps? I can do all those things." Both hands hanging in his lap, he fixes her with a dull gaze. "I did graduate, Quinlys."

Tartly, "Sure you did. And now you've been kicked out of a Wing. How do I know you haven't forgotten everything we," 'we', even though she hadn't even Impressed when I'zech was a weyrling, "taught you. Besides, there's a difference between knowing how to do something, and knowing how to teach it. Believe me, there is. But, okay, fine: we'll see how you go."

"I don't know what kind of answer you're looking for," I'zech says, rolling one of those hands to show his palm. "You want me to say what, exactly? I remember how to go between? I remember how to go between." He just sits and looks at her for a moment, eyes a bit hard as he chews the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, we'll see how it goes." He starts to get up, weight pitching forward, but pauses to ask, "When do you want me to start?" Not now, right? Because it's early.

"It'd help if you acknowledge that teaching is new, and that you're going to have to learn some new tricks in order to cope with it," says QUinlys, with a sigh, as she rubs at her forehead. "We have a staff meeting in an hour. Go get yourself presentable, and then come back. You can shadow me for the rest of the day." Beat. "And I'zech? Don't screw this up."

That brow ratchets up again, but I'zech says nothing to her comments on learning new tricks. It's probably better that way. See how he learns? He gives his attire a skeptical look, as if he's not quite sure what the difference is between what he's got on and what would be presentable, but it doesn't seem to worry him too much. "Love the confidence," he drolls with a tug of a smirk to one side. And then he's out of the chair, still moving heavily as if the sleep (or maybe liquor) hasn't yet worn off. When he reaches the door, he turns to look back at her. "Thanks for saving my ass," he supposes he should say, brow wrinkling upward as he checks to see if it's good enough.

"Don't make me regret it," is Quinlys' only answer, though she'll watch him go, gaze steely-eyed and determined.

Comments

Eliv (Eliv (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 11 Apr 2013 02:21:26 GMT.

Yessssss.

Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 11 Apr 2013 03:47:21 GMT.

Ohhhhhh dear. :o

K'zin (Wakizian (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 11 Apr 2013 05:22:13 GMT.

CAN I'ZECH BE MY OWN PERSONAL SENSEI?! Teach me the ways of sloth!

Aishani (Brieli (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 11 Apr 2013 05:39:37 GMT.

Ahahaha.

Zian (Zian (talk)) left a comment on Thu, 11 Apr 2013 05:58:30 GMT.

Man, I'zech. WHAT A GREAT ICON.