Difference between revisions of "Logs:Making Friends and Working Through Conflicts Class"

A thick door provides some soundproofing against the escape of sour notes
  and the chanting of Harper Ballads that are common in this room. Chalkdust
  from the blackboard lingers in the air, motes of the stuff catching the   
  light from many glows clustered in a hanging basket in the middle of the  
  ceiling as well as tucked into sconces around the walls.                  
                                                                            
  Just inside the door, cubicles line one wall, each labeled with a child's 
  name and containing various bits of lesson equipment: slates, chalk, scrap
  hide and paper, pens, ink and pots of glue. Long benches span the room,   
  providing seating for at least fifty children between the ages of seven   
  and fourteen; a tall wood screen stands folded near the middle of one     
  wall, ready to divide the room into groups of older and younger students  
  for more age-targeted study. Storage shelves along the back wall hold     
  musical instruments for learning, mostly small hand drums and single bore 
  pipes plus two rather battered xylophones.

The classroom is available either super early in the morning or later in the evening. The harper in question, a middle-aged man named Trudant, has opted for evening, after dinner and sits on the floor, his long legs criss-crossed. Before him is one long bench pulled away from the rest and a big chalkboard behind him. There are no sharp or heavy objects visible.

K'zin is checking all the boxes for effort. As such, he arrives on time, if without any enthusiasm for being here. "Sir," he greets the healer politely as he ducks through the doorway. He doesn't move to take off his flight jacket, though, so perhaps he's hoping he can stay only long enough to actually check a box before he get to be on his not-so-merry way.

H'vier isn't as punctual as K'zin, but he arrives a few minutes later without apology for the delay. There's a moment taken to scan the classroom before he's eyeing the healer himself, but generally ignoring the other bronzerider's presence. "Shall we get this over with?" That's the spirit!

"Have somewhere else to be, dragonrider?" K'zin's jacket is considered, a slow smile appearing on Trudant's face. His voice is mellifluous, pleasant and mellow, and the hand that gestures indicates the bench or floor, "Have a seat." But then he stands, dusting off his clothing and removing his knit hat to run a hand through his hair. "I'm Journeyman Trudant, you can call me harper, teacher, or sir for the duration of these classes." Classes? He turns to the chalkboard and reaches for a piece to start lightly throwing in the air. "Thank you for working with my schedule, and I am required to let you know that we will have a visitor who will come observe, take some notes, and then depart. Don't let her, ah, distract you."

"Other places I'd like to be," K'zin tells the harper with a humor bogged down by his resignation. He shrugs slowly out of his jacked, as if by miracle, the Journeyman might say something like 'just kidding, K'zin!' and let him go quickly. He looks at H'vier briefly, but there's no actual acknowledgement forthcoming as he moves to dutifully sit on the bench. "Yes, sir," sounds genuinely respectful. Maybe K'zin is trying after all! (Trying to check the block as painlessly as possible.) If the plurality of classes makes him feel things, the only evidence is in the slight jutting out of his lower lip. It's not quite a pout; he's a bronzerider, after all, reputation to maintain and all that. "A visitor?" He does ask with lifted brows, clearly unsure how he feels about that.

H'vier lapses into silence when the harper starts speaking. He doesn't want to be here. It's all over his demeanor. But he's not quite as on edge as he might usually be, considering the circumstances. The bronzerider settles on the bench as far from K'zin as possible while still mostly ignoring him, asking, "Just how many of these do I need to waste time on?" He seems less interested in whoever's going to be coming to observe.

"Someone to evaluate my performance," explains Trudant smoothly, waving off those brow raised concerns with a flick of his hand. Too smoothly. He seems far too mellow. "So-, K'zin. H'vier. Seems like the two of you have some trouble keeping your tempers?" A look for K'zin quirks his brows consideringly, that when his focus shifts to H'vier looks markedly more enlightened. "As many as I deem necessary, sir. Perhaps you can turn that frown upside down." Clearly, this is a man who works with children. But no matter, he plows on, fully expecting H'vier to utilize his listening ears. "Let's start by rehashing what happened and how it could have gone differently. Each of you will tell one sentence of what happened and build on the story. K'zin, you may start."

The younger bronzerider has a moment of pure disbelief. The words of the harper to the older man about his frown. He'd probably laugh if he could believe he just witnessed that. He's in that stunned sort of silence until he realizes he's been asked to do something. The visitor is completely forgotten. "Uh," K'zin briefly glances to H'vier and then shrugs, "Irianke hit H'vier in the face with cake." That's where it started, right?

His frown is definitely not turning upside down anytime soon. H'vier's jaw tightens visibly, but he looks at the floor rather than focusing on either man who might provoke that temper he has such trouble keeping sometimes. "His dragon was bragging about Searching an Igenite to Reisoth." That's really where it started.

Kids of all ages can't keep quiet. Then again, neither can the adults. Having heard the gossip from all over, Trudant can't help the amused smile at where K'zin starts, his expression only deepening at where H'vier goes with it. With the skills of a teacher used to such actions, he writes quickly on the chalkboard under three columns. The left is K'zin, the right is H'vier, and the middle is empty. "Here is our first conflict. And then some. Where the story starts is an important distinction to understand just where things went wrong and how all these feelings we have can get so," he pounds two fists together, "Combative. Can we come to a consensus on just where this started that will please both of you? We'll tackle the and then some after."

"Why would Reisoth care about Zadkiel?" K'zin assigns the candidate in question his name. "Zadkiel wanted to Stand for us, and he wants to go back to Igen after." That'll work out fine, right? "What's wrong with that?" He directs to H'vier in a way that is defensive at best, antagonistic at worst. Maybe he's ignoring their teacher now; that probably won't help with his box checking, but no one can say K'zin ever claimed to be smart.

"I specifically asked you not to Search anyone who didn't want to stay in High Reaches, you sharding idiot," H'vier snaps back at the younger man. "What if he Impresses a bronze? Igen doesn't want bronzes. And then we have a bronzerider with just as much loyalty to the Weyr as you seem to have." Which is to say, not very much. This is productive, right?

"Let's consider rephrasing your questions, K'zin," says Trudant of the toddler minding voice: gentle, mellow, and ever-ever patience. "Let's rethink those insults, H'vier." Seriously, toddler-minding. He does not get paid enough for this, and it's only one exercise in! The man's eyes close, a deep breath is taken, and he exhales slowly then opens his eyes. For K'zin, "Can you think of why your dragon informed Reisoth that he had Searched a candidate? Does he generally inform the clutch's sire of all candidates he Searches?" To H'vier, "Wingleader, please refrain from base insults in this room. What merits your arguments might have are negated by the need to be combative with K'zin."

K'zin might be briefly united with H'vier on one front: he look for a second like he'd like to hit the harper. Frowning, he takes a moment before saying, "No, he doesn't normally." That's not volunteering why K'zin thinks Rasavyth did this time, but maybe they won't notice. And the harper probably doesn't intend him to answer H'vier, but he does anyway, "And yeah, you 'asked'. By telling me. I disagreed, so I ignored you." It's honest anyway, and doesn't involve his fists as medium of communication, so maybe that can be called progress.

H'vier is not nearly intoxicated enough for this and he's going to break his teeth if he clenches his jaw any tighter. But he refrains from any response at all until K'zin has said what he needs to say. And then he explains exactly why Rasavyth told his lifemate, "He did it to antagonize Reisoth. Or to antagonize me." And hey! It totally worked.

"I think you just put words in K'zin's mouth." Not that Trudant sounds particularly disbelieving of what H'vier says, not with that somewhat dismayed look at K'zin. "That's not nice to do and can make assumptions for someone's thoughts or motivations that might not exist." Clearly, this exercise won't be going anywhere and a resigned look slips past the pair to the back wall. "You two need a mindhealer more than you need a harper," is his assessment. A shrink will likely get further than this. "Let's move on." He erases the chalkboard. The story will never conclude at this rate. "Conflict can be born of many reasons, misunderstandings being key among them," parrots the man from some text memorized turns ago. "The best way to make sure no miscommunication happens is to generally repeat, in your own words, what you think someone said to you."

"If you mean he wanted to get me punched, that's possible," K'zin admits with a grimace. "But that doesn't mean I had anything to do with antagonizing you. I just don't agree with what you told me to do, so I didn't do it. You're not my wingleader," or the boss of him! Does that ignore the harper's intended helpfulness? A bit, but at least K'zin hasn't punched him?

The way H'vier looks at K'zin almost certainly means he'd like for him to just shut his dumb mouth. But at least he doesn't say it out loud. He's trying. Or he was. "This is a waste of my time. Some of us have actual work to do." Some of them who aren't K'zin or this damned harper, obviously. "What do we need to do to get out of here? I'll repeat back whatever you sharding well want me to."

"Complete the exercises in an acceptable fashion, but-," Trudant's voice is interrupted from the back (when did she slip in?), by a familiar voice attached to a familiar face, who pushes herself off the wall to interject, "Quit being their daddy, Tru, and just say what you need to. It's not our responsibility to teach them to be adults. Someone else failed them long ago." Suireh jots a few more things down on a clipboard she has, and now that she's outed herself, sits on a bench far from the trio.

It's as if he's on auto pilot, ignoring what two bickering children are saying, and continuing on with a spiel of what other things can cause conflict and ticks through a list of items and exercises (he does not ask them to do) that can help resolve situations with gentle, accepting words rather than fists. He talks and writes, so he doesn't have to look at the two adults on the bench before him. "Any questions?" is finally asked, the once mellow harper looking decidedly more frayed.

The younger bronzerider probably wishes he didn't know that voice, and more that when he twists to look at the woman that it wasn't actually Suireh sitting there. His cheeks become as red as they can under his dusky skin. "No," is the only thing K'zin will say now. Chances are good he didn't hear most of that. He gives H'vier a brief glare and then fixes his eyes firmly on the floor.

"Oh, go fuck yourself, woman." H'vier may not know Suireh well, but he knows her well enough to know he doesn't want her here. For this. He glares at the woman for several moments, possibly leers for at least one, then returns his attention to Trudant to sort of maybe listen to what he's saying. And in the end his only question is, "Are we done?"

"Go." Trudant defers to the ranking harper in this, and Suireh dismisses the pair with one word. To the journeyman, irrelevant to whether the two are still there or not, "You can't fix people who don't want to be fixed." And when the journeyman tries to argue back, the younger woman shakes her head. "I'll submit my recommendations to the Hall." Reassurances follow a beat of silence. "Don't worry. This was an unwinnable situation for everyone involved."

For all K'zin's earlier eagerness to come and be gone, he lingers on the bench, unmoving after Suireh's initial dismissal. He hears what she tells the harper who's been trying with them and he lifts his eyes only once to her face, his look that of a kicked puppy. With collected dignity (whatever he has left?), he rises, collects his riding jacket to be held like a comfort blanket between both hands and moves to exit the room, head down.

H'vier is up and making his way out as soon as that one word has been spoken. His own dignity is quite intact, though, because the wingleader has very little shame to offer in the first place. Certainly not here with these people.

H'viers departure is noted with a twist of her lips. "Sign whatever needs to be signed. Tell the Weyrleader you've done your due diligence and the rest is up to a miracle." Suireh dictates first to Trudant who does not seem comfortable at all checking off the forms that need to be checked off without, actual, y'know, merit. "K'zin? It's good to see you again." She can pretend it's not under these circumstances.

K'zin stops before he gets to the door, to look back at Suireh, his expression a mixture of troubled, vulnerable and sad, "Yeah. You too." He tilts his head toward her knot, "Congratulations." Even if the wish is belated. "If you have time while you're at the Weyr, come by for drinks, or whatever," he invites, but he doesn't seem to be prepared to wait for an answer. The last thing he needs in this moment is to be rejected in a friendly overture. So he goes, without looking back this time.

Suireh watches K'zin go, a brief look of regret flickering in her pale eyes, "Sure." But then he's gone before she can set a date and she looks to the journeyman. "Worse than five turn olds the lot of them. I have a few people to catch up with while I'm home." Home. Suireh sucks in a sharp breath and moves to leave Trudant to reset the room for tomorrow morning.

A note arrives from Journeyman Trudant, a man best known for his hippie-esque fashion, hairstyle, free-flowing mellow nature and dealing with the five turn old classes at the Weyr.

The two dragonriders, H'vier and K'zin, have sat in my class on Making Friends and Working Through Conflicts on day 26 of the fifth month of the 37th turn. Signed, Trudant.

It doesn't indicate whether they passed or not, but hey, check's a check.