Logs:Interference and Unwelcome Revelations
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| RL Date: 23 February, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Quinlys, Telavi |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke wishes to talk to the weyrlingmasters about Niahvth's weyrlings. It quickly goes pear-shaped. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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>---< 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 from twisted rags that stretches from wall
to wall, just barely leaving room for the long bookcases and filing
cabinets. On the back wall, a geometric tapestry and blue and black is
hung, providing both insulation and decoration.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Irianke F 36 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 24s
Quinlys F 31 5'4" Soft, Dark red hair, Blue eyes 0s
Telavi F 25 5'7" trim, dk. blonde hair, blue-green eyes 16s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Training Cavern
>------------------------------------------< 3D 2M 37T I10, winter night >---< The missive came two mornings after Niahvth's flight, a request to sit down and chat over lunch with the weyrlingmaster and her staff. This is why Irianke waits outside Quinlys' door four days after her dragon's flight, inspecting the weyrling training area with a look that's just more than curious and less than intense. She even lets out a few calls at varied volumes to see how the room echoes, with the end result being a pleased smile. The fact that there's a kitchen attendant with a trolley full of food watching her doesn't change her behavior. She seems to delight in his perturbed reaction. It may be that Quinlys has cleaned up especially for Irianke's visit; it may be it was just something to do, these recent days, something at least semi-productive. In either case, the training room is spotless; absolutely spotless. Inside the office, it's only her trusty lieutenant - Telavi - that Quinlys has called in, which could be a show of power and could... not be. The sound of Irianke's voice, outside, has the bluerider's mouth twitching, but after glancing at Telavi, and shrugging, she stands, moving around the table so that she can swing the door open. "Weyrwoman," she greets. "Come in." There might have been a series of inventive expletives that echoes outside the office just before the door is swung open and Quinlys comes out. Just maybe. Telavi has cleaned up in a different way, not that that's anything novel: particularly blonde hair-- enough so to have seen some sun, which must have been in Irianke's honor-- done up with fine braids given an extra curling fillip amidst the professionally contained mass; pretty-yet-functional attire; even pretty-yet-functional attention to fingers and toes. Her smile could count for that too, though the dimple-- even if it were expletive-deepened-- is for Quinlys alone. For that entering, she relinquishes her neatly arranged set of note-taking materials to stand. One beat doesn't get missed when the door opens, Irianke gliding effortlessly from swearing into an echoing chamber to walking in to that open door with a gesture for the kitchen assistant to follow along. "I wasn't sure what everyone," there's the slightest pause to find only two, "Would be eating so I got a bit of everything." Some sort of roasted meat selection, roasted vegetables, a ceramic bowl of stew, some fresh baked bread with lots of butter, and salad fixings. There's three pitchers: klah, juice, and water. "Hello," she greets only after the boy has left, "We've never met but you must be Quinlys," said to the redhead. Telavi receives a pleasant smile and lifted brow in question. Expletives only twitch Quinlys' mouth into a smile - just barely resulting in a falter as she beckons the goldrider into her sanctum. "I'm sure it will be fine," she promises, stepping back around the table to reclaim her seat as one expansive hand offers the selection of chairs. "Quinlys, yes," she agrees. "Olveraeth's rider. And this is Telavi, my assistant. We've not yet mobilised for our return to duty, but there will be others, of course, once we have. Welcome to High Reaches, however belatedly. And to the barracks." There's Tela's own quick smile for the meeting of eyes, one that's widened at their introduction before her own murmured welcome, but mostly she busies herself with plating a selection for Quinlys with a practiced eye. Telavi leaves room for Irianke to step in-- or to direct?-- before dealing out her own, including a pleased fair share of the bread... and not stealing all the remaining redroot from the roasted vegetables despite a moment of bright-eyed temptation. "I didn't get to peek in there," Irianke confesses frankly, a hand waving that formality off as not something pressing. "I am not entirely sure what protocol is at High Reaches Weyr, but Niahvth and I like to be as involved in the training process as possible so I..." The Igenite's expression falters, a twitch to the tip of her nose and a simple shrug claiming her shoulders. "I am at your mercy if you would be so kind as to teach me how training is approached at High Reaches Weyr." Food is deferred until the other two have their fill, though Telavi's preparation of food for Quinlys doesn't go unnoticed by those bright gray-blue eyes. When it's her turn, she fixes herself a salad draped over by pieces of pink meat and takes a seat. "I am impressed at how spotless your facilities are. The drudges here do exceedingly high standards of work." For Telavi, Quinlys delivers a genuinely grateful smile, though she ignores her food initially in lieu of considering Irianke with a certain amount of watchful interest. The faintest hint of a flush suggests itself in her cheeks at mention of the cleanliness of the training room, though her answer is a more neutral, "It's important, to me. To be prepared. I'll be honest, we're - I'm - pleased by your interest." Cautiously pleased, perhaps. "Primarily, our goal is to make sure that while threadfighting skills are not forgotten, our riders are prepared for life in an interval. It's a fine balance." "We are," Tela can and does speak for herself, underscoring rather than contradicting her boss; that bright interest stays in her own gaze, but she doesn't attempt to commit them-- any of them-- to more than she ought. "How is it for Igenites, addressing Interval? If you don't mind my asking, ma'am." "Do your goldriders," Irianke pauses again. Her eyes close in a Faranth help me fashion, no doubt thinking of the repercussions of what she wanted to and will say. When they open, she concludes with, "Traditionally not have a hand in the training of their dragon's progeny?" This question supercedes that of Telavi's, as the goldrider makes no move towards answering it while she waits. In spite of that kind of ignoring, the question elicits a reaction, a patience, little one' apologetic smile and the goldrider reaching into her shoulder bag and withdrawing a notepad and pencil stick. It's a trap. Quinlys hesitates over her answer, blue eyes seeking Telavi's, briefly, before they return to the Igenite. "It depends on the goldrider," is what she attempts, in the end; neutral. "In recent turns, certainly, I've-- we've-- seen little interference," beat, "Wrong word. Although I would be interested in getting an understanding of how involved you prefer to be." Telavi's returned glance is serious; she doesn't jump in, and she is patient-- or, at least, exhibits it. Solith's wings flutter; it's too cold not to curl up with him, and yet, she hasn't been able to. Peeking over one of those wings at the older dragon, « Will they let her do... anything she wants to? » Her. Niahvth's. They. Cadejoth and Hraedhyth's. (To Olveraeth from Solith) « No. » Olveraeth's stars are endless; immense and sure and utterly confident despite a tremor of solar wind. « She is not the weyrlingmaster. » Surely he's sure. (To Solith from Olveraeth) If he's sure, how can Solith be otherwise? « When you were a hatchling, » for she is told he was, even if she can't quite believe it, « was your dam's rider here? » In the barracks, maybe; watching over, maybe; there's no image to go with it. (To Olveraeth from Solith) To Solith, Olveraeth was, must have been a hatchling. There's a sense of distance and time in his thoughts, now; rummaging through ancient galaxies, past stars long since deceased. « I do not think so, » is his eventual reply, thoughtful now. « No. No, she was not. » She listens, not exactly in a hurry but aware of the beating of her heart, the cold breaths she takes and her warmer exhalations. « The others haven't either... have they? » She might have missed something. (To Olveraeth from Solith) The pencil, poised to write, falls lax when Quinlys hesitates and then speaks. Telavi is slanted an appraising look, resulting in a notation being made in some illegible script. Irianke exhales audibly, dropping her pencil finally in favor of a fork and knife and begins to eat, slow enough for the chewing to allow her some time. "I had hoped to teach a few classes and sit in on some classes as time allowed to see how the weyrlings progress. Both Niahvth and I believe that a mother shouldn't be far from her children and that her influence could be used to help encourage her progeny." The fork and knife are set down with an audible click, and a gleaming look enters her eyes. "But really, we're just nosy and possibly meddlesome if this is not the accepted norm at High Reaches. You may feel free to tell me to mind my own business with no ill feeling." To Solith, Olveraeth is silent. There's a sense of 'no' but also of... uncertainty. Thoughtfulness. Equations in flux. Quinlys' spine straightens, and she takes in a breath, holding it carefully for a moment before she fits a smile back upon her face. She, too, finally reaches for her fork for the first time, though it seems rather more inclined to poke at food than to actually transport it to her mouth. "I've no objection to you taking an interest," she says. "And if there are skills you believe you are equipped to teach... we can, perhaps reach an agreement. My hesitation isn't over your involvement," is blunt. "Just that there would need to be ground rules. In the barracks, my word is law. And these will be High Reaches pairs, not Igen ones." She's not - yet - bristling, and yet... Tela's eyes had widened at teach, however swiftly veiled beneath the sweep of lashes when she glanced at Quinlys; she eats neatly, diligently, which does double duty in keeping her mouth shut. And, after that one glance, it's the weyrwoman she's watching; whatever reactions there are, she'd like to see them. "Not all of them," is Irianke's very simple response. Clear-eyed and straight-faced, the goldrider begins to make inroads in her meal again, cutting her salad and meat together until they are neat bite-sized chunks. All the while, she speaks in a practiced calm manner, "Igen has vested interest in making sure their weyrlings are trained as per their norm and while Nimae has expectations of myself in regards to these goals, I have no desire to step on your toes, weyrlingmaster. I would rather work with you to incorporate what we can from Igen's program if there are, in fact, differences. I would be the first," Irianke looks up from her food at Quinlys, ignoring Telavi outright at this point, with eyes filled with an undiscernible emotion, but neutral they are not, "To tell you that an extended weyrlinghood at Igen, once graduated from this program, is not the most pleasant experience." So blandly uttered, such neutrality in her voice if not in her gaze. This is flicked with fire-- Telavi-- « Incorporate from Igen if there are differences? » The echoes of the greenrider's tone, at least heard through Solith, may veer towards belated curiosity with the goldrider's last words, but in no way has she forgotten. (To Olveraeth from Solith) Now, Quinlys does bristle, though it's also fair to say that she's still working through the rest of what Irianke has said. Still, she manages not to sound wholly emotive when she asks, touched with tension, "How many pairs will Igen be claiming?" A pause, but only a minute one, and then, "You're not, of course, suggesting that my program is any way deficient. Obviously, High Reaches' weyrlings must learn to our specifications, and while there is some room for change, it is limited." She doesn't glance at Telavi, this time; she's too busy steeling her exprsession and attempting to keep her tone neutral. « Bitch. » is too resounding and distasteful to be Olveraeth's word; in any case, Quinlys' emotion is all-too-obvious in it; she's clearly not talking about Solith, or Solith's rider. And then, « Yes. There can be differences. I would like to-- » See. Explore. Learn. If only his rider will calm. (To Solith from Olveraeth) If only Telavi had become a harper, to set all this to music; she trades fork for edged pen, holding it loosely in her fingers, enough so that at times it may ever so gently sway. "Hardly," the goldrider is quick to respond. "Just that Igen's program tends to like to strip even the best of us of our will to protest. I," Irianke's eyes close and her hands continue to make a chiffonade of her already bite-sized food. "Weyrlingmaster. I just don't want to see the people who might be dislodged from their home suffer needlessly because they might not meet an exacting standard they aren't told from the very beginning." The issue of numbers, not addressed at all. Quinlys' food is, now, forgotten entirely; she even sets down her fork. "I see," she says, biting back disquiet in an only-barely kind of way. "They have to leave?!" It's Telavi's interruption, her voice risen little in volume but fraught with dismay. Solith is horrified. Or Telavi is horrified. No, they are. (To Olveraeth from Solith) In answer, Olveraeth is the bitterest cold of deep space; empty and fathomless. (To Solith from Olveraeth) To Olveraeth, Solith shivers. Her meal is a mess of thin pieces of lettuce and ruined meat rendered so by her inability to still her hands. "I apologize." Irianke's quick voice gives way to genuine regret, apology darkening her gray-blue eyes. "I... I had assumed this was not new news. Please, accept my apologies. We can confer again at a later date after you've spoken to our leadership and both of us have had time to decide what would be the best course and find a middle ground from there." The chair she pushes back scraps an uneasy sound against the floor, and she's stepping back to the door, backwards. "I'll have someone come by to clear this." Quinlys is more known for explosive outbursts than quiet; now, however, her voice is brittle. "Thank you," she says. That's all. That's... all there can be. That's all, but-- "How many?" Telavi can't help but ask-- even demand?-- no, appeal, blue-green eyes blue and luminous as she half-rises; "Can't you even say that? Who gets to pick, do they volunteer? Irianke, how many will we lose?" The goldrider finally turns at the door, hand on knob, before she turns to look at Telavi with eyes that are blank slates. "It will depend on how many eggs my Niahvth clutches. How many of them are chromatics. There has been no decision made on how it will be decided who will go to Igen upon graduation." Short answer: she doesn't know. Door open. Exit Irianke. That's all, but-- "How many?" Telavi can't help but ask-- even demand?-- no, appeal, blue-green eyes blue and luminous as she half-rises; "Can't you even say that? Who gets to pick, do they volunteer? Irianke, how many will we lose?" The goldrider finally turns at the door, hand on knob, before she turns to look at Telavi with eyes that are blank slates. "It will depend on how many eggs my Niahvth clutches. How many of them are chromatics. There has been no decision made on how it will be decided who will go to Igen upon graduation." Short answer: she doesn't know. Door open. Exit Irianke. Quinlys half-rises in her chair, but it's not to see the goldrider out; no, she has her hands balled into fists, her eyes wide and wild and angry. At least she manages to hold off saying or doing anything else until Irianke is out of earshot; "FUCK." Telavi doesn't. There's an outburst of breath that's very like an outcry, Tela stifling it with the back of her hand. She doesn't seek to stop the rider of Niahvth, eyes snapping with ill humor, the pen nearly snapping in her other hand as she turns to Quinlys. "Did she leave?" Really leave? "She's gone." And if she's not... well, that's too bad. Quinlys abandons her seat, now, pacing down the space between table and wall, those hands still fisted. "Someone should've fucking told us," she says, words tumbling out. "Someone should be telling everyone. Was it supposed to be a surprise? 'Oh hey, you just Impressed but now you get to go to fucking Igen!'" "They should," Telavi says darkly. "Ugh! Who wants to go to Igen?!" Never mind how it's frigid here and dark and-- and-- Quinlys turns sharply on her heel. "Why even send her here if you're going to take half the clutch? Or-- however many it is. Maybe they should be sent back immediately, if their weyrling program is so damn awesome, and ours so useless." She's almost yelling, now. "Well, I won't search anyone. Not from here. They can wait. Clearly we should fill the sands with people from the coverage area who won't care." "You think they'd-- that many-- why would they even-- Aishani was raised here, wasn't she?-- not even Search, I didn't think of that-- not Aishani, Iesaryth was raised here?-- why?" Telavi has no answers. Quinlys, too, is short on answers. "Who'd want a stupid Igen/Istan dragon, anyone. It's not like they're High Reaches at all." Her sniff is dismissive. "They can have them all back. I don't care." Beat. "Do you need a drink?" Quinlys needs a drink. "I need a drink. And," Telavi announces, "I'm going to eat her bread." Well, she'd share with Quinlys. But! "I heard that there were, like, two drops of High Reaches blood way way way way back in the Interval before this one," she says with no satisfaction but high drama and possibly even exaggeration. "Why can't they-- and how many-- ugh. And what do we do if they want to stay? Or the stupid ones want to stay?" Quinlys unlocks the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet sharply; the drawer gets more or less yanked open, not pulled gently. At least there's a nearly-new bottle in there, though it's slightly less nearly-new by the time she's pulled out the stop and taken a big, long swig. Offering the bottle to the greenrider, she leans over the table to pick up a piece of meat, biting into it. "Can't imagine Igen would want mutinous dragonriders," she says, almost cheerfully. "Ooh." That's not just for Telavi's getting her drink. That's for possibilities. Though, "Wouldn't they have thought about that? If they're so smart?" Quinlys will have bread, too; she's not had it for ages, most likely, and while the lack of carbs might be great for the waistline, a person needs their fluffy, buttery deliciousness. "Pfft," she decides. "They're not so smart. It's not our fault our riders are so very, very loyal." So much deliciousness. Telavi gives the assemblage of food a longing look, as though if only she gazed at it the right way-- or long enough-- dessert would magically appear to join it; it's not as though she's ever had an issue with Quinlys' waistline. "Mmm. Loyal. But seriously, teach classes?" A hesitant look, this time, is for the other woman. "Is she loyal?" Quinlys glances up, fingers curving around the piece of bread in her hand as, more thoughtful, she focuses her gaze on Telavi. "I don't know," she admits. "I find her difficult to read. Anyway, why a goldrider would be able to each anything but, like, goldrider-stuff..." "Records. Dancing?" Telavi suggests, brightly. Quinlys' eyes roll. "So very useful." But there's a sharp nod of her chin, anyway; a stabbing motion, in a way. "It'd keep her out of our hair, anyway." "What if she clutches a gold?" Telavi worries. "I mean, that's what people want, what they were hoping for, right? What if she wants to teach her?" "Well," says Quinlys, after a moment's pause. "Igen clearly wouldn't have any claim on her." Surely, right? That must be the point? "So her training would be to Azaylia's specifications." She glances away, staring at the wall rather than her coworker. "She'll just have to be firm." "Not officially... wait, so Azaylia would be down here? Because Hraedhyth playing with the little ones, that's cute and helps keep them out of trouble, but--" then Tela circles back to, "Are you sure Igen wouldn't claim a gold if there were one even if we just have one and even if-- but if she picked someone who-- ugh, I hate things being about golds. Golds golds golds ugh." Quinlys has already begun shaking her head before Telavi even circles back, though she's nice enough not to interrupt - besides, there's that bottle to reclaim, and another drink to be had. "Right? Fucking golds." She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. "But no, we'd send the goldrider up to Azaylia for that. The barracks are mine; we don't need goldriders throwing their weight around, down here." Telavi gives Quinlys a look, and this one isn't even a 'you stole my drink!' look so much as 'you are so wonderful.' "Good," she says with a sigh. "I can't believe she... and what kind of 'influence' was she talking about? Her queen, on the little ones? Is that to get them to be good little 'do what Igen wants' babies?!" Quinlys shudders. It's probably a little over-dramatic, but under the weight of that particular look, well. Who can blame her? "Right? I don't like that idea at alll. Let dragons be dragons. Let weyrlings be weyrlings. We teach 'em well, and we're not going to go changing everything just to make a bunch of foreigners happy." "Exactly." Telavi sniffs, then eyes some of that meat Qunlys had been raiding in distinctly carnivorous fashion. "Besides, I heard Igen was only going to let bronzeriders be wingleaders, and we're supposed to give our weyrlings up to that? Gold this, bronze that, ugh ugh ugh." Quinlys makes a face, the kind that one's mother might warn one about: something about the wind changing. "I'd like to see them try to run things without us," she sniffs, disapprovingly. "Well, they'll live to regret it, that's all I'll say." Telavi's jumping into agreement, only to have her face fall. But then she gives a little shrug, as if to say they all die and just some sooner than others-- and besides, the gloom is harshing her righteous complaint!-- "Ugh. It's not like she even seemed to like Igen much, though maybe that was 'it's all Igen's fault, I just want to help, blah blah.'" Quinlys picks up Irianke's abandoned fork, stabbing it into the remains of the goldrider's salad; take that. "Ugh," she agrees. "Just... ugh. We need to tell people. The people need to know. Okay? No secrets. No fucking secrets." "I just wish we knew-- how many. How. All of that, because otherwise people are just going to--" Telavi waves her arms around, much as she had been. "But maybe that's how we find out--" This time, the hand-waving isn't for show. She sighs. "Let's just..." Eat. Drink. If Quinlys isn't using the bottle, by Faranth, she will. Quinlys' sigh is about all the answer she's got, for now. At least there are no present weyrlings to distract them from either the eating or the drinking; that's something. And when the kitchen worker returns to collect the leavings... in that much, if nothing else, they'll have gotten what they wanted. |
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Comments
Edyis (05:03, 24 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Well that escalated quickly. Ahem.
Roz (09:58, 24 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Oh, man. Mind /blown/. Irianke, what. D:
I loved this scene. Irianke's interest, and Quinlys and Telavi's talk afterwards.
Just.. /man/. So good.
Azaylia (17:30, 24 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Irianke's interest was surprising, but also totally makes sense-- especially given her own experiences. Of course I love Quinlys and Telavi's talk at the end, it's so very 'them', with Quinlys' outrage and Telavi's loyalty. Oh captain my captain~ <3
K'zin (14:56, 25 February 2015 (EST)) said...
<3
K'zin is gonna be so unhappy. (Assuming someone tells him.)
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