Logs:Lifesavers
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| RL Date: 12 September, 2011 |
| Who: E'gin, Iolene, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Iolene brings food to E'gin and Quinlys, who are studying; they 'tutor' her. Later, she lets something slip to Quinlys that she probably shouldn't have. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 10, Turn 26 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Seani/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It's only been a couple of days since those silver threads were handed out, but the extra workload is already obvious. Today's extra class involved threadfighting tactics, and formations, and Quinlys, for one, looks pretty dead on her feet as she makes her way back into the barracks afterwards. There's homework, too, but for now, the weyrling tells the others returning with her, "I think it can wait. At least a little while. Maybe I'll feel better after some dinner... if I can make it that far." One of those returning with Quinlys is E'gin and he shakes his head at the bluerider, "No. Work first, food later. Unless you're offering to bring it, and I'll start studying for us." Study group. "If we're going to be riding in these formations soon, I'd like to have them down at least in our heads." And by ours he means Vyrsavth's and his own, but what is the difference? He drops the charts under his arm on to a table and settles down. "Blues tend to be in the middle wings right?" Quinlys gives the idea at least a moment's thought, head tipped to the side; "Are you going to come up with a mnemonic thing that'll help me remember?" she wonders. "If I go and get us food?" She doesn't /really/ look as though she intends to go anywhere, though, an impression amplified by the way she shifts her path to join the other weyrling at the table, dropping her notes along the table alongside the charts. "Some of them. But blues and greens are pretty useful to have around, even if they can't last a full 'fall, so you end up with some of them everywhere." Speaking of food, Iolene's arrival is a timely coincidence. Carried in her hands is a tray with food balanced precariously all over it: meat and cheese rolls stacked high atop some slices of roast herdbeast drenched in gravy and three large bowls of some sort of vegetable stew. Or is it? A coincidence that is, as her immediate attention flickers to a serenely seated Ysavaeth, her slender tail looped around her growing bulk. Does the gold nod her head all encouragingly? And would those avid students even notice if that were the case? Io, hesitation rife in her expression, bites her lower lip and then takes steps forward on the heels of Quinlys' comment. "I-... I was finishing dinner and Ysa mentioned you guys were hungry." Non-leadership-material girl fidgets on her tiptoes, her gaze fixing onto E'gin instead of the girl who should've had Ysavaeth, bouncing in that nervous sort of way that jostles some soup of its bowl. Being Iolene? She's forgotten silverware or napkins. "Well yah, I'll come up with a mnemonic device, you tell me which ones you are having problems remembering." E'gin grins thoughtfully at Quinlys before spreading out the formations on the table. Highest flying closest to him, moving down towards Quinlys. He looks up, with a smile for the female, "Sure they are useful everywhere, but where do /you/ -want- to be? What would you be good at?" He waves a hand over the wings in formation. E'gin's hand is waving but his eyes lock with Iolene's, "Hey, Io. Starving. We're doing boring stuff, but you are /welcome/ to sit...and 'feed' us." Or get some unauthorized tutoring. "I--" begins Quinlys, obviously about to launch into some detailed explanation of what, where, how and why. But there's Iolene, and the blue weyrling's eyes go wide and awed. "Iolene," she says. "/You/ are a lifesaver." Her words come a beat after E'gin's, though she doesn't seem to have been completely aware of his until afterwards, because she adds, then, hastily, "Yes - join us. Sit with us. It'll be more fun, with more of us." And the /other/ leadership weyrlings are nowhere in sight. "Not that formations and threadfighting and all of that is /really/ interesting, but..." Her expression is obviously intended to be enticing. The enticement elicits a grimace from Iolene's expression and there might be the notion that she doesn't actually want to be anywhere near these silver-threaded elites. But the grim look is replaced with a weak smile as she sets the tray down and takes the offered seat, another glance thrown over to where Ysavaeth is 'resting.' Finding no sympathy from her lifemate, the blonde teenager lets out an audible sigh and turns, the smile on her face climbing now as her ever-present (usually) cheerful mask slips into place. "It must be hard work. I can't even begin to imagine. Seems like it'd be easier to wrestle down a herdbeast on your own than to study that much more." She pushes the tray a little forward with her knuckles, almost as if afraid that they /won't/ eat after all the effort to bring the food. "It's pretty good," she adds, encouragingly, "My favorites were the cheese rolls." Which would explain why there's /so/ many of them in there multiple towers. E'gin watches Iolene quietly as she finally decides to settle in. Aforementioned cheese roll is collected and squished silently between two fingers. The force of his thumb moving toward his pointer finger squishes the cheese out from his edible container, the oozing mess is plopped into his mouth. "Not really. Less sleep, but with that..." A cheesed thumb is jabbed toward his brown dragon, curled up - mostly asleep on his couch, before the offending melted substance is sucked off, "I wasn't getting much sleep...Anyway..." He looks pointedly at Iolene, "It is important that we learn as much as we can." His eyes flicker back to the bluerider and he grins, "You didn't answer my question, where do you want to fly?" The way Quinlys' gaze is lingering on Iolene, she may well be aware of the goldrider's reluctance to join them: she tries to look all the more encouraging to compensate. "It's worth it," she agrees, shifting her gaze so that she can include both the islanders in the gesture. "We're going to learn how to dance properly, later this seven; we can teach you, afterwards. That's probably more fun than this stuff, I guess." She, too, reaches for a cheese roll, breaking it apart with both hands before she, finally, gets around to answering, "Not sure. Actually - mostly, I think I'd like to join Meara's staff, one day. I know it won't be for turns, but I think it'd suit us." The blue eyes widen and then narrow, first speculatively at Quinlys then at E'gin. Io's definitely sizing them up, slightly perturbed. "Why would... dancing?" A longer question gets clipped into one rhetorical, if inquisitive word. Despite the fact that she's probably already eaten, the blonde can't seem to resist the cheese rolls, reaching over to grab one and beginning to gnaw on the edges, barely scrapping her teeth agains the fluffy dough. "What does it matter where the dragons fly?" E'gin grins at Iolene, and shrugs, "So you don't offend a dignitary at some other place." He waves his hand, "That isn't the important stuff. This is...well not this specifically, but it is important to learn it so we can teach to the next ones...when thread falls - that is when this is important." He points to the lower wings, "This is where you'll fly. Cause queens don't produce fire, and they are too important to have anywhere else anyway." You got that, Io? You're the most important. "The larger dragons tend to be higher cause they can fly longer, by the time thread would get down to your level...there wouldn't be much left anyway." Not that it is falling now anyway, but the strategy seems to excite him anyway. Without silverware, there's not much for Quinlys to do but to dip her cheese roll /into/ one of the bowls of soup and eat it that way. She lets E'gin do the initial explaining without butting in, but adds, afterwards, "If we end up in leadership positions, we might /have/ to dance with people. You really ought to learn." This really isn't that subtle. It's not even /pre-planned/. Go figure. "If we don't learn all this kind of thing, then when thread /does/ fall again, none of them will know. That's why the wings are still structured the same, even though we don't need upper, middle and lower flights anymore." Iolene has a part to play here and that's the role of Captain Obvious, which may be why she wasn't considered suitable for leadership among many other reasons. The gnawing of her roll becomes a little more urgent the longer E'gin and Quinlys speak until finally there's an opening for her to open her mouth and then- then she has to swallow, which she does a little too quickly, resulting in a series of coughs. Though, maybe that was due to Quinlys's mention of dancing and why _she_ should do it as well. "I- should have brought you guys something to drink," that's quickly followed by another clearing cough and, "But what's the point? Why do you guys have to study so hard to learn this when writing it down for the people who will have to fight Thread would probably be easier? Will people forget how to read turns from now?" "We could write it down...it is is written down." E'gin waves a hand over neatly placed charts yet again, "But seeing isn't doing, it may not be a real thread fall, but at least we have experienced flying in the same way, it will give the next people who have to go up against it a better chance." A frown is given to Iolene, "Think about it Io, a way to fight that stuff...and we're riding it. And you, well you could give us a fighting chance in this place." He doesn't have to say exile, everyone here knows who he's talking about. Still, if she isn't content to step in and save them he will do his best. He buries himself in studying the charts and every other piece of writing they would let him drag from the last lesson. "I think it's easier to learn this way," is Quinlys' eventual thought. "But I guess there's a reason they don't teach it to everyone, you know? Like - you don't need to know it, probably. And most of the other weyrlings. But /some/ people do, else some of the understanding gets lost." She's back to dipping into the soup, though after her roll is gone, she picks up the bowl itself, sipping from it instead. "You did perfectly," she adds, then, as she sets it back down. "There's always water. I'm not fussy." Beat. She casts a vague glance at E'gin, then, lowering her voice: "You ought to be trained. But not in this stuff. Different stuff." E'gin's comment about what Iolene should do to give -them- a fighting chance sits very ill with the young blonde and a palpable tension radiates from her. Cheese rolls or no, there's the distinct air that she might choose flight over fight in this case, no matter what kind of exasperation Ysavaeth might rain on her, but it's Quinlys's aside, once the brownrider gets engrossed in his studies, that pause Io's poised tension. Just as low, though it'd be hard to distract Elgin now it would seem, she lowers her head and asks, "Different stuff? Ysavaeth says I should be offended not to be selected. She wants me to talk to Meara about it, but..." Quinlys's expression lengthens, turning into something rather akin to a frown. "You /ought/ to be training with the Weyrwoman, now, Iolene," she explains. "It's not the same training as the silver thread people get, but there's overlap, from what I understand. I think..." she hesitates, as though she's debating what to say, what to explain. Grabbing a piece of meat between her fingers fills some time, though before it actually makes it to her mouth, she's saying, very carefully, "Meara wants me to help you. Only... we're not supposed to let anyone know." Evidently, she's not too concerned by E'gin overhearing, though she does cast a glance at him before the meat gets deposited into her mouth. "Ysavaeth-," Iolene speaks the name and then pauses to study the gold from afar. For all intents and purposes, the young dragon appears to be sleeping, but given the contortions Io's face undergoes, that might not be reality. "Ysavaeth says that we were born to be leaders and this is an insult to her," a quick correction follows a breath, "Our position. So, if you could help- I'd be so grateful." /I/ not /we/. "It's hard trying to figure out where I fit in, but Ysa's so certain of how she fits into everything. I never realized goldriders had different duties." « She's so unsure of herself, » is the gold's share to the leadership-oriented blue Olveraeth. It's a fond, loving sort of appraisal. « But I'm certain yours will be able to put her on the right path, especially since Isath's seems to agree. Don't you think Quinlys is most suited to this task? » Sympathy blooms on Quinlys' face, coloring her cheeks with a faint rush of pink. "Oh, Iolene," she says, unconsciously echoing just about everyone else in this weyr. "I don't think it's personal," she murmurs, reaching out a hand as though she intends to take Iolene's, though it hovers just short. What it is, instead of personal, however, she doesn't clarify. Instead, nodding firmly: "I'll show you everything I get. Help however I can. I'm sure E'gin and Riorde will, too." But not the fourth member of their little group. "Goldriders run the weyr. I don't know how to do that, but I'll teach you as much as I can." Starswept, Olveraeth's reply has a patient, sonorous tone to it. « I do, » he agrees. « She is full of knowledge, and bursting to share. We'll help her, Ysavaeth. Quinlys and I. » Iolene's hand is a little greasy, for the roll she just consumed now, so it's probably a good thing Quinlys's hand just hovers. Except. Except Io's suddenly clasping that hovering hand as the bluerider speaks, the earlier uncertainty and hesitation sliding away. There's certainly mixed feelings in the younger weyrling, but earnest help seems to be recognized and returned with an equal amount of gratitude. This is, at least, something Io is capable of doing without training. "Well, if you were meant to Impress Ysavaeth, maybe you know more than you think. People have probably taught you a lot and shown you things. I'm sure you know more than I do. Well. Grams did teach me how to order a storage cavern. And do math. And divvy up supplies and food when we were running low and-, when my mother died," and the way she says mother is a little wistful with again that uncertain thread entering her low voice, "She expected me to take over from her some day." « Yes. » Pleased, sunbursts flare throughout Olveraeth's starswept mind, though this time, even the weyrlingmaster's green is privy to Ysavaeth's delight in sentiment if not the words that accompany them. Those are reserved expressly for the blue. « Are you enjoying your studies? » It's companionable enough, even if it might have hints of patronization; as if Ysavaeth is deigning to be friendly with this particular blue not of her pack. Quinlys's hand is greasy, too, and she seems a little surprised by the clasping of that hand - not that she draws away. Instead, squeezing, she listens, apparently with all of her attention, as Iolene talks on (and on, and on). "Well, that's something /I/ don't know - and it's useful information, too, for you. The goldriders do that kind of thing here, too, along with our Headwoman." Her smile is encouraging. "Anyway, you know that when they talked about me, and-- it was just that people thought I /might/ be a possiblility. Not that I was supposed to Impress Ysavaeth. Not that I'm some perfect Weyrwoman candidate. I'm not." She squeezes the weyrling's hand again. "/You/ were supposed to Impress her. And you did. And now we're just going to make sure that you're as good a weyrwoman as we can make you, whatever-- some people think." Olveraeth's well aware of that patronization, but not terribly inclined to fuss: he's easy. « I am. We are. There is so /much/ to learn, Ysavaeth, and it is all so very interesting. I hope... we hope that the same is true for you and yours. » « I know what I need to, » is Ysavaeth's indulgent response. « We are learning every day what we need to to begin flying. » And yet there, there's an errant note of jealousy in the baby queen's touch, a discordant note that jars the smooth sweetness of her thoughts. The fact that she still has not started to fly like other, smaller dragons might have is not a thought she much likes to dwell on; but there's proof of such unfairness right before her and the pale golden head lifts to swing and find Olveraeth somewhere in the barracks. « You fly well, » she presumes to say, attempting to mask that irritation behind more silken words. "I understand now," Iolene brings up a second hand to clasp about Quinlys, shaking it lightly. "Oh. Ysavaeth will be so pleased and I- I would like to not have Tiriana say horrible things to me again. I'm not useless. I promise." Unless: "Do you think I am?" Olveraeth's not oblivious to that jealousy, oh no, and though it must be his automatic response to thoughts of flying to share the sensation of wind beneath his wings, he clamps down quickly upon the thought. « I'm sure they will let you fly soon, » he soothes-- /encourages/. « When you are ready. » That might not have been the best thing to say, but he does seem to mean it: he trusts in the weyrlingmasters. « I like to fly, » he adds, just quietly. Quinlys smiles at Iolene, at their joined hands: smiles, and looks genuinely pleased. At least until that last bit, which makes her frown all over again. "Oh, Iolene - no, no, I don't. You're not useless. Tiriana... you have to remember that the Weyrwoman is... she's difficult. It's not personal. And we'll make sure you can prove it, next time." As before, there's dubiousness in Iolene's cocked brow. /She/ was there. Quinlys was not. But rather than expound on how this new found friend and ally of hers might be wrong about the Weyrwoman, Io latches onto this idea of how she'll succeed at being a weyrwoman. Three full months have passed; something of people's expectations must have sunnk in, whether they'll be acted upon or not. "I'm so glad I have you, Riorde, and E'gin, even if he's a boy. But he can help us all learn how to dance." Like Quinlys before, she doesn't mention Ch'vaz, a glance stealing across the barracks to where the bronzeriding weyrling studies alone. Being Io, she can't help the chew of her lips and the continued stare, but thankfully there's no questions. Instead, there's a statement, "He doesn't like me very much," that doesn't ask for a response. "I'm glad you do. Do you need to stay up much later now? Have I taken away from your studying time?" "Ch--" Quinlys doesn't finish the bronze weyrling's name, and nor does she glance in his direction. Her mouth twists; she shakes her head. She doesn't have much to say on the subject, though there's a suggestion in her expression that, by throwing her lot in with Iolene and E'gin, she's made herself an enemy of the weyrbred bronzerider, too. "I /hope/ he can help us learn to dance. He'd better be good at it, otherwise I'm going to have to try and learn how to do the boy side as well as the girl side, and I admit, I'm not actually the best person for that kind of thing." Her smile, though, remains warm, for all that she glances back at the stack of charts and notes with a sigh. "I've got a bit to go, unfortunately. It's not actually my favourite subject." An admission; rueful. "Keep your chin up, Iolene, okay? It's all going to work out." "I know it will." Her agreement is as simple as the grateful way in which she fixes a stare upon Quinlys. "I admit, when I first Impressed... when we first came here. When all this happened, I didn't think anything would be right again. And I don't know what I believe really anymore, that life has a happy ending. I was supposed to get married and have babies and grow old and watch my children grow." Io smiles a sad smile for dreams gone. "I would have liked to marry Devaki I think. I don't know. He-...," in a sudden show of poor judgment and simple naivety, the young blonde lowers her voice even further and /this/ she makes sure E'gin cannot overhear at all as she whispers quietly into Quinlys's ear. "He sent me a letter yesterday." Quinlys' mouth is opening, probably to reassure Iolene that she can still do all of those things, except that before she has the chance to, the other weyrling is leaning forward to whisper - and her eyes are going very, very wide. And then she can't help herself, her voice louder than she clearly intends it to be, coming out as a hissed, audible: "/What/?" Clamping her free hand over her mouth, she takes a moment to simply /stare/ at the other weyrling before she can finally trust herself to whisper back, still inclined partially towards a hiss: "Where did he go? Does he know-- did he say anything?" About Seani, presumably. Almost as soon as she's shared, the realization that Quinlys is probably the last person (after Tiriana, K'del and a plethora of others) to relate this to sparks in those dark blue eyes. Off on her couch, Ysavaeth's sinuous neck lifts a little to study the pair, watchful now at the change in subject. "He said he wasn't involved at all." Iolene states, her voice firm and not at all quiet by this time. "I believe him. He's not capable of that. It was all a coincidence. He told me /right before/ the eggs hatched that he was planning on leaving the Weyr while everyone else was busy with the hatching. But, I don't know where he is." Which, also, probably not the brightest thing to share. "Please, Quinlys. Please. I trust him with my whole heart," and other parts it would seem, "I know he can't do this. No one from the island could have killed another of us. Really." Widening her eyes seems to provide not only emphasis but earnest trust. Quinlys swallows, uncomfortably, looking for a moment as though she's completely at a loss as to what to say, do, or suggest. She sucks in a breath, releases it, and then nods-- it's as though she's squared her shoulders (though she hasn't), and made some kind of a decision. "I believe you," she murmurs, with another smile, even if this one is a little rough about the edges. "I won't tell. You can trust me, Iolene." And, evidently, the goldrider already does. It is to her credit that Iolene's earnestness becomes a thin veil over a dubious set that shrugs her shoulders up at Quinlys's words. Perhaps it was the bluerider's smile that set restraints about her tongue for Iolene doesn't seem prepared to share much more than that, concluding the conversation with a simple, "Thank you," and those hands sliding up around the other woman's shoulders to envelop her in a big, very impulsive, bear hug. The second, "Thank you," is murmured with a fervency that speaks only of Io's inability to express this so-very-big emotion with such small words. "Good night, Quinlys. Good luck," a beat, "Studying." If anything, Quinlys seems almost approving of Iolene's restraint, as though, whatever her intentions on this, she's pleased to see /some/ amount of dubiousness on the younger girl's part. She accepts the hug without hesitation, returning it warmly. "Of course, Iolene. We're friends, right?" She relinqueshes Iolene, agreeing: "Good night. Sleep well, Iolene. We'll talk more later, I'm sure." |
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