Logs:Seriously
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| RL Date: 15 June, 2014 |
| Who: Quinlys, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Weyrlingmasters enjoy downtime while they can. Quinlys is possessive. |
| Where: Starry Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 13, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'rist/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, G'laer/Mentions, I'zech/Mentions, J'vain/Mentions, Klohi/Mentions, Oliwer/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Part of the soundtrack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZvyNOg4jSRg and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BzIbyDbmsyg |
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| "So then," Telavi continues with an expansive wave of one hand, "She turned around and it fell off, just like that. Seriously." Blue-today eyes smile at Quinlys, and she stretches atop the cushion she's sitting on before taking another sip of the bluerider's libations. "Seriously? Seriously?" Quinlys' giggles nearly have her falling off her perch atop a stack of pillows; she's rescued at the last moment by managing to put her feet flat on ground that isn't covered with soft furnishings, one hand covering her glass. "Seriously," is Telavi's pronouncement, pitched half an octave lower than usual and made all stern and important... at least until she rolls her eyes. "So-o-o. What's new in your delightfully trouble-free relaxing-while-you-still-can world? Did you ever get all the sand out?" That, Telavi, is not especially helping Quinlys' giggles, though she manages to control herself eventually, free hand clasped over her mouth instead of her glass. A few deep breaths help, leaving the bluerider in a position to say, "Ugh, that sand! Between that and the sun," which burns, "I'm not sure why I ever think beaches are a good idea. G'laer wants to be an assistant." And that's when Telavi swallows her drink the wrong way and the hiccoughs begin. Her eyes are streaming when she finally gets to blink back at Quinlys again; "Did I just hear you say-- did you really say-- G'laer?" Quinlys' blue eyes widen with alarm, and her free hand reaches out to hang impotently in the air, as if that might be in some way helpful, but luckily Telavi recovers without her input. "Mm," she agrees, mouth curving ruefully. "And Klohi's taken to ferrying the oldsters and littles around on Quinzeth before she dusts and mops up after them?" Telavi wants to know. "While Lythronath recites poetry, and Rh'mis falls head over heels for a trio of giggling girls, swearing his undying love to everyone who cares to listen." Quinlys' answer is dry. Now Telavi's giggling. "Wouldn't that be a-- oh shards. Shards shards shards," and she rescues her drink just in time and valiantly has herself some more of that amazing melon liqueur and whiskey and whatever else Quinlys put in it. Now it's safer from spills. Telavi, so heroic. Quinlys' gaze focuses on that drink as it so-nearly stains her cushions, but Telavi, the hero of High Reaches, rescues it; the bluerider adjusts her own position, after that, lounging back and taking another sip from her own glass. "Seriously, though. We do need another assistant, even if Hraedhyth only has a small clutch, what with the flight and all." We. Telavi makes a face; it might even be due to the flight. The fight. "Did J'vain re-up?" She shifts on her cushion, extending her legs and crossing them at the ankle, pointing her toes before relaxing. "He did." Quinlys glances down at her drink, swirling the liquid thoughtfully. "I'zech, no. So... we need another set of hands," She could make a joke about J'vain's lack-of-a-set, but refrains, "Not that that means I'm thrilled about G'laer. I gave him a homework assignment. We'll see." If Telavi's expression isn't the easiest to read, it's because it's decidedly mixed and not at all because she's impassive. She exhales in a puff. "What did you give him? I give him... three months." "Three months before he pisses me off and I fire him? Or before he combusts over something and quits?" Telavi wiggles her free hand in the air: same-same! There's a laugh in the way Quinlys exhales, this time. "He has ideas about how we should be training people, given the Interval. Ideas for how things should be different, in general. Or - well, he says he does. I told him to write about it." It is, after all, something Quinlys has regularly talked about. "It still doesn't mean I like him. It still doesn't mean I'm confident about his ability to deal with weyrlings." "Me neither," Telavi admits. "I've caught him being kind a few times now," scandalous! "but patience with them, when they aren't his rules or aren't totally his rules anyway," she glances at Quinlys; surely she won't let him just rewrite the whole thing? "Not so much. On the other hand, he's awfully patient with Teisyth, and it can't just be because he has to, can it?" Quinlys, allowing anyone else to rewrite her rules, her plan? Never. The look she gives the greenrider is possessive: her weyrlings. Her team. Her rules. But - she exhales. "Right. That. And... Teisyth is sweet. I can see her being quite good with the little dragons, in some ways." "Me too. A lot of energy, definitely, and she was fine with Lythronath so she can probably put up with whatever," Telavi supposes, with no objection to that possessiveness at all. "And-- oh! Oh oh oh oh oh! Did you hear? G'laer?" No more lounging for her; she's leaning forward now. "Hear?" Quinlys plainly hasn't, not given the way she turns her attention so fully on to her assistant, those red brows raised in question. Clearly she's been spending too much time outside of the Weyr. "You'll never believe it," Telavi tells her. He," her voice hushes with the gravity of it all, "has gotten," wait for it, "...weyrmated." Tela manages, somehow, to say the word without bursting into flames. That's a joke, right? It's... it doesn't seem to be making sense to Quinlys, who blinks several times and then just stares at Telavi, bewildered. "Weyrmated?" It's as if the greenrider is speaking another language! Ancient egyptian, maybe. Telavi nods and nods. "Yes. G'laer." And to top it all off, "Seriously." "Seriously?" It's the word of the day, deployed this time with far less humour. "But... who?" Who would choose to weyrmate G'laer? "Ser-i-ous-ly. Some old," older, "healer. I always forget his name," Telavi confesses, "because Jinja calls him 'Olive' and when I do see him it's all I can do not to call him that in person." Pause. "Called, I mean. Though I guess she still does, or would, if she were here." Plainly, Quinlys doesn't keep up with the infirmary - though clearly she knows about Jinja and that particular piece of woe - because she shrugs, making no connections between this 'Olive' and anyone who matters. "Huh," she says. And: "Weird." "Isn't it?" but Telavi rolls her shoulders. "Maybe he's mellowed. Nobody likes being a weyrling, not really. Maybe this is his way of giving back." Maybe she's trying to make Quinlys laugh, except that her expression has gotten serious. "It could happen." Quinlys opens her mouth to say something, but evidently decides that her mouth is put to far better use sipping at her drink, the liquor swirling around her mouth for several seconds before she swallows. "Maybe," she allows, her smile dubious but not unamused. "The power of love, and all that bullshit. Anyway: we'll see what he comes up with, I suppose." And as Telavi's reading Quinlys' own expression, that's when she too smiles again, the quirk of her mouth hinting at some tease that's only gradually working its way into her eyes. "What, you don't believe in love? Or is it power." That kind of power. "Love," repeats Quinlys, tasting the word and testing it on her tongue much like the sip of her drink she so recently swallowed. "No, I'm pretty sure I believe in love. I'm just not sure that it has the power to change people. Not like that." Telavi might reply more seriously in turn, but at the last moment she stops nipping her lower lip and deflects. "What about," she inquires all guilelessly, "really good head?" There's a moment of absolute silence from Quinlys, and not because she's shocked - far from it. Then, she's laughing, her giggles echoing off the stone walls. "I'll grant you," she says, as she reins in her amusement, "I will do almost anything, for that. That healer dude must be an oral genius." Both dimples come out to play, Telavi just that delighted by the redhead's reaction; she stretches luxuriously and rewards herself with another swallow. "Unsuspected all these Turns, except by those in the know," or something. "That reminds me," somehow, "I'm hoping that you'll lend me back to Savannah, now and again." Quinlys is less pleased by this turn of the conversation, though she's not, at least, sulking outright. "R'hin's booze is that good, is it?" she asks, casual with an edge of... something. Not hurt, but close. "I suppose I can spare you occasionally." That lower lip of Tela's, though untortured, does quiver for a moment-- laughter, or something else? "Occasionally," she agrees, and airily at that. Her gaze is more thoughtful. "Unofficially... and, if I find some really good stuff, I'll be sure to share." Quinlys is a girl - a woman, really, though sometimes it's difficult to remember - who likes getting her own way; who expects to. Those blue eyes consider Telavi with a certain amount of weight, now, but though she draws her mouth together, it's not to scowl... or smirk. "As you should," she says, firmly. "Since I am lending your services. I'm still your boss." Telavi's a girl-- or woman-- who's comfortable with showing deference; she does now, too, with a dip of her head and an upward glance that barely misses flickering through her lashes. "Of course, Weyrlingmaster Quinlys." It may be blatant, that use of her title, but Quinlys is smug for it all the same. "Good," she says. "Then we're agreed. And if R'hin asks too much of you, well. He and I will have words." Telavi isn't so stuffy-- or playing it-- that she doesn't brighten; "May I watch?" Quinlys draws her shoulders back; if she were standing, she'd be drawing herself up to her full height. Her present posture rather lessens the impact, but perhaps there's still a sense of it. "Certainly," she decides. "I'm not afraid of him. Or intimidated." Tela's admiring gaze may or may not have to do with the bluerider's posture; "Of course not, ma'am." No being intimidated by former-Weyrleader current-wingleader always-R'hin. And that? That, Quinlys will drink to, her glass lifted into the air as high as her arm can reach... before she brings it back to her mouth for a hearty swallow. |
Comments
R'hin said...
WTS, tickets to Quinlys vs R'hin showdown, ONE NIGHT ONLY!
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