Logs:Solith's (Excellent) Timing
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2013 |
| Who: Quinlys, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Solith has excellent timing. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 3, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions, Oisa/Mentions |
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| Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr With some of the weyrlings still not sleeping so well-- and others just plain exploratory during non-approved times, like certain other riders who used to be weyrlings used to do-- it's juniormost assistant Telavi who's pulled an all-nighter on watch. Maybe procedure would have her not ringing the wake-up bell by now, but this way she hadn't had to deal with the laggards individually; maybe she'd get to go off duty before calisthenics, but here she is anyway, tilted back in one of the chairs with her legs propped up on another-- boots overhanging to spare the cushions, thank you-- with a damp cloth over her eyes. She might even be asleep. Quinlys is yawning as she troops into the office, leaving fresh snow behind with each step. She's not exactly quiet... which just makes it all the more obvious when she comes to a halt, fairly obviously having actually noticed the newest of her assistants. One hand rises, does the parade wave, then just lingers there... up iin the air, fingers drooping. "Worn you out, have they?" wonders Quinlys, a note of teasing in her tone, along with a more serious one... and some curiosity for good measure. "If they wouldn't squall and wake more of them up," Telavi says wistfully, "...that would help. That would help so much. And then just when you think it's going to stay quiet..." the hand flops over for good. Setting a pot of water to boil at the hearth, Quinlys' laugh is wry, but not unsympathetic. "It does get better," she promises. "The first little while is the worst, but then they start settling down, sleeping the right hours, and... then it starts being awful for them, because they have classes to worry about, and you're just supervising." "Mmm. Supervising." Telavi stretches her legs, toes pointing, then recrosses them with the other one on top. Her uplifted arm stays in the air, swaying ever so gradually, gracefully. "I'm sorry Oisa wouldn't give me over sooner... and not just because it would mean more of a break." While her expression's still half-hidden by the cloth, tired humor-- mostly it's humor, surely?-- trails through her voice. Quinlys lifts her gaze from the pot so that she can turn it back on Telavi, blowing a breath up her face to send light strands flying from around her eyes. "You should go and get some sleep," she advises. "You sound wrecked." "I will," Telavi promises. She's not moving except for how she's already been moving, that drift of her arm, though even that comes to rest like a soft, sustained note. "Did I mention... I think Solith's proddy?" That's soft too, though perhaps it's only for anyone who might listen at the door. "Again? Finally," not so much softer as sleepy. There's a few things Quin could say to that; perhaps even a few things she'd like to say, reactions varying. The several seconds of silence that follow the greenrider's revelation likely find her working through them, that pause not long enough to necessarily suggest dismay - but not far from it. "Timing," is what she settles on, in the end, with a wry note. "Finally. Take yourself off duty, then, Tela. Come back after. Don't worry yourself." "All the way away?" Telavi asks, wistful. Her fingers shift inaudibly against each other, just a little, as though remembering they're still there. "I don't want to leave you in the lurch, Quinlys." Not 'Weyrlingmaster.' Quinlys' gaze narrows, though not in a suspicious way: she just seems to be trying to determine whether that wistfulness is for having to be gone, or getting to be gone. "Meara used to do the same," she points out. And, "Unless you really want to stay, of course. Will you miss us that much?" It's light. She is, at least, aware of the kind of night the greenrider's just had. "She did," Telavi agrees, not that Quinlys needs her to; her elbow bends, gradually, tipping her fingertips down over her yawn. "But," sleepily, drifting, "you liked it when she left, didn't you? You had it all to yourself, all of us, everything." It's true enough, though Quinlys seems very faintly uncomfortable for it being laid out so plainly. She lowers her gaze back towards the pot that - so inconsiderately - has yet to boil. Then, "But that's not really the point. Proddy may not mean crazy, but it's clearly not the thing to inflict on itty bitty newborns. You can hang with the older class if you like - it's good timing for them, actually - but stay clear of the little ones." "Mmm." It's less of a yawn than a sigh, this time. "I'm supposed to be professional now, aren't I? And say yes, ma'am yes, of course." That smile's started to show up again, finally. "All right, Quin. I'll play it by ear... after a nap." This time, Tela yawns. Quinlys wraps her hands over the back of one of the chairs, drawing it out - but only so that she can balance it idly upon the two back legs. "After a nap. Good idea. No doubt Olly will... keep me informed, anyway." She's cheerful enough about that prospect; amused, too. "Professionalism only goes so far. It's exhausting, clearly." "Clearly." Telavi's blithely borrowed Quinlys' tone as well as her intonation, and now adds that much more warmth for, "What a helpful dragon you have." She stretches then, arching her spine like she's heading into a backbend, catching the cloth just before it falls; another yawn lets her drop her boots down on the heels of the exhalation and gradually, carefully stand. Perhaps she's exaggerating, for effect. That smile, though, that would be hard to feign. "I'd better go, before I really fall asleep in the wrong place.... Any last words?" The pot is finally boiling, but aside from taking it off the heat, Quin doesn't - yet - seem inclined to do much else with it. Instead, she digs her hands into her back pockets and considers, her whole body turned towards the greenrider as she finally moves. "You make it sound like I'm about to die; that's tragic. Just - look after yourself. And Solith. We'll all be here, afterwards." It's instinct: Tela's gaze can't help but lower, linger, and then lift through her lashes before she widens those too. "Terribly." Tragic. Her smile tips up all of a sudden, possibly even at the other woman's words, but doesn't get clarification: just a farewell wave and then, since it's Quinlys-- and since she doesn't have to keep it going longer than getting out the door-- an exaggeratedly businesslike stride. She doesn't even ask for tea. Quinlys, rising up onto her toes, hands still tucked into her back pockets, watches the greenrider go in a way that is, perhaps, rather less businesslike. But only for a moment: there are weyrlings to tend to, and one fewer assistant to corral them. |
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