Logs:Quitter
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| RL Date: 27 July, 2014 |
| Who: G'laer, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: It doesn't start well and it goes downhill from there. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 5, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of patchy clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. A layer of patchy clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today.
G'laer has never been one of Quinlys' favorite people. Not even after he, so touchingly, gave her a treasured keepsake of their shared childhood experiences. Now, Quinlys sees him several times a seven in the professional setting of the weyrling area, where Teisyth struggles to contain herself, and G'laer grows ever quieter; some might even say broodier, though he follows instructions quite well. She had a break from him for a seven while he was ill, but now he seems largely recovered as he moves toward Quinlys with not more than a little sniffle. The greeting "Weyrlingmaster," in his bland baritone when she's close to doze is probably not going to win him any good will either, but it doesn't stop him from asking, "May I join you?" Those dark red lashes flutter open again, blue eyes lifting up towards the interloper who has - so very rudely - disrupted her afternoon. Her expression is more resigned than annoyed or angry, though that doesn't prevent her tone from carrying a biting note when she replies. "G'laer. Of course it'd be you. What do you want?" She straightens, reaching for her beer, though she seems more inclined to hold it than drink from it. G'laer's lips twitch at the edges. He's not smiling, but he might want to. His lips stay in their usual serious line, parting only to say, "To talk with you." Blue eye flick to the beer and back to the woman's, "I'll buy you something harder if that would make it less of a chore for you." "I'm on duty tonight," says Quinlys, refusing the harder drink with a shake of her head. Reluctantly, she draws her foot down off the table (ignoring the fact that her toes are just a little blue), rolling her shoulders back. "Let me repeat: what do you want?" The greenrider is silent a long moment, watching the bluerider. Then, simply, "I quit." Maybe, if she'd let him join her, it mightn't have come to that, but... as is? G'laer follows that with, "Thank you for your time, weyrlingmaster," and turns to go. Teisyth, waiting not far beyond in the bowl, hunches, nose ducking down. That might be concern. Or maybe just gas. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Quinlys' brow furrows; her nose wrinkles. "What," she says, after a moment. "the fuck? Is this some guilt thing? Some 'I've annoyed you and now I need to apologise so I'll invite you onto my staff full time' bullshit? You've got some nerve." She's definitely awake, now: awake, sitting up, and setting her beer back down with a sharp, heavy thunk. G'laer could (maybe should?) just keep going, but he came wanting to talk, and this doesn't exactly sound just like 'talking' might have, but he turns back anyway, feet planted solidly, but with just enough of a bend in the knee that he's ready. He's almost always ready for whatever comes. Maybe he's not for this, in truth. "Have you done something you should feel guilty for? I wouldn't expect you to invite us onto your staff full time when you don't even really want us there as volunteers. I came to you and asked for this job because I wanted to learn, because I wanted to do it well, and we're done. I'm done," because maybe he really isn't speaking for Teisyth, whose head is now tucking under a wing. "If you don't want us there, if you won't teach us, then there's no point in running myself ragged, and pressuring her to be something it's hard for her to be." He should probably not have come this far, and he definitely should not add, "And you know what, while we're on the topic-" Are they? "-I'm not even sure why you shelling let us graduate if not to simply be rid of us because apparently we're just not up to the standard, for anyone." His voice hasn't raised, but his jaw is clenched. And he swore a whole one time. This is serious business. "What the fuck are you talking about?" Quinlys wiggles her foot out from beneath her, planting it on the ground so that she can rise to her feet. Granted, she's too short to be imposing, but with her hands on her hips, she's certainly a pint-sized ball of ferocity. "Where is all this coming from? I said yes, didn't I? I'm letting you observe. Letting you help. If you're not picking up instruction from that, that's sure as shit not my fault." "Isn't it?" G'laer takes a step back toward her, tilting his head just a little. "Aren't you the weyrlingmaster? When a weyrling graduates from your instruction, aren't they supposed to have the skills to make them a wanted member of their wing? Wouldn't you prefer assistants who were trained by you? Observing and helping aren't the same things as being taught. Maybe expecting people to just pick it up is how we ended up the short-stick pair to begin with." The one that has to go to the unlucky chooser. "I thought you knew everything already," says Quinlys, poisonously. "That's certainly the way you've always presented yourself." She's not making any effort to keep her voice down, now; clearly, it doesn't matter if anyone overhears. She is not very good at restraining her emotions. "If there's a problem, it's with your attitude. It always has been. So: fine. Quit. It's for the best." "I told you I had experience training men. Not dragons, not weyrlings. I told you I wanted to learn, that I thought I had something to offer. I've never claimed to know everything already; not during weyrlinghood and sure as shells not now." G'laer answers back, though likely the exact words that exchanged between them are muddled by memory and time. He's making no effort to make her keep her emotions in check, and his, too, are starting to show: exasperation. "You've had your mind made up about me since the moment I stepped off the Sands. Nothing I do is ever going to convince you otherwise. I don't think you've ever had a real conversation with me, not even when I came to you and begged for this opportunity." Well, by his standard anyway, which might just be asking with a 'please.' "If you didn't want to work with us, you should've just said no." Fury colours Quinlys' face, now, though her words become abruptly cooler and more controlled. "I gave you the opportunity," she says, darkly quiet, "Because I was willing to see what you had. I was willing. I went against the advice of a lot of people to do it, too. Clearly, though, they were all right. My bad." Her cheeks puff out with a held-in breath; then she exhales. "I accept your resignation. Thank you for your time." G'laer glares at her now. "Faranth help your weyrlings, Quinlys, because you sure as shards won't." Then he goes. Goes to Teisyth, who will not have him, her head still tucked under her wing; nobody home! So he stalks on, off across the bowl. And Quinlys? She kicks the foot of the table, before stalking off in the other direction. So much for a nice, relaxing afternoon off. |
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