Logs:Turnday Demons
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| RL Date: 21 May, 2013 |
| Who: Rasavyth, Olveraeth, K'zin, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'zin finds out that turndays are on the weyrling files while he's wingsecond. He gets upset and goes to Quinlys to ask that his be removed. |
| Where: Olveraeth's Ledge and Starry Dreams Weyr (Quinlys'), High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 11, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Mave/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, N'qui/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, E'sren/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Very back-scened! Played via gdocs. |
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| Olveraeth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Much larger than it needs to be for a single blue dragon, this ledge is big enough to make a good home for two or perhaps even three dragons, especially if they're small. Worn to smoothness, with deep gouges about the edges from generations of claws digging in to take off and land, it's relatively open to the elements: plenty of sun, yes, but also plenty of wind, snow and rain. The couch just inside the arched doorway is equally spacious, and primely located to give a view of both the ledge and the sky outside, as well as the interior of the weyr. Heavy curtains provide some shelter from the elements, when drawn closed, though they are most often left open. Starry Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Past the second heavy curtain, the passage widens into a small-but-not-tiny cavern. Stone shelves of varying heights and sizes provide ample storage from trinkets, many of which have been filled by Quinlys' collections. An old desk to the right of the entranceway shows definite signs of use, from the stacks of hides to a collection of abandoned mugs. A punching bag has been hung from the ceiling; it shows signs of being well used. Further back, a bubble-shaped hollow has been turned into a semi-private sleeping chamber, stuffed with a mattress and generous furs. In the ceiling, over the head of the bed, a quirk of the rock creates an open space: a short tunnel that shows a generous patch of sky above it, its slight tilt keeping out rain and snow. On past the sleeping quarters is a fireplace, set into the furthest wall. Its once-beautiful wood mantle is cracked and warped, but shows no signs of disuse. The duty day is done. In fact, it's just about what should be weyrling bedtime when Rasavyth's already star-studded ooze reaches for the blue's mind. « Olveraeth, my K'zin wishes to know if your Quinlys might speak with him. Tayabeth's Sh'mel has just left and they together made a discovery as they were going through the weyrling files that has-- » There is hesitation here, hesitation to admit what follows, « --well, greatly distressed my K'zin. » It's not said, but a sensation of willingness follows, as to the location of the meeting; they will come to her or she may come to them, if she's available. Distressed. That, needless to say, is not a word Olveraeth is pleased to hear in relation to one of his charges. His stars dim, but for a trail of light that encourages the pair towards his lair-- the lip of his ledge lit with welcome. « She's just cooling down, » is the blue's explanation for that preference, even if that probably won't make sense until the bronze pair arrive: there's a punching bag hung from the ceiling, inside Quinlys' weyr, and the bluerider is sweat-covered, with a towel around her shoulders, rubbing at her knuckles. It is not long before K'zin and Rasavyth arrive. It's a short flight, and they're not on duty, so K'zin wears a pair of work trousers, smattered with dust. His riding jacket, helmet, goggles, and gloves were donned, however, even for the short trip. Safety first. Rasavyth's landing is clean. It certainly took him long enough to master take-offs and landings, but now he's got it down. K'zin slides to the ground and heads in, assured, no doubt, that he is expected. His expression is stony, jaw set as though trap any words, or emotions that might escape his control otherwise. His eyes find the bluerider and the punching bag. He pauses in his advance, expression changing briefly into one that is studious, it's the look of a smith taking in how something is done - how exactly the bag is hung. Amusement wiggles the tendrils of ooze in Rasavyth's mind. « He wants one of his own. He intends to make a training room out of the second bedroom. » In case Olveraeth cares to know, not that the bronzerider has had any time to work on that plan, busy as he has been since becoming Wingsecond. But the information is taken in about the suspension of the bag and then K'zin's continuing toward the Weyrlingmaster. "Quin, I--" And then he cuts off, abruptly uncertain of how to say what he wants to say. What does he want to say? So often, the emotion is felt, action is wanted, but one doesn't pause to consider what action. « She finds hers very useful. When it gets too much. » Olveraeth's not often one to talk about his lifemate's emotions-- the ones she has to fight so hard to keep from spilling over into everything; even now, this is only a roundabout way of referencing them, and not one he elaborates on. Quinlys turns at the sound of K'zin's voice, dropping her hands to her sides and giving him a hard look - a tired look. But not, however, a look of dismay or resignation. "What's up, K'zin?" she prompts, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. "Just spit it out." « I imagine he would find it useful for similar reasons. Also because he punches like a girl. » Rasavyth adds the latter helpfully and briefly shows a series of action sequences: sparring practice with Alida. K'zin ends up on his ass every time, but in different and interesting ways. Alida likes to change it up. K'zin looks for a moment like Quinlys has just put him on his rear as easily as Alida in all of those slow-motion sequences, but with her words alone. Quinlys is just talented. So he says it: "I want my turnday off my weyrling file." He hasn't seen his, of course, but it's on all the rest of them, so it's not a far leap to assume. « What's wrong with punching like a girl? » Olveraeth's Quinlys presumably punches like a girl, and-- well, if the image he shares is anything to go by, she can pack some power into her punch. And clearly Ilicaeth's Alida can, too. So there. Maybe K'zin just punches like a boy! Quinlys pulls the towel from her shoulders to use it to mop herself down: she's wearing only a tank-top and light pants. "Why?" is her prompt answer. "What's wrong with people knowing your turnday?" « You know, Olveraeth, I'd never considered the origin of the phrase. In my K'zin's experience, girls pack the hardest punches. » Olveraeth is then treated to a montage of the punches Rasavyth means: Mave's at 12, breaking K'zin's nose, Alida's in sparring practice, Mave's again but older. There's the briefest flash of Jo, which, while not accompanied by an image of a punch, carries the sensation of suspicion: he thinks she'd hit well, too. Then a mimic of Olveraeth's shared sentiment of Quinlys. « He's only ever been punched by Cailluneth's N'ky. But that was different. » His curiosity spins oozy threads, winding around themselves as wool tamed to thread onto a spindle, concentrated yet spreading here and there around a point of focus. "It's private information. And some people might want to celebrate it. And I don't. But I don't have control over those other people, only over who knows when it's my turnday, and already too many of the weyrlings do because of that file." His tone is agitated and unnerved. He shifts from foot to foot as though standing still isn't particularly comfortable for him. "I thought Healer files were confidential." Because surely that's where the information came from. the only record he couldn't erase. Olveraeth seems amused, but also bemused at this collection of punches: wordlessly, he marvels at how often it seems to happen. His Quin only ever seems to hit the bag. « It rather seems as though they all need bags, » he muses, lighting his mental skies with a few extra stars, just for comfort. "K'zin," begins Quinlys. And then, "Waki. Come and sit." There are only mismatched chairs, and they're not in any specific sitting area - just the stool in front of her desk, and another nearby - but Quinlys leads the weyrling towards them all the same. She folds the towel in her lap as she says, "We don't get that information from Healer files. They're in the weyr records-- anyone can find them, if they think to look. I'm sorry it upset you, though." « It would be better- » Rasavyth's tenor purrs softly, as his invisible ooze starts to be star-studded, a mental reflection easier than most given the shimmery nature of the ooze. It's just a matter of telling the shimmers to sparkle 'just so'. « -if none of them needed any at all. But that is not the way of the world at present. » Serenity is hard to come by. He follows, though his fingers find themselves curling and uncurling as he moves. "How do I get it expunged? From the Weyr records." That's a Rasavyth word if there ever was one. "I don't want it on a record someone can find. There must be people without turndays listed. Not everyone everywhere keeps track." His tone has an edge of desperation as he searches for a means to his end. Olveraeth acknowledges Rasavyth's words with a dimming of his stars: oh, reality. « That's true, » he agrees. « It's best that they do what they can, in the meantime. » Quinlys' hands spread out over the towel in her lap, her gaze fastened upon K'zin's face. "I've honestly no idea," she admits. "I'm pretty sure everyone's is in there, for record keeping purposes. Births, deaths, people coming in, people leaving; it's all there." She chews at her lip, uncomfortable and concerned. "People will forget. If you don't make a big deal out of it, no one else will, either. How many turndays do you remember, of other people?" "They won't. Or at least this one won't. I don't want to have to explain about it. It's too personal. It opens a can of worms." The man mirrors her look, adding in that touch of desperation. The question, however, has K'zin takes a deep breath. "I'd tell you my parents' and my six siblings, and their three children and their spouses, but you'd write that off as family. So, Madilla's is day 7, month 8; Mave's is day 20, month 11," He starts, but is far from finished. He goes on to name every weyrling (now that he's seen their files and the dates have been burned into his obsessive memory). There's a slew of Smiths mixed in, childhood friends, really, anyone whose turnday he has ever known. He doesn't list them all of course, just a smattering of each grouping, enough to make the point, ending with Quinlys' own brother, his childhood pal. "Need I go on? I remember them all." No reason to think others wouldn't. It's probably something of a shocking display to see sweet if usually so simple K'zin rattling off dates as though he had the list in front of him. There's no reading of the air this time, no need for draconic assistance. It is perhaps this innate ability to memorize, index, and store that which is important to him that made him such an obvious choice to Rasavyth when few others could see why. "I need it to go away. Please, Quin. Will you take it off my weyrling file? Please?" So awed is Quinlys at this recitation of information that she doesn't even think to interrupt, not even when it goes on and on (and on). "I promise you, I won't remember any of those dates in five minutes time, no matter how important they are to me. I barely remember N'qui's, and he's my brother. But," she breaks off, giving K'zin a considering glance. "I assume it's got to be one of your classmates who hasn't been Wingleader or Wingsecond yet, otherwise it'd all be moot at this point. Which means it's got to be Telavi, because I can't see E'sren caring one way or the other." She doesn't wait for a confirmation or denial. "I can't expunge it, I'm sorry. And honestly, you don't really want me to, if you think about it. What would you think, if there were a black mark in the middle of it? If you were the only person whose turnday wasn't listed? If I were Telavi, I'd go hunt it down, deliberately, after that. If you don't want people to make a big deal about your turnday, you need to tell them that, not hide it." Banished to the Red Star whether he does or doesn't, it seems. It's not a perspective K'zin is willing to consider for more than a moment. "Yes. I'd really want you to. Because you're not Telavi. Telavi would see it and come to you to ask why it was missing. You'd tell her the truth, that I'd asked to get it removed because it's irrelevant to my performance as a wingrider, and don't think I don't know that my paperwork is going to be flashed around to every Wingleader who, yeah, probably doesn't give a wherry's dropping about my turnday, but I do. I don't want it out there. It's not a good day, and it hurts to be wished a happy turnday." Then suddenly he's blinking back tears. Rasavyth probably couldn't even say when they started coming on. The more heated and desperate the man's tone became, the more the mental tithe train was being driven toward this conclusion. He swallows, a pair of tears silently escaping to make race each other down his cheeks and they're quickly brushed away as he says, "Then she'd come to me. Or go hunting for my other records. And I'd divert her. Like I did the last time she asked." Because, surely, that worked and Telavi doesn't remember she wanted him to tell her his turnday. He falls silent, hand having to dart back up to brush other salty evidence of just how deeply his emotions are tied up in this whole turnday business. Quinlys' expression is torn-- caught between sympathy and the quiet determination to stand firm. "Tell her the truth," she says, simply, though at the same time, her hand is reaching out to - if she can - squeeze his knee. "Because just evading? That is bullshit. I'm sorry this upsets you; I am. I wish I could fix this for you. But I am not going to lie for you, and that's what that would be: a lie by omission. Do you not trust her? Because if I were Telavi, and I found out you were trying to hide it from me, rather than explain how you feel? I'd have more than a few words to tell you." Her hand draws away again, returning to her lap, to the towel there. There's a struggle in K'zin's expression, too. It's one to control his rising anxiety and emotion. "I trust Telavi to be Telavi." He manages. Then a shuddery breath. He has two choices: tears, or anger. Those are the things warring within him. Anger is more manly than tears. The tears staunch (for the moment), and his tone is decisive as he answers, "What's bullshit is whoever put that on records to begin with arbitrarily forcing those of us without perfect childhoods to have conversations we aren't capable of having. Forcing us to get into a topic that drives away the people who are just wanting to do something nice for us, but don't understand." He's on his feet, the tightness of his eyes tells how much effort he's putting into controlling himself in this moment. "Permission to be excused, Weyrlingmaster?" Each word is clipped sharp, but at least he's trying to get himself out of a bad situation. "Telavi, who will do her best to understand anything, if you give her the chance." Quinlys stands, now, walking back towards the hanging bag - but only so that she can wipe it down with her towel. "Deal with it, K'zin. Work out your issues. But don't ask me to obfuscate for you. You're dismissed." She won't look back. Nor will he. His feet take him swiftly to the ledge, climbing onto Rasavyth's neck, his body tensed. As the bronze takes wing, his tenor purr stretches back across the distance to Olveraeth, though it's only an echo of the blue's earlier words, « ... it gets too much. » K'zin doesn't have a bag. Yet. |
Comments
Tela (Tela (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 12 Jun 2013 06:12:03 GMT.
< What's that quote?
"I love the smell of time bombs in the morning."
Alida (Alida (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 12 Jun 2013 08:40:12 GMT.
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I love the smell of napalm in the morning. ;)
Azaylia (Dragonshy (talk)) left a comment on Wed, 12 Jun 2013 22:51:30 GMT.
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*points up* Telavi's is way more relevant. Because yeaaaah. Have fun with that, future-guys! XD
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