Logs:Quinlys, Font of All Wisdom
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| RL Date: 9 December, 2014 |
| Who: Lycinea, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lya comes for Quinlys' inestimable wealth of knowledge. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 6, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Cora/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions, V'ros/Mentions, Vienne/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: This is a follow-up to Lya's and Farideh's talk of conspiracies. Back-dated. |
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| Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr Made private by a thick, insulated door that blocks out most of the noise from the barracks beyond, the weyrlingmaster's office is a comfortable, quiet alcove. Instead of an imposing desk, much of the room is taken up by a large round table, with five chairs spaced around its edges. Beneath it is a square rug pieced together from twisted rags that stretches from wall to wall, just barely leaving room for the long bookcases and filing cabinets. On the back wall, a geometric tapestry and blue and black is hung, providing both insulation and decoration.
No: Lycinea is definitely not anyone Quinlys seems to expect, and those blue eyes track the younger woman in with raised brows-- though it's not as though the tray is an unwelcome addition to the weyrlingmaster's afternoon. Nonetheless, she leans backwards in her chair, adjusting her bare feet upon the table's top, and watches Lycinea evenly. "You're..." No, she really doesn't know the name. "Well. I guess I can make some time. What's up?" Lycinea's name isn't important, or at least she doesn't seem to think so, since she doesn't offer it, but instead settles into the chair across the desk. "I work in the kitchen," it's explanation, "and we've been hearing rumors. About Aishani." Her finger tips graze in unsettled strokes across her orange-patch-kneed brown trousers. "I don't know a lot about dragons, so I don't know things," that one might need to, evidently, "but, if it wasn't lightning that got them, what do you think it could have been?" If Lya had more political sensibility, she might start with something smaller, or not look so expectant of an answer. There are questions Quinlys might have predicted; this is not one of them. This is... she starts, visibly, staring at Lycinea with wide eyes that abruptly slide away from her, and towards that whiskey. "Now I understand why you brought the booze," she says, reaching for it. "To answer, though... it's hard to know. I wasn't there, and the only stories we've heard are... well, second or third hand." "I brought the booze because that's what they knew you like." Even if it's not particularly good whiskey. The kitchen worker might even have reappropriated this bottle rather than purchasing it. She certainly doesn't look like the type who can afford it with the patches that riddle her outfit. Lya shifts slightly in the chair as she raise a hand to wave off this... disclaimer? "I know. But that's what I mean. Not a lot of people saw what happened. So I'm really looking for... speculation. What could've happened if not lightning? I mean, lightning is the most obvious thing, right? But if it wasn't... Would dragon flame in a storm look like lightning maybe? Would they do that to their own kind?" She looks to Quinlys as the expert. Good booze or not, Quinlys pours herself a hefty serving, then hesitates, glancing at Lycinea with brows raised, bottle gestured: does she want some? Carefully, "A dragon needs firestone to flame, remember, and there's no reason why any of them would've had any on hand; not with the kind of timing involved. You'd have to be able to pre-plan the whole thing, know where Iesaryth was going to be, the whole bit." She shakes her head, curls waving over her shoulders. Considering her glass, she takes a sip, swirling it around in her mouth for a few moments before she says, "That's the problem, really. It can't have been planned. Not for Iesaryth, specifically, wherever it came from. If it wasn't lightning." Lycinea should know better than to wrinkle her nose when she refuses with a shake of her head, but she doesn't. Blech, booze. "But no one knows-- or no one's saying--" which isn't the same thing, but close, "why Iesaryth was even there to call the dragons, right? So couldn't someone she was there with already have known and just... you know, taken advantage? Or what if she were harpooned or something? There were drawings of those in this book my-- that someone use to read to me when I was little. They were using them on big fish, I think, in the story. But couldn't a dragon... I mean hide isn't that tough, is it?" Quinlys shrugs; more for her. Instead, she gestures towards the cookies. Considering her drink, then the blonde, and then her drink again, she says, "That's true. We don't know why she was there; not to see Lady Tillek, certainly. But there's a lot of... planning something like that would be difficult, if not impossible. So many variables. Your harpoon theory-- that's possible. Something hitting her that wasn't lightning; sure. But why?" A cookie, Lya will take, followed by a second, but that's all, really. If you don't count the third some moments later. "I don't know," that's why the blonde is here, duh. "It's not like she made a lot of friends." Did she? Not from what the kitchen help has heard, but maybe Quinlys is better informed. "I mean, she had N'rov," who gets an eyeroll, "but did she really have any other friends? I mean, she stabbed H'vier and Reisoth sired for Iesaryth," which should somehow make them get along, magically, or something, right? "Jo," says Quinlys, after a pause. "Vienne. She and Azaylia were friends, once upon a time." The weyrlingmaster finally draws her feet down from the table, setting her glass down as she does so. "I didn't mind her. Not the lying part, but..." She shakes her head. "The real answer is that I don't know. Is it possible that something happened out there? Something other than lightning? Yes. Absolutely. But I'd personally find it difficult to believe that it was a targeted assassination attempt; attack of opportunity is much more likely. Which," she acknowledges, with a wrinkle of her nose, "is much more complicated. It's easier, when you can say people just didn't like Aishani." "But what might whoever it was hope to gain? It seems pretty stupid stirring up that kind of trouble," Lya observes, and then after a brief pause, "although, maybe not since no one seems to care." She counts as no one, for sure. Quinlys' head shakes; she doesn't know either. In lieu of immediate answer, she leans her head back, staring at the ceiling, sniffing idly at her glass. No, it's still not good whiskey. Abruptly, she glances back at Lya. "I wish I knew," she says. "If it was deliberate, we ought to know. But it won't be the first time something in this place goes unexplained. Z'ian's accident, for one. Interesting, though." She pauses, as if she's chewing something over in her head, something that's not quite made it into words yet. Lycinea sighs. She pretty much has to. Quinlys doesn't have answers and that's a real bummer. "Well." After some moments of silence, the word finally comes. "What about golds? And the council? Do junior golds have to listen to seniors? Do seniors have to listen to anyone? Is there a head of the council or do they all share?" She stops there. That's enough questions all in a row, right? There's still something in Quinlys' expression that suggests she's got another thought on a backburner, but she's ready enough in her answer to these questions - perhaps they're simpler. "Unless a senior queen has a very poor grip on her Weyr, a junior'll listen, sure. Seniors... well, yes, there's the council. It's not like there's usually a 'leader of Pern' or whatever, but usually someone ends up with more clout than anyone else. That'd be... Nimae of Igen, now, probably. Or Cora of Benden, but... I'd say Nimae, even if she does have a teenage Weyrleader." Yes, Quinlys likes being font of all wisdom. Lycinea certainly won't make objections if that thought chooses to find its way to Quinlys' mouth; after all, she's listening attentively which means more about the girl's interest than Quinlys can know. "But do the dragons care about that? Who has the most clout among the people?" She squints thoughtfully at Quinlys. Who knows what kinds of crazy things dragons do or don't care about? "A senior queen won't listen to anyone else in her area," says Quinlys, after reclaiming her glass and giving the whole concept some serious consideration. "And... there's a lot of instinct involved. Dragons tend to know who to follow, you know?" "That's why it was so confusing back when the browns caught the golds?" Lya hazards. She's not very old now and certainly was even younger then, so likely the nuances of that particular debacle aren't things she's intimately familiar with. "You can't have two seniors," agrees Quinlys, readily enough, although her frown for that not-so-very-long-ago-time is real enough. "And... there was confusion, over the browns. People didn't like it." Not Quinlys, obviously! "Anyway, the point is... look, going backwards. If someone really did see what happened to Iesaryth, it must've been one of the riders there, or someone that got rescued by one of them. It's a pretty small circle of people. It probably wouldn't be that hard to figure it out." Lya's "Well, of course there'd be confusion," is probably about the golds. It couldn't be that she has a thing against browns, could it? She probably doesn't know enough to care. Probably. She's quiet some moments chewing on her fourth... or is it her fifth? cookie before she ventures. "V'ros was really shaken up. About Iesaryth. After. Only, if he did see... I don't think he'd talk to me about it. We never say the right things to each other." That leaves her frowning. "And we're supposed to be friends." Supposed to be sounds a little dubious. Quinlys, for better or for worse, evidently chooses not to remark on that confusion comment. Instead, she focuses on the rest of it, if only after she's refilled her glass and sighed. "It might help V'ros to talk about it. I don't know. I'm sorry, that things are complicated for you." Whoever you are. The blonde gives Quinlys a reproachful look. "Do you have any idea how awful trying to talk to that boy about feelings is going to be for me? He was all weird after the storm," Lya shifts anxiously, "and so was I." She sighs, and then clearly because Quinlys needs to know, "And I asked him to take me to the beach because I'd never been and Tela even came along to-- I don't know, make sure we didn't die or give him someone to hide behind or something and he botched it. It was an awful make-up for my even worse turnday." The pleading gaze she turns on the redhead then seems genuine enough as she reaches for her eighth cookie. "Can't you talk to him and then just tell me what he says?" There's something wistful in her voice, as if she full well expects the weyrlingmaster to turn her down, after all nothing else has been easy for her. Woe and misery and all that junk. Quinlys is relatively good with teenagers... her teenagers. Lya's not one of them, and it leaves the bluerider at something of a loss; she hesitates. "I can talk to him," she says. "But you'll need to, as well. Be a friend to him. If you can't talk about his feelings, fine; talk about something else. Maybe, eventually, he'll trust you enough to try." "Ugh," Lya, were she close enough to the desk, might need to put her head down dramatically. As is, she settles for slouching in the chair. "I do talk to him. And then he leaves. He always leaves. I never get to be the one to leave," which is apparently important given the sigh that follows. "One of his weyrling friends would be better at it, I'm sure. He seems to talk to them just fine." There's a huff now and she eyes the near-empty plate of cookies sulkily. Quinlys raises an eyebrow. Teenagers and their drama! Abruptly, she sets down her glass and reaches for one of the few remaining cookies. "I bet you do just fine," she says. "Just... try. That's all I'm saying. Now." She affixes Lycinea with a serious glance. "Is there anything else, or can I get my reports done?" "You'd lose that bet. It's a good thing you didn't say what you'd bet." Lya answers without, apparently, any qualms of correcting the redhead as she rises. She at least doesn't seem so terribly put out about all of it on the whole, despite the sighing and the complaints. "One other thing. Are you going to see Tela today?" She rocks a little onto the balls of her feet in a way that makes her seem a few turns younger than she must really be. That, if anything, only amuses Quinlys; she shrugs. "Tela? Well, sure. I'm her boss. What's up?" She hasn't actually eaten her cookie, though the thing is now in several pieces in front of her, crumbs littering the table top. "Can you tell her I can't make sewing this seven because Weyrhealer Madilla--" Lya starts to explain but then she stops herself, "Nevermind, it's not really that important. Just tell her I'm going to miss it? And sorry?" She's already heading for the door. "And thanks." That's probably for Quinlys. Quinlys' expression is a little bemused, but she only shrugs. "Sure," she says. And if she actually knew Lya's name, she'd probably even use it here. As it stands... oh well. At least there's more whiskey, and at least one or two more cookies for her to turn into crumbs. |
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