Logs:Keeping Up
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 1 June, 2015 |
| Who: R'van, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After flying drills, R'van and T'mic discuss leadership, mentorship, and R'van's people skills. |
| Where: Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. |
  |
Eastern Bowl, High Reaches Weyr Ringed by rough granite walls to all sides but one, this end of the huge bowl narrows from the even broader plain to the west, continuing the ever so slight downward slope toward the blue and green of the Weyr's lake and surrounding foliage. More open to sun and wind than the western bowl, but less frequented when there aren't weyrlings in residence, the bowl's grassy tufts keep the topsoil in place and thicken into a bloodstained meadow within the feeding pens that adjoin the lake. At the base of the surrounding cliffs lie entrances to several caverns, including the dragon infirmary and the weyrling barracks: the former to the northwest near where the spires begin, the latter opposite to the southwest. Both archways are large and dark enough for any dragon to pass through, but it's the infirmary's that is haunted by faint smells of redwort and numbweed, as though over generations they have seeped into the very stone. To the southeast, between the weyrling area and the lake, there are a handful of structures built into the floor of the bowl, standing out amidst otherwise an empty space. While the dragons are learning to fly and improving quickly in many cases, they still aren't quite to the precision level needed for many aerial drills. Today is not their best day, and R'van is looking frustrated by the time they land and he starts checking in with some of the other weyrlings. "T'mic," he greets the bluerider when he gets to him. T'mic and Jorrth have been among the best in the grounded formation drills, and they certainly show a natural skill in getting themselves airborne. But with the wing as a whole, with the differing abilities and the need for synchronisation... it's not right to say that they're stressed. It is fair to say that, in these early stages, they've been trying on various roles in an attempt to help others along, some successfully, some not. It might explain the lack of the usual easy smile, and instead that focused look that's still more or less on T'mic's face when R'van pulls him from whatever it was he and Jorrth were onto just now. "Hm?" R'van stands back, eyeing the pair with pursed lips; his disappointment in the day is at least impersonal. An equal share for all the weyrlings, if you will. "How was today?" R'van follows up after a moment, trying to sound neutral even if the question is rather leading. He still can't resist passing judgment: "It seemed disorganized." T'mic looks to Jorrth. Jorrth looks back to T'mic. "Today," repeats the rider, bringing a hand up before him. "It was... well. We're like this." And that hand goes up, and then bumps down, then up, then down a bit, then down some more, then up partway. Fluttery. « Uneven, » Jorrth provides, shared to Vadevjiath as well as T'mic, who nods to his dragon. "Instead of this." A smooth line drawn in the air with that hand, at eye level. "Uneven," says R'van, relaying what Vadevjiath passes on to him. His tone is dry. "I thought that was very obvious. We were better yesterday." And there's the crux of his problem, the back and forth of it all. "Why? What was different?" It sounds like a genuine question this time; he has no idea himself. "Yeah," T'mic agrees, chewing a little bit at his lip as he considers what he remembers of the last time. "'Cause no one got worse from yesterday. But some of us are even better today." Big shoulders lift in a shrug, and when they drop, there's an arm outstretched again. It makes a little, slightly bumpy line around his chest. And then repeats it, but with a few higher peaks. Jorrth is watching it all, intently. "So some people didn't improve, or they didn't improve commiserate with others?" R'van wonders, crossing his arms. "If they were improving the same amount, I'd at least expect us to get no worse, which clearly isn't the case. --Do you have trouble with your words?" The continued hand motions earn comment then, with a frown. T'mic closes his mouth, and blinks once at R'van. "I wouldn't," is the same, easy, explanatory tone, "say that there's anyone who just didn't improve." He checks in with Jorrth, who, by the looks of that quick nod which T'mic gives, assured, seems to agree. "Just some are improving quicker. It's easy to keep up when no one's going fast." "But if they're not keeping up--." R'van ruffles at his hair, shaking his head. He is still just eyeing T'mic's hands, frozen mid-gesture. That frown deepens. "How would you make them improve?" Because, by this poitn of the month, R'van is apparently at wits' end. T'mic's hand was hovering, yeah, even through R'van's hair ruffling. But at the word 'make', it drops, and there's even a quick push of air from the bluerider's nose. It could be a laugh. It could be a sigh. "You can't make," oh, the hand twitches, but never goes back up to that chest level, "them get better." But there was a question there, and T'mic rocks back on his heels to consider it. Jorrth is distracted soon enough, looking back to one of his clutchsiblings, even flicking his wings once. Words. Brain words. "I guess it would depend on each pair. I mean, everyone wants to fly, right?" "No?" says R'van; he sounds skeptical. "You can make the consequences of not improving such to drive them. If, for some reason, the prospect of forever staying static isn't enough motivation to do more than the bare minimum." That hand doesn't stay sedentary long. As R'van keeps talking, T'mic has to go and ruffle at his own hair. "That's like... telling a kid who's better at counting than at drawing that if he doesn't draw better, you're going to spank him." "Not at all," R'van counters, his frown deepening: not actually upset, just the by-now-familiar debate mode he honestly seems to enjoy. "Children have no obligations on their abilities. Adults, however, do. If I joined the harpers as an artist, then I should be expected to improve my skills, and not be surprised if a lack thereof is penalized by poor grades and remedial lessons." T'mic wrinkles up his nose and squints a little at R'van. The hand drops again. The fingers of both hands flex lightly, and then tuck into his pockets. "But you don't want to give them lessons," he says finally. "Or help. You want to give them shit." "Remedial teaching is not my forte," R'van admits that much honestly. "They attempted to have me tutor poor students at the Hall, and it never worked. I jut can't make my mind work that way, explain things in a way they can understand." Could he sound more arrogant?" Jorrth turns right here, turns and goes, off to see one of the greens at a trot. T'mic is still looking at R'van, and his eyebrows have gone up, and he's nodding like he's had a minor epiphany. But it's not a declaration that comes out of him. Instead, it's a gentle, "You ever understood anyone else?" The way one might ask a recent orphan when she most misses her parents. It's the kind of question that just earns a frown from R'van, brows all furrowed. "It's not my strongest talent," he admits that much: honest to a fault, even if it grates. A moment of silent, for R'van's admission, with T'mic simply nodding, eyes down not so much to look at the ground, or his chest, or whatever he sees, as to be off the bronzerider for a second or so. "Jorrth," he starts, looking back up only to look over his shoulder, "watches first, and then just sort of feels out what's going on with other dragons. And people too, I guess." Finally, back to the weyrling wingleader properly, "'Cause everyone's different, so how does he know, right?" "Hm," is R'van's noncommittal response to that. It's likely advice he's heard before, and earns only that thoughtful frown of his that's been so common much of this month. "I should check in with some of the others," he notes, turning to glance at the rest of the weyrlings who are wrapping up from drills. "If it were me," T'mic finally pipes up in answer to the weyrling wingleader's question, "I wouldn't have just one idea already set up in my head and argue about it. I dunno, sometimes if people talk enough, they figure out they know what they need already, y'know? They just didn't know they... knew. Then it's easy, to help 'em." It's that same big ol' shrug to finish it off, and he's looking back to Jorrth, ready to catch up with his blue... for the full few moments they'll have before he has to go do more homework or something. "If they can't bring anything to the table to even start with--," R'van begins, though that frustration is creeping in again. He just shakes his head. "Thank you, T'mic," he concedes after a moment, polite in that before he's taking his leave to check on some of the others too. |
Leave A Comment