Logs:Second-First Impressions
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| RL Date: 7 November, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and Quint run into each other in a less intense encounter since the Crom gather. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 3, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Odrick/Mentions |
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| With the chilling night brings a crowded Snowasis. The lay of the social network is not its usual and it shows - no longer is there the loud raucous calls of the dart matches between Glacier and Savannah wings, occupying a number of tables, for one. While Glacier is in attendance at the darts, Jo is a part from them as she claims one of the tables she's usually seen at when she's present. There's a pitcher of ale on her table and she's shuffling a deck of cards, only pausing in this to drink from her mug and watch the more subdued dart matches going on with her former wing. Quint has been an infrequent visitor at the Snowasis since his arrival at High Reaches -- not so frequent that he's hailed by more than a habitual nod from the bartender on duty -- but not so infrequent that the games of chance and darts draw his attention overmuch beyond a glance. He doesn't linger overmuch at the bar -- enough to secure himself a pitcher, moving back over to stand a few paces away from Jo's table, within earshot, as he says, "This seems extraordinarily tame, for what I've heard of Glacier's reputation." Since he's not looking at her, he could be talking to anyone, except there's no one else right there. Calm in her motions of bringing the mug to her lips, Quint's sudden appearance draws Jo's attention enough that there's a noticeable pause from her. Her gaze cut back towards the Glacier wingriders before she states aloud, "A new turn'n a lot's already happened for it to be tame. Reckon they'll gain back their momentum in due time, though. I remember ya." That last is given with an open study. "As the saying goes -- change can be a double-edged sword," the harper says, before his gaze shifts from the various riders, towards the wingsecond. With a half bow -- taking care not to spill his beer -- Quint gives a bare flicker of a smile, restrained undoubtedly for the words that follow: "I'm flattered, Wingsecond. There was a lot going on -- I didn't expect you to." He gestures towards one of the empty chairs, in a silent request to join her. "Shit right," Jo agrees, her tone a guarded one as she turns her gaze back towards the harper to catch his half bow. She leans back as if to get more comfortable, her study of the whole of him lingering as she answers with, "Jo," to the call of rank. "Ain' gotta remind me what knot I wear. I come from guards, darlin'. We're taught not to forget a face." Then she nods towards the chair, giving him his request. "Don' think I caught yer name, though," she adds, a brow lifting at him as fingers lace about her mug. "I would've asked if I weren' so..." Silence. If Quint is unsettled by the scrutiny he receives, he seems to take it in stride, still until she invites him to join her. Long legs close the distance with a couple of quick paces, settling in comfortably, as he sets his mug on the table. "Jo, then," he allows, with a fleeting smile. "Quintus, Journeyman Harper. Quint, if you prefer," he offers in turn, in lieu of his own rank, it seems. He doesn't seem overly surprised at her being a former guard: "There seems to be an awful lot of you ex-guards that become riders. Something about structures of rank that appeal to you, perhaps?" he muses aloud, perhaps in an effort to distract from the vagaries of their first meeting. "Quint," Jo seems to try the name on for size, her study of the harper never abating once he's seated. "A journeyman. Lemme guess....posted here as well? I've met one not too long ago. An 'Odrick'. We seems to be gettin' a number of ya here in the Reaches." She drains some of the contents in her mug, his last getting her to add, "I was never a guard, darlin'. Wasn' who I was when I came here. Structure doesn' appeal to me, but my dragon, does. What ex-guards have ya met?" "For the last five months," Quint allows. "Well before... Crom, in case there's any suspicious thoughts in that guard-trained head of yours. Believe me, I've endured questioning from your peers aplenty already. In case you've it in your head, too -- my opinion bore no weight on the outcome. My job was to report the events." He gives an easy shake of his head, and a smile for her mention of his fellow harper. "High Reaches had Journeyman Kharven for over eight Turns. That's passing long for a Journeyman -- we are supposed to journey, after all -- and there's always two or three of us at least to teach in a Weyr of this size." He seems to take in her latter words with a nod, and a long drink of his mug, before he finds himself distracted enough by noise from a game of dice that he turns his head away momentarily. Jo's eyes narrow at something Quint says, the bluerider's head angling as she states, "Questioned? Who's been...?" She blinks at that. Still, "I still haven' really...processed that shit. I ain' gonna questioned ya. Ya were doin' yer job. I get it. I think folks'll seen enough death for now to not bother even askin' me 'bout it anymore." She reaches for her pitcher to fill her mug, eyes on him. "Yer fellow seems to think us folks uneducated," she notes with a touch of humor. "Do ya teach children, too, like he does? Is that yer preference as well?" Glacier only gets a cursory glance from her as she pours. "It's... a lot to take in," Quint says, after a long pause, when his gaze finally returns to his table companion, letting the silence rest easily while he imbibes from his mug. There's a grateful nod for her, at her mention of him doing his job, and no more is said about it. Her mention of Odrick's words draws forth what seems to be a genuine, easy laugh. "It's his first posting at a Weyr. There's a lot to adjust to -- I'm sure he didn't mean uneducated." His defense of his fellow harper is done without much thought. "We both do -- we share most of the teaching duties. I enjoy teaching all ages; children tend to learn easily, but adults often grasp the depth of their learnings much better. There is satisfaction in both." It might well seem like a harper-practiced answer, but he seems earnest for all that. Snorting, "He seemed quite certain of himself with us savages," Jo answers on the other harper. "Ya don' think us savages yerself, harper? I, at least, can admit that I am." It's a bold statement, the wingsecond taking a drink in the pause. "Savages are educated in other ways. Is teachin' all ya'll do here? I know yer good at questionin'," there's a lift of one corner of her mouth, "but I thought harpers did the sort of things like music as well. Ya speak well." Observations made and given, and there's brief clapping from the dart game's direction. Quintus seems to take a long moment to consider that. "I think dragons make people different. Whether it's through impression, or training, it sets you apart in a way that people -- unconsciously or no -- are aware of. I wouldn't use the word savage. Aloof, perhaps." He half turns, gesturing towards the game of darts in play. "I've rarely, if ever, seem the wings play with non-riders. Why is that, do you think?" he asks, turning back to look questioningly at Jo. As to her questions of him, he gives an easy smile. "Oh, certainly. Music as well, when the occasion calls for it. I played both the hatching feasts -- which in itself is a drawback. Less time to enjoy it all. I quite like dancing, myself, when I can get a break. And composing, though I'm no Menolly." "I am aloof and a savage," Jo says it matter-of-factly. "I was before tac found me on those sands. He may have....tempered me, a bit, since." Her gaze following his towards the dart game, Quint's question gets a long pause before she says, "Bein' a 'rider seems to instill the sense of superiority," frankly as she looks back at him. "We ride, therefore we are better'n we only play with those like us." Pause. "Those beliefs are common," she says, "but not all of us are so elitist, darlin'. Certain holds I'm quite fond of, still'n I hardly wear any knots when I'm out." Nodding towards him, "Might be interestin' to hear ya sing, Quint. I must've missed out, not attendin' the hatchin' feasts after." The harper lets out a soft laugh at her mention of being tempered by a dragon, though Quint is silent while she talks, listening keenly. "One might allow that superiority is welcome and indeed, effective, during the Pass. Less so now," a brief frown flickers across his expression, "Though imagine the Comet Pass unsettled a lot of what was expected, by all." With a tip of his mug in her direction, the harper appears to toast her: "Then you, as the exception to the rule, are in the best position to set a standard others might well take note of, no?" With a quirk of lips, before he takes a deep drink, nearly finishing off the contents. "Mm. I wouldn't say that. One of my apprentices, Ryneton, has a far more pleasant voice than me. I'm thankful I'm not given to jealousy on that score." Nodding once, "Would've been quite the time, if this were a Pass," Jo muses on that as she watches the harper's face. "This Interval seems full of enough. Goldriders'n bronzeriders both seem to have a short lifespan here'n there's no Thread in the sky." She tips her mug back to drink before there's a short and rather self-deprecating chuckle on standards before she quips, "Oh darlin'. I'm the girl with the bad reputation here. The only standard I've set is how many folks I've fucked in a single turn. There are others here that folks'll listen to'n respect more." Pause. "Now ya got me curious 'bout yer voice," she adds with a brief lift of her mug in his direction. "I'll buy ya a drink if ya'll sing sometime." "You said you were trained by guards?" Quint says, gazing at Jo questioningly -- not to doubt, but pausing long enough for her acknowledgement all the same. "It is said by many Captains I have talked with in the past that their biggest problem is boredom. They train day and and day out, for an eventuality that rarely, if ever happens. Fax is long a distant memory. They get bored. Start fights. Get into trouble themselves as much as they prevent it. I wonder if, for riders, it is not the same?" he tilts his head, seeking Jo's gaze and her opinion both, it seems. He seems to take Jo's words mostly in stride, draining the remainder of his mug, though her casual mention of her proclivities does earn a slight cough as he swallows the rest of his beer. "Well," after a beat, rueful, now, "Perhaps I'll take you up on that deal." He nudges the now-empty mug in her direction. "You'd be surprised. Sometimes you needn't respect someone to feel inspired by them." There's a hesitation on the question of guards before Jo bowls on with a, "Guardstock, more like. My father'n his before him'n so on. Some of my brothers followed in his footsteps. I wanted to, but apparently, a female guard wasn' exactly ideal in the family. Even if I was better'n most my brothers at it at the time." She idly traces the rim of her mug in the pause before she addresses the next. "It's true, for 'riders as well," she allows evenly. "Folks pass that boredom in different ways. Drinkin', fightin'. Those that were craft before they Impressed find they have somethin' to fall back on more than the rest of us. That's pro'bly the goal of that new wing K'del put together or all crafter 'riders." Still, Quint's cough doesn't go unnoticed, and there's a slight quirk to the wingsecond's lips at it. "Ya should," she agrees on taking her offer, leaning forward to tip her pitcher and refill his mug. "'N, inspired. It will remain to seen if I can inspire you, Journeyman harper Quintus. Especially beyond the first impression I'm sure ya've gotten of me from Crom." She nudges his full mug back towards him with a steady look. Quint's, "Mmm," suggests he remains deliberately reserved on the matter of riders taking up their crafts again. Or maybe he's just distracted, concentrating on her refilling of his mug, which is clearly oh-so-important. "Me?" he echoes, with a certain amusement. "Oh, I need not inspiring. I find the tales of many a folk -- haughty and elitist or no -- very fascinating indeed." He takes the now-filled much with a curve of lips, though there's something of ease as he suggests, "If you like, we can evermore consider this our first impression. What say you?" He lifts his mug, but doesn't drink yet, awaiting her verdict. Jo doesn't miss much, and the woman is watching Quint as she lingers on her drink on the topic of crafts. She doesn't continue that line, though, instead focusing on the latter with an easy, "So nothin' inspires ya? I don' think I believe that." It's a light tease, more celebration erupting from the dart game's direction. It's a considering pause that meets Quint's last though, the wingsecond seeming to take in his words of first impression do-overs and his tone together. Eventually, chin lifts slightly before there's a slow but brief incline of her head. "I think I'd like that," she answers, her tone neutral and rapt. "Oh, on the contrary. Plenty inspires me. People do, actually," Quint admits, with an almost guilty spread of hands. "In their varying, vagarious ways, no two alike, and yet none so different that we can establish some common ground, even if training, or," a brief glance towards Glacier by the darts board, "The structures of our callings might incline us otherwise." It's the latter that draws his gaze back to meet hers, easy nod given in turn, sealed -- it would seem -- by the lift of his mug to his lips and a deep draught. That, and his: "The lady may be a savage aloof, but she is also wise." His eyes fall towards Glacier and Jo's does, too. She listens, acknowledging Quint's answer on inspiration with a breezy, "Then we seem to have that in common, darlin'. Folks'n their ways inspire me, too. Pro'bly for different reasons than yers." She meets his drinking with drinking from her own right then, her own seeminly sealed on the deal. Perhaps to his last, too. That does draws quiet and brief laughter with, "Ya flatter, harper. Keep it comin'. Ya can have more of my ale, too for yer kindness." "Probably," Quint allows with a grin, for their different reasons for being inspired. His brows go upwards in affected surprise: "You price ale so freely? I have plenty of kindness; it fairly comes off me in waves. Why, just the other day I rescued a young weyrling damsel in distress," he tells her, with a grin. "There was no riding off into the sunset, however, just so that particular rumor is put to bed -- so to speak." "Well it's ale," Jo shakes her head to that. "Whiskey's a different story. Any of the good stuff ya won' find here. What sort of distress was this weyrlin' damsel in? Did her dragon get thicktail at the most inopportune time?" His comment on rumos gets a snicker from her as she drains her mug and answers, "I doubt any bad rumors'll be made in yer direction. We Reachians tend to be a rough lot, ya'll learn. Yer kindness'll keep ya in friends." Quint's rueful laugh seems to concede that point; still, it seems he's going to make the most of the offer on the table, gulping down another mouthful of ale. Tapping his nose, "Oh, now, that would be telling. I won't embarrass the poor girl. I'd imagine she's having half as difficult a time adjusting to weyrlife as to having a dragon." Her latter comment is taken with an interested tip of head, lips twitching. "That's fair advice, and I'll take it gladly." Jo watches him as he drinks before offering with her pitcher again. "Now yer a tease, too," she says on him not telling, snickering. "She'll adjust cuz she has to. We all did, darlin'. Weyrlin'hood ain' easy, but she'll learn a lot. More than she would in a wing. Are yer a Reachian by birth?" she asks him now. "Family's harperstock?" Before she can get too far with the pitcher, Quint holds up a hand, deferring, "I oughtn't. I have an early class, and too much indulgence will surely make me sleep in. Once you lose the respect of children, it's very difficult to get back -- and they just seem to know when you have a hangover," the harper smiles, wryly and reminiscent, too. "Mm. No, I have no relation to High Reaches. I was born in Lemos. The first harper -- that I know of. My mother calls me ground-breaking; I call it stubbornness." He drains the last of his mug, and pushes it aside, shifting his weight as if preparing to stand. "It was pleasant meeting you, Jo of High Reaches. Perhaps next time, I'll buy?" he gestures towards the pitcher. With Quint's decline of another round, "Ain' that the truth," Jo remarks to it on children, amused. "Lemos, eh?" It looks like there's more to be added, but it's slow to come and by then, Quint is preparing to depart. She craddles her half-filled mug with a nod, answering his last with a wry, "The same, Quint of Lemos. I'll be lookin' for it next time. That drink, darlin'," and she punctuates it with a drink from her mug. Not looking to be leaving just yet, "Enjoy the rest of yer evenin'." "And to you, good eve," the farewell falls easily from the harper's lips as he stands, giving her a nod and one of his easy grins. And then Quint is off, navigating the tables of the Snowasis and tucking his coat tightly about him in preparation for the cold of the bowl beyond. |
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