Logs:Finding Reasons Why
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| RL Date: 23 November, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Silva |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Snacks in the Kitchen lead to an assignment in understanding. |
| Where: Kitchen, HRW |
| When: Day 10, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
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| Irianke is on the prowl, a post-dinner prowl for snacks, which the cooks and other kitchen personnel have, begrudgingly, allowed her to do. Some cupboards are opened, which a kitchen maid shuts in the goldrider's wake, and eventually, Irianke unearths crackers, cheese, and sweet cinnamon cookies to take over to one of those eating nooks, throwing it all out in an array onto the table to observe. "Please fetch me a pot of tea and a flask of brandy to go with it," she asks of that kitchen maid whose trailed her thus far, punctuating it with a warm, knowing little smile.
In the middle of nodding her head at her purloined goodies, Irianke startles at the voice that interrupts her and pivots to take in the weyrling. The tea that arrives just about then, fortunately, does not get spilled and the maid slides it onto the table before going back to her work of cleaning the kitchen. "Oh, of course. Sit, eat, I remember how difficult weyrlinghood could be to find a moment to sit, to eat, to not have to constantly feel like you have to be learning." The goldrider gestures for Silva to slide into one side of the booth first. "S... Silva, is it?" The naming of the bluerider is hesitant, lilting up in question. Her hair is starting to grow out a bit from the chopping it was given at the start of weyrling hood, and there's enough that Silva can tuck it behind an ear. (Someone is probably going to insist on it getting cut again soon alas.) With a quiet smile she slides into the booth and tucks a leg against her chest once sitting. While she puts on a good show for the other weyrlings and those who know her, right now it's just too much effort to be herself. "Yes ma'am. Thank you," see, totally polite, and it even sounds heartfelt. "I... didn't feel up to the caverns. We're doing ground drills." The unspoken and they are hard hangs after her words. A flicker of something inscrutable shadows Irianke's study of the teenager, her gaze lingering until finally a small, crooked little smile tugs. Saying nothing of the politeness, the older woman slips into the booth across from Silva and reaches for a cracker to schmear some soft cheese all over. "Tea?" With a healthy pour of brandy in it, but who's counting? "I was never good at drills. Following them. Running them." The goldrider's brow knits together, that crooked smile having faded at some long time ago memory. "The Weyrlingmaster's running you guys hard even with the plague hanging over our heads?" Silva's not a big drinker, so even watered down brandy is probably not the best idea in the world. But she doesn't know about the brandy does she? Bwhaha. "Thank you," after taking dainty bites of some cheese Silva reaches out for the tea and wraps her hands around it. "Well..." There's a slight twist to Silva's lips, "I... I'm not... very good. Like, so..." Her eyes hit the table and she squirms just a little bit. "So like... it's..." Irianke pours a quarter cup for herself and for Silva and sets the pot down. Wrapping her hands about the tea cup, the goldrider sniffs appreciatively. The brandy is strong in this one. "Not good?" The older woman inquires, dark blue eyes sympathetic. "It's...?" She drawls that out in a similar drawn out fashion to how Silva is speaking, encouragement in her voice. Silva's appetite disappears in the smoke of Irianke's question. Fiddling with the cracker she'll continue to look down. Her mouth opens and she almost says something... but no. A shake of her head and Silva puts a smile on. "It's nothing, sorry. Zaisyreth is the best though. Like, super patient." There's that false bright tone she didn't think she had energy to put on. Irianke's lips purse at the shift in Silva's attitude, something akin to regret flickering in her dark eyes. But instead of addressing it, much like the difference in the blue weyrling's attitude compared to reports, the goldrider reaches for another cracker and some more cheese that sits in one hand and then a cookie in the other. Double fisting snacks. "When I Impressed at Igen," she begins, her Igen drawl heavier in sharing this recollection, "I knew my numbers better than most people ever will be able to, but reading, writing, history," the woman shrugs, a deprecating smile on her mouth, "What use does a trader girl have for things like that? I had stamina to withstand drills, but no desire to. It was...," a thoughtful sigh escapes, followed by some munching on the cookie, before continuing, "A different life than I'd imagined. Expected. Maybe even wanted." "You didn't impress here?" Silva brings her gaze up and latches onto the change in conversation from herself to Irianke's own history. "Oh yeah like... numbers and writing and stuff. But like, I know why //Jocelynn// needs to, but like... me? I mean. Zaisyreth is blue, right?" And anyone who handed Silva one of those leadership threads is so so so wrong. "No. I didn't." A moment passes, as if Irianke is only now aware that someone here doesn't know her own heritage. "I Impressed at Igen and the Weyrwoman there," pause, "Negotiated a deal that she believed would work in her favor with my temporary placement here. That is, temporary until High Reaches Weyr's own Weyrwoman passed away accidentally. And that's how I ended up here. Weyrwoman of a Weyr I had never even visited until just over two turns ago." She pauses again and finishes not only her cookie, but washes it down with tea. "Why do you think the Weyr might want you to know all that?" Silva manages to be really oblivious of the most simple things when it comes down to it. "Ohh.... sounds like, super complicated." Because it really does. Her appetite still hasn't quite recovered, so she just plays with the cracker in her hand. "Um... I don't know?" She tilts her head towards her shoulder in a full body shrug. "Why don't we make a deal then, Silva. Only if you'd want to accept." Irianke begins, finishing up another cracker and cheese, but refraining from more tea. "Why not ask your teachers why the Weyr asks so much of you and expects so much and come by my weyr in a seven or two, however long it takes so we can discuss it over some other snacks. And if your conclusions seem thoughtful based on everything you've heard, you can rifle through my trinket stash from when I was just a trader girl from the Igen deserts and take one with you. The next Gather, party, whatever event where you might want to wear something a little more fanciful." "Uh," because that sounds like more work. A frown creases between Silva's brows, but it doesn't seem too much of a tall request. "Um, I could do that? Like... I just know that I wouldn't like... be any good at it, you know?" Irianke has hit onto Silva's vain side though, so with more cheerfulness, "I'll do it ma'am. " "Just ask. Talk. You seem amiable enough." How Irianke does not choke on her tongue with that statement is a wonder, must be the brandy. "Just talk people up and figure out what they think and then figure out how you think. You should take some cookies back to the barracks and see if any of the other weyrlings want any. I'm afraid I have to get back to work. No rest for..." her voice trails of. Those in charge? The wicked? Irianke? "Good night, Silva." "Oh, um, sure." This is not Silva's most composed moment, and she's caught off guard when the Weyrwoman trails off and says goodnight. Uncurling herself she stands to see the woman up, confused as to exactly what she's going to ask about. "Sleep well ma'am." |
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