Logs:Weyrwomen Untransferred
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| RL Date: 31 December, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, C'ris, Farideh, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh lets something slip about the potential for a gold transfer; Quinlys and C'ris are unimpressed. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It's just past dinner time on a chilly autumn evening, and though Quinlys is often reluctant to drink publicly at the Weyr when she has weyrlings about (and has been, for weeks now, reticent to be seen publicly with C'ris), here she is anyway. Perhaps in deference to the fragile brains of her weyrlings (who can't possibly deal, no doubt, with the realities of their weyrlingmaster as a person), it's a booth a little out of the way that she's chosen, though her red hair is a beacon, and that bright gaze is keeping a watch on the entrance-- she's expecting someone (presumably C'ris). C'ris has been on sweeps this evening, his flushed, red cheeks and helmet-mussed hair, complete with caught snow, telling the tale of it. Also, the fact that he is joined by a group of his wingmates, each louder and more full of jokes and teasing than the last as they jostle into Snowasis. They have no shame or empathy for Quinlys' wish for her relationship to be subtle, since one of them whoops when they catch sight of the weyrlingmaster and another jams his elbow playfully into C'ris' ribs. "Now we know why you came out," a greenrider teases, while a bronzerider pushes him closer with a smile for Quinlys. "He's all yours tonight, but if you two get bored, we're going to be over there, playing darts." C'ris takes it like a man; that is to say, he only flushes a little and grumbles quietly before he settles into the booth before adding a quiet apology of, "Sorry about that. They get like this after-- Anything." Other people occupy the bar, whether that includes playing darts, cards, or arm wrestling, and some even partake of the ever-boring activity of drinking until their manner loosens; cute blueriders dating in the corner booth or no. "Doooo you think this glass is--" hiccup, "--half full or half empty?" Turning the shot glass when she asks is the worst idea, as the liquid within spills out onto the bartop and Farideh's more sober companion -- if you can even consider a bulky greenrider who was sitting in the wrong place at the wrong time a companion -- merely watches without a glimmer of emotion. "Looks empty to me, ma'am," he says, and promptly turns away from the goldrider to persue a conversation with someone who doesn't try to battle him over the merits of an updo. "Poo--" Farideh, sulking, flops her chin onto her fist and watches the group of Frostbite riders as they enter, and-- well, that leads her gaze to C'ris, and indirectly to Quinlys. Drunk girl walking. Quinlys' face is not one built for subtlety, and so the expression she aims at C'ris' wingmates is blandly dour. "When I get bored of him, I'll let you know," holds the suggestion of acerbity, but she's clearly more interested in turning her attention back towards the other bluerider, releasing her glass so that she can press her hand flat upon the table. "It's fine. I've said worse. It's--" She stops, abruptly, gaze turning away from C'ris and towards the bar as a whole, and then: "Is that..." Her eyes narrow. Yes, it is Farideh. Drunk Farideh. C'ris' soft smile catches at his lips, despite or perhaps because of Quinlys' acerbity. That his hand reaches for hers as she presses it to the table is likely a thoughtless expression of affection rather than anything else, but as she brings his attention to Farideh, he drops her hand. "Farideh," is both confirmation and greeting, with the bluerider practically jumping politely to his feet so as not to be sitting while a woman is standing. "I should probably get drinks. Another for you?" is questioned to Quinlys, and then extended to Farideh with a smile. "What are you drinking, weyrwoman?" There are far too many chairs and tables between Farideh and her destination, and it's a fair fight to get, on her feet, to the booth where the two blueriders are. "C'riiiss," is first, and then an equally as pleased, "Quinlys!" follows. "Me? Anything-- everything-- two? One," Farideh informs him, her face going through a range of expressions before settling on an intoxicated smile as she helps herself to the booth bench opposite the weyrlingmaster. How comfortable Quinlys is with public handholding of all things doesn't matter, in the end-- though she does withdraw her hand from the table after it is released, tucking it back about her mostly-empty glass. The look on her face for Farideh's state suggests one small part of amusement, and a rather larger part of concern. "Please," she tells C'ris. "But maybe just water for Farideh. Are you well?" That last is plainly for the goldrider, blue eyes focusing upon her more intently as she studies the other woman. "Having a good night?" Concern softens C'ris' expression, though he nods for Quinlys' suggestion of water. "I'll be right back, then," he promises easily, smiling at Farideh again before he moves off to make his way to the bar. He is likely to be a bit for getting drinks, since bartenders (people) may tend to overlook him. Squinted hazel eyes trail after C'ris and get easily distracted by a few burly riders play-fighting over a game of dice. "I'm fine. I wasn't even going to drink, but C'los-- you know how he is-- said he doubted I could even--" hiccup, "drink more than wine. I can too, very well, drink a lot of things, and so we tried them. Lots of them," Farideh explains, cradling her chin between her fingers, elbows propped up on the table. Quinlys gets a buzzed smile. "How is your night?" Quinlys' gaze follows C'ris for a moment, but Farideh is a more immediate concern, and so she turns back, brows lifting quietly towards her hair-line as a smirk-- concerned, but still present-- settles in about her mouth. "Well, you've certainly proved him wrong, haven't you. You did eat dinner, I hope." She swirls the remaining liquor in her glass, dropping her glance to consider it for a moment. Then, back to Farideh: "Mine's only just begun. But I'm off duty, and that's a good beginning." "I did!" the weyrwoman says, quite loudly and unnecessarily. "I bet no one will ever ask me about that again." Triumph rings in Farideh's voice, but she's momentarily entranced by Quinlys' liquor-swirling and her face falls. "Off duty? When are you evvveerr off duty, Quinlys?" One eyes squints closed as she focuses the remaining eye, on the redhead, with a jaunty grin in accompaniment. "It's always something with them-- something this, something that, oh no, they drank too much or are having weird feelings-- all like that," with a hand flourish in the air. Mouth twitching, Quinlys bites back whatever is her automatic response to Farideh's triumph; even without words, however, it's plainly obvious that she's heartily amused. "Recalling your own weyrling days, Farideh?" she wonders, of the rest, after lifting her glass to her mouth for another sip. "Though you're not far wrong, it's true. Only six months to go!" She lifts her glass again: she'll drink to that. "And if I'm very, very good, I'll get a proper vacation between clutches this time. Won't I." "I didn't do any of that-- did I? I got grounded a lot and I was overwhelmed, but I don't remember having boy problems in weyrlinghood-- or, no, I did, but not those kinds of boy problems. I didn't drink too much either and--" Big yawn. "It's different with two, right?" Farideh's head lolls from hand to hand, and then she sighs. "We hope. There are three queens, three possible flights and clutches-- for now." "Those three sevens make-- well." It's not just twenty-something weyrlings; it's twenty-something weyrlings at different stages of development. Quinlys has clearly earned her tiredness, a tiredness that is present in the bags beneath her eyes, though she otherwise seems cheerful enough. "For now?" she prompts, frowning. In the booth, Farideh is sitting across from Quinlys, and drunkenly chatting. "It is my life's greatest accomplishment-- that I do not," Farideh stretches out the words emphatically, "have your job. I am positive you would say the same of mine, but still," and then her head lolls the other way, eyelids drooping. "Yes, yes. K'del and Irianke think we have one too many, and one of us would make a great trade for keys to a solid political advantage," she says, sarcastically, not even bothering to look at Quinlys when she says it; ridiculous, really. C'ris has managed to secure drinks, and has even managed to make his way back across the bar with a beer, a whiskey, and a water all held within two hands. "Oh, you're talking politics," is all he catches as he returns to the table, only a humored grimace in his expression as he sets Farideh's water in front of her. Then, he'll slide in next to Quinlys, unconcerned about any comfortable closeness as he distributes their drinks between them. The beer is for him, obviously, and he lifts it to his lips to listen to the political women. "Believe me when I say I'm enormously glad I didn't end up with Ysavaeth," says Quinlys, drily, though there's a somewhat complicated expression on her face for it, too; though it's one that fades away as C'ris slides in alongside her, replaced by the nod and smile she aims at him. Still: "Fuckers," is clearly aimed at Farideh. "Treating you like political pawns. Fuckers." The goldrider's eyes flutter open when C'ris appears with the drinks. "Politics," Farideh repeats, displeased, and gives her water glass a glare to prove it. "I suppose it's to be expected though. That's how Irianke got to us-- it was hugely successful for her. Did she ever think she would be senior weyrwoman of a Weyr in her lifetime? It suits her. It worked out. And, well-- it's true. No one wants," another hiccup, "so many golds at a Weyr during an Interval." C'ris will frown at the conversation as he catches up, though he only asks gently, "Do you want to be a senior of a Weyr, too? If you did, I mean-- Then there'd be a reason to go." But he won't press that line of conversation, not when he can nurse his beer awkwardly instead. "Three golds isn't so much. And, you know, they're going to rise less frequently the further into the Interval. With our luck of golds, it might, uh. Well." A pause. "I'm sure the Weyrleaders won't force you to go." "Next time we should just ground all the bronzes," is Quinlys' opinion, words stark. She finishes the very last drops of her first drink, and reaches immediately for the second, though the sniff she gives it leaves her expression very briefly confused-- she shakes that off and says, "Deals can be changed, even if there is one in progress. We didn't end up banishing people to Igen, right? We'll work something out." "Me?" Farideh suddenly looks alert, but only from the shock. "No. No-- no, never, ever. People like Irianke make great weyrwomen. Strong, assertive, aggressive-- and I think she likes having the power to change things and determine her own fate." Back to slumping over the table, she scrunches her nose at C'ris. "Grounding the bronzes might be an option, to keep it from happening again, but I don't know. I take them quite serious. K'del told me in the nursery, of all places. If you weren't thinking about sending someone off, why would you do that?" Sigh. "Maybe Igen expects that kind of trade, back, since we didn't." "Sometimes people say stupid things that they don't mean," is all C'ris answers gently, but he pairs his words with a smile for his friend. But he shrugs a shoulder upwards, his attention stolen away a moment later by Quinlys' and her reaction to the drink. Softer, he asks, "I got your order right, didn't I? I can go get something else, if you want. Or you can have my beer." Quinlys, aghast: "The nursery. I bet he just dropped it into conversation, too, just like that." The redhead shakes her head, setting loose curls to bob about her shoulders; she's dismayed by the very idea. The stridency of that comment, however, dissipates as she answers C'ris: "No, no. You got it right. It just-- smells weird. To me. I'll be fine." As if for emphasis, she hastily takes a sip. Fine. "It could just be that sometimes stupid people say things, at all," Farideh returns, but she's much less interested in the conversation as she watches the exchange between blueriders. "It's supposed to smell weird. It's not like it smells like cake, though that would be a welcome diversion." Her eyes cut to C'ris, with a glare. "Sure, you're nice now, until you're not and you're telling Quinlys who can come into her weyr-- Quinlys, don't let him tell you who you can and can't have over." And with that gem, she scoots out of the booth and immediately bumps into one of Alpine's wingriders. "'cuse me," she says, giving the man an angry look. "Goodnight," is what she says in farewell, before she heads for the exit. "Gnight, Farideh," C'ris offers simply, a frown touching at his lips as he looks after the retreating goldrider. It's only after that he'll add in a murmured assurance to Quinlys, "You can, you know, have anyone that you want over to your weyr. I trust you." And he smiles, of course, as he clinks his glass lightly against the bluerider's, but not without looking once more to see how Farideh fares in leaving. Quinlys opens her mouth in surprise, bewilderedly staring after Farideh as the goldrider retreats. "Good-- night?" Making a face, she glances back at C'ris, clinking her glass in return, albeit distractedly. "Well, I know that. If you tried to... you know I'd kick you into next turn. At least. I wonder what... well, never mind. She's pretty drunk." "One of us-- should talk to the Weyrleaders, you know. She's our friend," explains C'ris with a hint of reluctance, but also with a stubborn set about his features as he says it. "Hopefully it's just-- She was drunk, but still." But his hand seeks hers out again, now that they are relatively alone. Quinlys, surprised, gives C'ris a thoughtful glance, even if she allows her fingers to be taken into his; allows, and even curls hers around his, squeezing gently. "Better you than me," she points out. "Irianke and I have an troubled relationship at the best of times and K'del and I..." She shakes her head. "It bothers her. Which... I understand. Fuck, I was that opposed to the whole Igen thing, of course I understand. Sending people away is wrong, C'ris. We're supposed to have autonomy. We're people, not... not mindless workers. Not nameless masses." C'ris squeezes her fingers, agreeing simply, "I know. They know that too, even if they have to weight the needs of the Weyr, and--. I'll talk to them." And that reluctance returns, for all that he makes the promise easily. He adds in a bit of a mumble, "I don't know that they'd listen to me, either. At least you have the fancy knot." "They might. They... anything I say just becomes noise. Because I'm outspoken. Whereas you only say things you actually... important things." There's something softer in the way Quinlys says that; she seems to find it endearing. "It could be Jocelyn they send, though. The local. It'd be just like Irianke to want to get rid of the goldrider who actually belongs here." "Jocelyn doesn't deserve any less from us than Farideh, just because Farideh is our friend," decides C'ris, but a smile has caught on his lips for Quinlys' reassurance and he does seem to draw a little straighter, more confident. He promises again, "I'll talk to them. It might-- It might be a misunderstanding. We've never sent our goldriders away-- Well, I mean, except Tiriana." "No, I mean... that would be worse, in a way." Quinlys' head shakes, curls bobbing again. "At least Jocelyn's dragon has High Reaches blood, you know? And she's from here. It stands to reason that someone like Irianke might want her sent away, lest she draw too much positive support away from her. That might even be their plan." Conspiracy theory or no, she straightens, but hers is a strident, unhappy move. "Teris," she adds, abruptly. "We sent her away, too. I don't like it." She and C'ris are sitting, side by side, in a booth off in a corner in the midst of a cold autumn's evening, while a crowd of Frostbite riders play darts nearby. "Yeah, we-- I hope Irianke doesn't think that way," C'ris mumbles unhappily, that smile disappearing as he picks his beer back up to nurse. One of his hands is under the table, it must be said. Otherwise, they seem to only be two friends, talking. If a bit unhappily. "If she wanted to go, that'd be another matter. But, sending her away from her home--." Chill. Maybe that's what draws Alida into the Snowasis this time, when she's usually one to try and avoid heavily-trafficed places, more often than not. Of course, the bar also holds booze, which is one of her favorite foodstuffs. No matter, the palest blonde wades inside after removing her leather jacket, scarf, gloves and settling them upon a peg nearer the entrance, her pinkened cheeks belying the cool state of atmosphere outside, while equally as cool eyes flick all about as the bluerider makes for the bar-proper. If she notices Quinlys or C'ris in the bustle, the 'ex' guard gives no sign, instead bellying up to the bar soon enough, and awaiting the bartender's attention ater she signals that she'd like a drink. Quinlys lifts her own glass towards her mouth, sniffs, and then hurriedly sets it down again. In answer to C'ris, her attention focused relatively intently upon him, she says, "That's the part I don't like. Sending people unwilling. Forcing someone, just because they had the misfortune to-- it was different when Lujayn chose to go to Honshu. Yes, of course we have to follow orders, but... sending someone unwilling just sucks, Ris." "I know," agrees C'ris quietly, bumping against Quinlys in a comforting gesture of shoulder against shoulder. "I know." Quinlys might be glad that it's too loud in here for Alida to even have a chance at overhearing the other two bluies' conversation, because it would draw her (hidden) attention like iron filings to a magnet. As it is, the blonde simply divvies her attention between securing herself some drinky-snacks and observing those around her...standard operating procedure, for her. It's on one of her idle passes of gaze that the woman's greens happen to note the red of somebody's hair beyond, and automatically focus in. As soon as Quinlys is recognized, a certain chilly remoteness settles into place upon Alida's quiet features, rendering her a study in glacial aloofness even as her eyes slip over to C'ris, who happens to be mostly facing her. And then, the bartender's asking for her pick of poisons, and the woman shifts her focus back to him to quietly order. Give her a handful of seconds, and those green eyes are once again shifted back on to Quin's and C'ris' booth, the male bluerider's mouth garnering a considerable portion of 'lida's concentration. "Meh," is Quinlys' conclusion, released sharply in the wake of that shoulder bump. "Let's talk about something less depressing, please, or I'm going to need to go pound something to clear up my emotions and let me think straight. The whole thing just pisses me off. Or... we could just head up. To my place. Or yours." The lift of an eyebrow; a smug, smug smile. She-- so far-- has not noticed Alida's glance. "I'm sorry, Quin. We could go take a bath--," C'ris starts to offer with the hint of a flush and a brief grin. But then a whoop and hollering from Frostbite draws the wingrider's glance that way, probably as a habit to check to see if they are about to do something that he needs to intervene in, as the calm one. Not seeing an immediate need, that is when he notices Alida. He raises a hand in an easy salute to the third bluerider, a friendly gesture. It's good not being noticed, at least to someone like Alida. It allows her to drop eaves much more efficiently, which the woman continues to do (though she does glance aside once every-so-often, so as to not as openly draw the potential attention of others closer to her. Either that, or she's 'smitten' with C'ris. It's not long after that her order is filled, and the woman slips a coin over to the 'tender, who nods and departs to service others wanting their own drinks...and then that whooping from Frostbite nabs her temporary attention, as well, though reluctantly. It's as greens flick back to settle on C'ris' mouth again that their eyes meet, and with perhaps odd aplomb, 'lida tosses him a casual wink and small lift of drink before sipping from it and looking away. "Mmm," begins Quinlys, before that lifted hand of C'ris' draws her attention towards Alida-- just in time for her to see that wink. She snorts, beneath her breath; it's a dismissive sound. "Yes," she says. "Let's go take that bath. I don't want the rest of my drink anyway." She gives the other bluerider a nudge, clearly aiming to push him towards his feet so that this plan can be enacted. C'ris makes a little gesture to invite Alida over, but then she's looking away. He doesn't press by calling or anything, only frowning slightly, but then Quinlys is pushing him to his feet. "I think I have something back at my weyr. It might be better than whatever they have here," he offers easily, agreeing. He will stop to help her up, fingers brushing lightly over her hip. The faint little smirk Alida allows for Quinlys' notice in that instant is about as cold as a 'Reaches winter, and doesn't touch her eyes, but it evaporates into nothing quickly enough when her attention shifts back towards the bar. If she noticed C'ris' invitation to join them, her glancing away gives the solitary bluie ample reason to claim she didn't notice it. Is she smiling just the faintest hint to herself as she sips her drink? Quinlys, in contrast to Alida, is nothing but warmth: after that snort, any reaction she has to that particular bluerider is utterly invisible (and given the emotiveness of her expression, that likely means she's put her out of her mind). Instead, she lets C'ris help her up, laughing merrily for the gesture (it must be funnier to her than it actually is). "Maybe," she says of the booze. "Though I might be just as happy without. I'm just not in the mood for it, I think. Or maybe that stuff was bad somehow... whatever. Come on." It must be said that the Frostbite riders react loudly again, but this time it is friendly, ribald jeering in the direction of the paired blueriders. C'ris makes a friendly, if very rude gesture in turn, before he murmurs a "Sorry" again to Quinlys. He'll also offer a wave in goodbye to Alida, since he knows the woman. But then his attention is pulled away in escorting Quinlys out of Snowasis, promising, "Just a bath, then. And-- well." Other things. If white-blonde hair equals chill, red must equal warmth, right? Perhaps the womens' reactions are simply 'standard equipment' for their models. Then again... maybe not. As she looks down into the depths of her whiskey, Alida's eyes flash with ample hints of fire for some moments, her gaze jerked back up to the reacting Fristbite riders, once again, then daring to drift back towards C'ris and Co. And if the smile she gives him is a bizarre, if subtle mix of a knowing leer, honest farewell, and wolfish sneer? He'll not likely be in mood to analyze it, soon enough. Other things, indeed. |
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