Logs:!Parenthood
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| RL Date: 17 September, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Over lunch, Jocelyn gets to the bottom of the rumors regarding Farideh's illness. |
| Where: Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 11, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions |
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| The lunchtime rush is on and the living cavern is buzzing with activity; hardly a table is vacant for all of the bodies filling the seats. It's in one of the nooks off to the side of the large room that Farideh is occupying a table, dutifully eating and reading from a stack of hides next to her plate. She's got one tablemate in the form of one of the assistant headwomen, who is busy eating her own lunch. Occasionally, when the young brunette glances up, they exchange a word, but it's mostly a silent companionship. A few other seats around the table are yet empty and most of the table space too. The lack of conversation on Jocelyn's end doesn't necessarily indicate a lack of engagement; while the two have been working on their plates in their acquainted mostly-silence, the other woman's occasional glances have spent a moment here and there on what she can see of the weyrwoman's reading material, on her table companion after a comment passes between them, on the kitchen assistants who pop in and out to replenish dishes at the front as needed. Eventually, she ventures a huffy, "You know how little stock I put into hearsay, but for someone who may or may not have upchucked all over a visitor this morning, you do look a little - under the weather." It's accompanied by a flick of one hand as she trades fork for glass. It's hard to tell if her expression is concerned or constipated. Entertaining as those hides are - and full of relevant reading material - it's hard not to glance up in surprise at the other woman's words, and tone. "I did not," Farideh says, painfully uncomfortable of a sudden with a blush to match. "I've just been-- it's nerves, with everything. I'm fine. I'll be--" except, she looks down at her plate then, and her revulsion is immediate; setting down her fork, she slides it a little away and gives Jocelyn a temperate smile. "I've been feeling a little queasy lately, it's true, and tired, but with everything that's happened recently I think I just let my health get away from me. Not sleeping or eating well enough, and with a brooding dragon too," gets its own dismissive hand gesture. "Nerves, " Jocelyn repeats, much as if someone had told her the sky was turning green and the grass, blue. Pale eyes narrow, but it's a considering look she gives the holdbred girl with whom she had once roomed. More lightly, "Don't they have something in the infirmary that helps with that sort of thing? Special teas, something to get rid of the queasiness so you can, well - " pointed glance toward the rejected plate, " - eat?" "Nerves," gets repeated, stronger, more forcefully, as if by tone alone she could convince Jocelyn and perhaps herself too. "I haven't gone, yet. I talked to one of the aides. He brought around a tisane for upset stomach. I only took it earlier so I hasn't had the time to work. It might take a day, or two, or it might just go away after a seven day. I don't know." Farideh's is quite defensive in her stance -- shoulders back and chin lowered, all the while frowning. "Are you worried you'll catch something? Maybe you can take a preventative drink, something to restore your constitution." Jocelyn's lips purse. "Oh, I'm hardly worried that I'll catch anything. If half of the living cavern is green about the face tomorrow morning, that'll be the time for concern." However dismissive her words may be, there's a slight knit to her brow that softens her subsequent sniff, "I hope you plan to make the time to go get looked at. If it does drag on for a seven, you'll need more of that stuff if it helps. You don't need me to tell you that you don't have time for some nonsensical illness to take you away from your duties." There's a pause, then a more congenial, "How is that brooding dragon?" An open-mouthed moment passes, wherein Farideh takes in the bustling living cavern, before glancing back at her stack of hides, slightly guilt-faced. "I know, I know. I told myself if I'm not better by another couple days, I'll go to the infirmary and get looked at, properly. It's not a place I like to linger, not for this and not for--" Her silence stands for all the things, and people, in the infirmary she'd rather not face. "Roszadyth is fine. Brooding for her is an average day for any other dragon. She's still cheerful, but I notice by the evening she's less. I can't blame her, carrying around however many eggs, I'd be ready to murder someone," is just as congenial. No one enjoys seeking medical attention unless they're malingering, so it's an understanding noise that Jocelyn offers up for that silence filled with physical exams, poking, prodding, astringent smells. "Forget 'however many' eggs; I can't imagine carting one around. Or growing any kind of baby, really." It's probably safe to say that this one really doesn't want children. Wryly, "So long as she isn't ready to murder someone. I'm not a violent person, but I'd almost rather toss a knife at someone than - " and her silence is likely filled with all of the usual ways in which two people reproduce and the things that go with such events. Stab goes her fork into the next bit of meat. "No," goldrider agrees with assistant head woman, with a wrinkle of her nose and a skeptical eye towards her discarded plate. "She isn't one to complain, but I can tell, it's not exactly "the most comfortable" thing. One or twenty, it's all-- I wouldn't, want to, no." Farideh watches Jocelyn stab her meat, then lifts on brow towards the other woman. "That adverse? You don't think you would ever want children of your own, with--" She purposefully doesn't settle on one term, leaving an open end for Jocelyn to fill in her noun of choice. "Ever?" That speared meat is eyed distrustfully while the redhead wrinkles her nose. "I run into plenty of children in the hallways and have to help corral some of them on occasion when we have candidates about. I like the relative quiet and privacy I'm fortunate enough to get these days. Raising a child - " There's a dismissive shake of her head. "I don't think I'd make for the kind of mothering type that one would want, even if there were someone who wanted that sort of thing." Or her, the brief slouch in her posture might imply. And it's a good time to stuff that forkful in to be chewed to try to hold off having to provide further, awkward answers. "You could always have them fostered," points out the Holdbred woman to the Weyrbred woman, oh-so-helpfully. "I suppose though, having children isn't for everyone. I," Farideh says, rolling her eyes ceilingward, "wouldn't know what to do with one. I never understand why they're crying or, how you're suppose to, change their diapers, or know when they're hungry and tired," all with her nose wrinkled in unbidden disgust. "My sister has two daughters, now. I haven't met them and I don't know that I should, until they're-- you know, older, and not, babies." "There is that, " Jocelyn acknowledges with a shrug after chasing the meat with a long drink. "I'm never sure how to handle being around babies, either. They're so fragile and they can't be reasoned with." Pushing her own plate to the side, she drains her glass, drumming the fingers of her unoccupied hand on the table. "A pity you couldn't just ask one how it was feeling and get some sort of coherent response." She turns slightly to track the path of a records assistant who's weaving through the tables in their direction, eyebrows lifting. "You could cross-reference those numbers with the nannies, " she says more briskly as the wide-eyed girl gets nearer. What semi-personal conversation? "They do seem to like being held. I always see the nannies walking around with one, or two, and that at least keeps them quiet-- for a fraction of time." Farideh looks amused by Jocelyn's words, and exceedingly so when she starts rambling when the records assistant comes towards them. "I see. I never thought to check my own errant findings with them. Do you think they count the number of times a baby cries or how often they respond to verbal commands?" Wide eyes, suddenly, herself, the weyrwoman is the picture of innocence, with her chin falling into her hands, elbows balanced on the tabletop. Jocelyn gives an exasperated huff as her signal doesn't quite produce the intended result, folding her arms at her lunch companion. So much for masking their conversation in number-crunching. "I wouldn't know. I wouldn't, were I tasked with the care of one. Some things are impossible, regardless of what people say." The young records assistant, perhaps to her credit, maintains a cheerful if bland expression as she gets within speaking distance. It's a quiet greeting that she offers to both women, handing each a scribbled note with a hasty, "Neither of them needed a reply. Afternoon, " before darting away again. "You should stay a while, in the nursery, and compute the data. Record the habits-- for research and the archives, of course," the weyrwoman laughs, not hiding her amusement anymore. "I understand you well, though Irianke's trying to change--" Farideh stops herself and clears her throat, smiling pleasantly for the records assistant until she's done handing their notes and speaking her piece. Carefully, the goldrider smooths out her scribbled on piece of parchment, making a humming sound as she reads. "Lovely," she says, when she's done, and tucks the note away in her pocket. Where Farideh smiles pleasantly, Jocelyn's nod to the records assistant is her usual fare of coolly polite. She doesn't read so much as scan her missive quickly, pale eyes flicking once over the contents. Fluidly, she crumples it, stuffing the shriveled medium into her own pocket. "Another hot date in the archives with a ledger, " she remarks dryly, grimacing her way through a small stretch in her seat. "If I happen to run into a primer on babies while I'm in there, you'll be the first to know." Maybe her brand of a joke, if you squint. "I thought that you rather liked the archives," Farideh answers, and takes a small sip from her glass, still watching Jocelyn over the rim. "How sweet." Her mouth stretches into a good-humored smile; joke, gotten? "Just the archives today, then? I think-- well, all of the meetings are over, but--" She hesitates for a fraction of time and then shrugs, laughing over her own bemusement. "There's always something, especially now." "The archives, the daily reports, a one-on-one before the end of the day, " Jocelyn recites without missing a beat, reaching over to poke a finger at her empty glass. There's an even glance for Farideh's last, a small shrug. "There's always something, " she repeats with a different emphasis, mouth twitching into an almost-smile as she gets to her feet. "I hope that upset stomach cure helps. Give Roszadyth my best." "You and me both, Jocelyn." The words are laced with a heavy sigh, hazel eyes shifting as the assistant headwoman stands up from the table. "Certainly. Take care and-- I'll see you soon enough." With that, Farideh nods her head in farewell, and lowers her head, returning back to reviewing those hides with less enthusiasm. |
Comments
Faryn (20:37, 18 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
/snickers behind her hands
Drex (21:02, 18 September 2015 (PDT)) said...
"I," Farideh says, rolling her eyes ceilingward, "wouldn't know what to do with one."
Dammnit, Fari. You're supposed to be the smart one. Clearly, we're screwed. >.>
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