Logs:A Listening Ear
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| RL Date: 31 January, 2016 |
| Who: Quinlys, T'gar |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'gar drops in to check on Quinlys. |
| Where: Starry Dreams Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 12, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, K'zin/Mentions, N'qui/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions |
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| It's the evening that finds Asaroth's touch of rot and mildew lighting on Olveraeth like a heavy wherry falling from the sky. « Would she mind us? » the bronze seems to be trying on politeness for size, and it's really not a size that fits. Either way, the blue could probably see the bronze nearby as if making for a landing on his ledge regardless of the answer. « Probably, » answers Olveraeth, though he seems more amused than bothered by the intrusion. « Does she get a choice? She is awake, and at home, so that's a good start. » He'll even go so far as to adjust his position on the ledge to allow room for the bronze-- which is probably as good as an invitation as anyone is likely to get. He must have warned his rider, even if he hasn't gained her consent: she eyes the door, arms crossed, from her position upon the couch, where she's dressed in old sweats and bug, fluffy socks. « She gets a choice, » intones the bronze, and by his tone, it's likely that Asaroth is hoping that she denies them entrance. Seeing that Olveraeth moves to make room for him has the bronze finally coming for a landing, his wings going back at T'gar nimbly dismounts. From the little carrysack attached, he retrieves a small wrapped basket before entering the weyr with the air of someone curious about its make-up. When spying Quinlys in her sweats and her arms crossed, "I brought something to eat," is his greeting as he arrives, encased in worn leathers. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the party, Red." "I'm pretty sure the exchange of one word for another counts as talking," points out Quinlys, who sounds less grumpy and more resigned, though it's also true that her gaze drifts almost immediately towards the food. The weyr is in a state of cluttered tidiness: everything has a place, but there's plenty of stuff about. "But... you can come in. Since you're here." "Small talk and joining in on the weyrling bashing doesn't count," T'gar returns with a taste of teasing as he goes to set the covered basket down. Looking around as he does so before setting his study on her, "I could go," he offers once the basket is set down. "I wanted to check up on you. You didn't look so happy at the party and I didn't want to air any of that out there, so." He uncovers the basket to reveal fresh-baked rolls, cut fruits and cheeses with a juiceskin. "Doesn't count as talking? I'll keep that in mind." Quinlys gets up, now, crossing the floor towards the bronzerider so that she can inspect the contents of his basket; clearly, his food is welcome even if she's less sure of the weyrling himself. "I'm fine, honestly. I appreciate the concern. It can be difficult to watch people enjoy themselves when you're supposed to be taking it easy and avoiding drinks yourself." That's probably not all, but the bluerider presents it as such. T'gar gestures over the basket as he says, "I got just a little of everything they could offer me. The skin is redfruit juice. You're fine," he adds as if in agreement as his gaze falls on her, "but it seemed a lot more than being disappointed that you couldn't drink." After a lingering pause with a slight frown, his tone falling serious, he adds, "You know whatever you tell me won't go past this place, right?" His head dips a bit to try and meet her gaze more. "I aim to help build your trust in me." Quinlys hesitates, her hand hovering over the fruit in a way that seems to give it all her attention-- though that's clearly not the case. Finally, she picks up a piece of fruit, and turns to look at T'gar. "But will you use what you hear, with me?" The bluerider inhales. "I know you're trying to be a friend to me, and I appreciate that. But I also know what you ultimately want from me, and you have to understand that that makes me cautious to confide in you." "Just because I want you doesn't mean I can't be a good friend," T'gar says, hands sliding into his pant pockets so that Quinlys could peruse the contents of the basket. Exhaling, "I don't use people," he says then, his gaze steady. "I know what it's like to be used so I'm not a fan of it myself. You hold the cards between us, Red. Don't forget that. If it helps," he goes on to add, "what if I shared with you something too? It'll make us even on that front." It's a quiet offer. Silent for long seconds, Quinlys' expression is difficult to read, but she is looking at T'gar as she considers, and that's got to be a positive first step. Finally, she gives an unhappy little nod, lifting her fruit to her mouth to eat it. After she swallows: "All right. Do you want to sit? I'd offer you a drink, but..." Clearly it's not an option. While Quinlys is silent, T'gar remains standing and watching her. His gaze stays on her to watch her with the fruit, and he sits at the table with the basket when she offers. Grinning on drinks, "No alcohol," he says with a nod towards the juiceskin. "That's fine. I'm not much of a drinker. Being in this Weyr, this is actually the most I've ever drank before." Settling, his long legs splayed out before him, he says simply, "Talk to me, Red. Unless you want me to start first." Temporarily, it's easy to occupy her hands with other things: two glasses for the juice, pouring, then pulling out a chair for herself and sitting down. It's not only she's settled herself that Quinlys glances back at T'gar. "I'm not used to just sleeping with one person," she says, then, bluntly and with a sigh. "And... it's fine. Most of the time. But then we talk about gold flights, or about just... inviting someone up. And it feels like I'm missing out. C'ris apologised for sleeping with Telavi after a flight." Watching her pour, it's only when Quinlys starts to talk - being blunt, even - that T'gar cuts his gaze to her face as if seeking to gauge her expression. He doesn't interrupt her, merely watching her before he reaches over for one of the glasses to take a savoring sip. Then, "Has he asked for exclusivity?" he asks, barely nodding. "Or is it that he would rather do those things together, with you? Have you guys talked about what it is you both are comfortable with?" "He indicated it was what he wanted. I... agreed. To try it. To try." Quinlys' brow furrows, and her lips purse, as if she's eating a lemon instead of a sweet fruit. "Mivength doesn't chase often. Doesn't catch. It bothered him that I slept with someone afterwards, even if he wasn't available." She seems sad, now, more than anything. "But he pretended otherwise. That's what he does." "That's..." T'gar frowns, studying Quinlys from across the table before trying again. "Honestly, it's noble of you to try. He should see that as a sign to how much you really like him." But. It hangs there between them. "He has to realize that flights happen. That, after flights could happen. Pretending it away isn't going to help things. He didn't make you feel bad or guilty because you slept with someone, did he?" That is what concerns him, and it shows. Quinlys shakes her head, quick, setting curls to bobbing about her shoulders. But it stills again, and she admits, "Nooo... I mean, not really. He said it was fine. I don't feel guilty. I'm sorry it made him sad, but you're right: flights happen. There were complicating factors, in that case, and I'm sure that didn't help, but... he's going to have to get used to it. And I'm going to have to get used to being more circumspect." "So you're upset because he's upset," T'gar tries to phish out, watching her face with interest. Nodding after a pause, "I hear this is a common problem with some weyrmating couples in Weyrs," he muses aloud. " Exclusivity is a hard bit. Not many can do it. I'd like to think he's the sort to be more understanding, being as how he doesn't seem to have a single malicious bone in his body. You think you could maybe talk to him about compromising? Maybe, I don't know, flights being the exception to the rule? Because, even feeling sad about this all isn't really fair on you, either." He drains some of his juice. "That's how I see it, anyway." Quinlys gives a little, unhappy bob of her head by way of confirmation to T'gar's summation, though the rest doesn't seem to make her terribly happy either. "The trouble is that I don't like that look he gets when... when he's upset by something. Or confused. It's like kicking a puppy." She gives T'gar a weak little smile, breaking apart some bread to make crumbs atop of her table. "It's just complicated. And... let's face it, the pregnancy probably hasn't helped." "I don't like the look you have on you're face when you're unhappy and thinking nobody's seen it," T'gar quietly points out in return, a corner of his mouth lifting a little. "I like you happy and I'd go out of my way to make sure you were. The pregnancy didn't help," he agrees, "but you can't turn back now." Leaning forward a bit as he cradles his cup, "As a friend," he says with significance, "I think you should talk to him about this. Maybe throw him a nice dinner here or at his space. Something disarming. Let him know how you feel, because, if I were him? I would want to know. I would want to find that medium for the both of us. Less stressful," and he nods down towards her belly. Quinlys blushes, gaze dropping towards her pile of crumbs rather than focusing upon T'gar; she's visibly embarrassed. "Maybe," she agrees. "No, probably. Definitely. It's... this whole thing is ridiculous. Open relationships for everyone." But that? That's not really serious. Reluctantly, she glances back up at him, giving a tiny, tentative smile. "Thank you. And... I'm sorry." Upon seeing that blush, T'gar can't help the smirk that comes forth as he says, "See? That's how you should look, all the time, Red. I might be trying this friend-thing with you, but I am still a man." Chuckling now, "Open relationships aren't for everyone. Might not be for him. You might have to be ready to accept that from him if that's the case. If you really want things to work out with him." The last gets a shake of his head and a wry, "Hey, I'm just the sounding-board weyrling here. You don't need to apologize for anything. I asked to know." In answer-- and as if to prove that she hasn't completely lost her sense of identity in the wake of all of this touchy-feely crap-- Quinlys sticks out her tongue. "You did. But that still doesn't mean it's necessarily fair, both given you are my weyrling and... everything else. But I appreciate it. I'm glad we can be friends." Beat. "Though you still owe me an admission of your own." Snorting at the tongue, "I won't be one for long," is all T'gar says on him being a weyrling. "Enjoy this chaste version of me while it lasts, Weyrlingmaster. At least you can say that I have impeccable self control after all of this." At least he can joke about it, even. When Quinlys mentions that it's his turn, some of his amusement leeches off as he sits back from the table before inclining his head and saying, "That is the deal. Very well." There's a pause as if considering what to say, and when he next speaks the Bitran accent that he sports is suddenly gone and replaced with something naturally Cromese. "I'm...not from Bitra," he admits now, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm not even from a Hold." There's the air that there's more, but he pauses. Quinlys' eyes only gleam with amusement for his response to her tongue, quite suggesting that-- all issues aside-- she's at least half looking forward to the end of weyrlinghood, and the non-weyrling T'gar (with all that implies). Poor C'ris. But that amusement leeches away as he continues, and though she doesn't seem uncomfortable or concerned, there's a definite serious in her expression as her hands still, and she leans ever so slightly forward. "Where, then? Not actually Crom, obviously." But certainly, she's picked up that shift in accent. "Crom area, if I'm to believe what I was told," T'gar answers on his origins. "My parents didn't really believe in the Hold structure for life so they lived... Outside. Holdless," he explains. "And they weren't exactly good people, if you catch my drift. That's where I came from. You can imagine the...sort of life I've led up to coming here. I guess it's much easier for me to make up that I was from a place everyone knows rather having been born outside some dive. I just happen to be really good with accents." Watching Quinlys curiously in the ensuing pause, "No one knows that here," he tells her now. As in, he rather keep it that way. Quinlys opens her mouth to respond, and then stops again, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide, but it does seem to be more with surprise than anything even remotely related to censure. "I had no idea," she admits. "You... you do a good job of covering it. I can't even begin to imagine how different the Weyr must be from that. And... changing your path. Being a good person, despite it." That she believes without question; obviously T'gar is a good person. She hesitates then, tongue moistening her lips before she adds, hurriedly: "I won't say a word, I promise." There's a slight frown to something Quinlys says, T'gar eyeing his cup for a moment before he meets her gaze once more. "I don't know if I'm a good person," he admits that, his tone the most serious he's been with her. "I don't know what Impressing Asaroth means for me, and, it's something I've been questioning since. I know that I want a good life for myself. I know that I don't want to have to worry about needing to use my fists just to make sure I eat today. I've had to do things, Red," he states, shaking his head. "I've done time for it, too. I just....wanted you to know who I was. Whether you still wanted to deal with me or not. Believe me, I'd understand if you didn't." He even nods to the promise she makes. "I know you're a good person, T'gar," says Quinlys, after another moment's consideration. "Whatever you've done in the past. I can't answer all your questions, but... Impressing Asaroth does mean you'll never need to use your fists to eat. It means you'll never be homeless or without warm clothes or hungry. And if those were your reasons for doing bad things, well... you have a good life for yourself now. And," she continues, absolutely firm. "You're not the first dragonrider to have done time in the past. Taikrin did, too. But she did her time. And so did you. That's the point: afterwards, you're a free person again." Considering his cup before draining the last of his juice, "Maybe I'll believe that someday soon," T'gar says with self-deprecating smile. "Crazier things have happened. I know you're right. Actually thought I wouldn't like it here," he admits, looking about her weyr. "Thought dragonriders were all stuck-up guards on dragons. It's still somewhat true, but, I'm glad I'm here." Taikrin's name earns the touch of recognition on his face before he states, "Yeah, she did. Running her own wing, even. Not too bad for a convict." Curious: "Why'd you come, then?" Quinlys reaches for her own juice, taking a tentative sip from it as one hand, largely hidden beneath the table, moves to rest upon her belly. "Or, for that matter, agree to Stand?" Lifting his head back a little, "I had my reasons," T'gar ventures to say in response to coming. "Ultimately, it was L'rok. He's one of the riders here. I used to fight for marks in small circles outside the Reaches and we would run into each other a few times. When I got out," he delicately explain his stint in the mines, "I had little prospects. I was banned from fighting, since that was part of the reason I was thrown in in the first place. L'rok talked about the Weyr a lot, and an opportunity popped up for me to come check this place out. As for Standing," he adds with a look, "I was curious. At my age, I likely won't be able to Stand again in any Weyr, and I saw the sort of life L'rok has. I wanted that. Even if I hadn't Impressed, at least I can say I tried. My reasons are a bit selfish," he admits. Interested, Quinlys is silent and contemplative as T'gar makes his answer-- but at the end, she outright laughs. "Nothing wrong with that," she acknowledges. "Realistically, riders live a good life in the Interval. Lots of people earn more than us, but... we don't have to work that hard, most of us. We're comfortable, at least as long as the tithes keep coming in. Anyway, I Stood because that's what you do when you're weyrbred, because being a rider is better than mopping floors. So." Laughing a bit with her, "It's the 'good life' part that interests me, yeah," T'gar agrees with a smile. "Not that I don't like fighting, Red. Even now, I miss it sometimes. Miss the rush. I sometimes miss not having to answer to anyone. Being holdless had its perks, too, until you mess up." With some of the tension ebbing from his large frame, "I can't imagine growing up here," he says to her, her demeanor amiable enough. "Even now, the issues that upset you tonight....this whole lifestyle...it's still foreign to me. We holdless lived like traders. There was monogamy like my parents, but others, they did what they wanted. They fucked who they wanted. Might take a longer while getting used to thie Weyr life that you've grown up into." Quinlys' nod is slower, this time: plainly she doesn't really understand T'gar's interest in fighting, though perhaps the rest... "That's one thing a lot of people struggle with," she acknowledges. "Myself included, sometimes. The fact that... once you Impress a dragon, you don't control your destiny. If K'del wants to transfer either of us tomorrow, he can do it, as long as someone is willing to take us." A deep breath follows, as she continues: "There's all kinds of relationships in the Weyr, too. My parents were-- still are-- happily weyrmated. Some riders have no idea who fathered their children. Flights complicate things a lot. Has Asaroth chased, yet?" Noting Quinlys' expression when he speaks of fighting, T'gar's grin hitches up before saying, "Us boys didn't have a whole lot of activities to occupy our time out there. You don't want to know the sort of things my parents had me doing that they believed aided in child-rearing." He frowns a bit at hearing that any of them could be transferred, seeming to not like that one bit. On hearing about her parents, "What do they think about your situation?" he asks then. "I think, in the end, I don't mind weyrmating," he admits slowly. "When I'm older, maybe. I don't see it being a smart move in these times. But with me, flights don't bother me if I'm with someone. Might be because of where I come from. I don't have any of the holdbred mentalities. If I weyrmate and go exclusive, it would be because they're worth that sacrifice." Beat. "Asaroth's chased one time, so far," he speaks on his dragon. "I think he's only into it for the hunt. He doesn't have any favorites like I hear other male dragons might have at his age." "I really don't," want to know, says the bluerider, though she laughs nonetheless. "My parents... frankly, they're still getting over their surprise that I'm providing them a grandchild. My sister already did, but she's at Monaco. Her blue catches his green more often than not, so that isn't an issue, but, well. Weyrbred, right? Flights don't matter. They're not supposed to." But they do. Of sacrifice, however, she doesn't comment. Instead: "Well, you know, then, what it can be like. How it feels, when you're in the middle of it. I like flights. I always have." His laughter easy, "Be lucky that you were born here," T'gar says with a brief raise of his empty cup. "Do you have many sisters or brothers? I have two brothers but I barely know them." On flights, he readily agrees with "No, they don't. They shouldn't. It's not like you have feelings for the person. You're just getting off. Only thing I need to get used to though," he tells Quinlys, "is not being in control. Still. If you like flights, I say you should enjoy them. Especially if Olveraeth likes to chase often." "One older brother, one younger sister, one younger brother," says Quinlys; an easy recitation. "The older brother is a Starcrafter, and the other two Impressed. I was even one of the weyrlingmasters when my brother Impressed-- that was weird." As weird as sitting here, chatting, to one of her weyrlings... though perhaps that is now feeling increasingly less weird. "Mm, the control thing never bothered me; Olly and I, though, we're close. It's not often he chases someone I'm absolutely not interested in." She stifles a yawn with her hand, now, though not effectively. Reluctantly, "I should make you leave. Growing people is exhausting, unfortunately. But... thank you." "Teaching your own sibling," T'gar whistles to that one. "I bet it was hard not to abuse your rank to goad them. Makes me wonder how often something like that occurs." All the same, Quinlys tries to hide the yawn, he's up from the chair. "I hope me and Asaroth get close enough like that," he says aloud on flights. "I wouldn't want him to put me with someone I didn't really like." Pause. "I should go," he says then, nodding a few times as he stretches to his full height. "You probably need more sleep these days." He steps away from the table towards the ledge, her thanks drawing a genuine grin from him as he says in return, "Anytime, Red." "N'qui would probably tell you I still abuse my rank to goad him," says Quinlys, with more amusement than grumpiness, though she does roll her eyes for her brother's position; from the sounds of it, they have a complicated relationship. "I think... relationships are one thing that you keep working on forever, whatever people say. It doesn't end just because weyrlinghood is over. So... I wish you luck." She stands, gaze following T'gar as he takes his first steps. "Thanks," she repeats, more quietly this time, but genuine nonetheless; her hand rests upon the lower curve of her increasingly-obvious belly, her eyes solemn and serious as she watches the bronzerider leave. She means it. "Not how that bronze of mine sees it," T'gar says on dragon-rider relationships - his Bitran accent effectively back in place, but his amusement is lingering over Quinlys' own relationship with her brother. Heading towards the ledge now, he only pauses to look back with a nod and a "Thanks, too. I'm glad you know." About him, presumably, but then, he's gone. |
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