Logs:All Sorts of Opportunity
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| RL Date: 9 March, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn and Leova share a picnic lunch in Keroon. |
| Where: Keroon Hold |
| When: Day 23, Month 3, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jounine/Mentions, U'sot/Mentions, Via/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated. |
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| It's easy to get busy and let things fall between the requirements of the day-to-day, but Jocelyn hasn't, apparently, forgotten about their last in-depth conversation. Halfway through the seven, Aidavanth contacts Vrianth with a warm, pleasantly illuminated invitation for the four of them to enjoy an afternoon lunch somewhere that isn't snowy if their restdays coincide. Keroon is considerably more pleasant, with longer days and a comfortable, breezy warmth that's excellent for picnics. It's enough for Jocelyn to tug uncomfortably at her collar when Aidavanth emerges into the climate change and have her flight jacket halfway undone by the time the orange-gold wings steadily down to a landing at their chosen destination, a grassy knoll that's considerably closer to the Red Butte than the hold proper. With her hair casually pulled back and clothing, looser and seasonally appropriate, she wastes little time in unpacking the basket so carefully secured for their trip between, busying herself with spreading a selection of meat, cheese, bread and small finger foods; her expression, at least for once, relaxed. Vrianth circles and swoops through that warmer sky, between-hardened snowflakes skittering and melting off her wings before ever they touch ground. Though a flow of electric current assures Aidavanth she'll bring her rider soon enough, Vrianth's nothing like immediate. The ground can wait. The dusk is beginning to fall. Just a little longer... until it isn't, and the green at last leaves Leova off with the sack she'd brought, if only to re-ascend. The greenrider has several greenlengths, long Vrianth-lengths, to walk. She shakes out the blanket as she does, with a one-cornered smile for the delay and for the welcome. "Good to get out." Between between and being packed tightly in the way of well-wrapped items that have spent some time in cold storage, the food easily remains chilled while the goldrider finishes setting up, rounding out the spread with a cold skin and two, earthenware cups. Still, Jocelyn straightens to her feet when Leova (finally) comes into view, expression faintly amused. "It rather is, isn't it?" replies the redhead who often does her best hermit-like impression in her off-hours, tilting a glance upward before settling pale eyes again on the greenrider. "I've never really minded the cold, but I have to admit that there's something appealing about being able to go somewhere that isn't for a short time." There's a considering look for her friend as she reseats herself on the ground, then: "I'm glad you came." Now that the blanket's free of 'Reaches dust-have-you, Leova's folding it back up again, this time into a squatter cushion that she drops to sit upon. Her jacket gets folded and set alongside. "It feels colder at Tillek. When the sea wind gets you. Good day? Not too many weyr-swappings, I hope." And, with a two-cornered smile this time, "Glad you made it happen." She glances at the food, but then past it, as though there might be more of something stashed away. "Mm, " and Jocelyn reaches over to put together a sandwich, more to give her hands something to do rather than to actually eat it, since it's a slow, almost too-methodical process. "I don't think this would be quite as comfortable on the shore, no." There's a little eyeroll for 'good day, ' although it's followed by a wry curve of the mouth, an almost-grin. Practically, of her day thus far, "Good enough. Productive, even, although there's certainly enough time yet for those things to change." Her lips twitch faintly. "Me too. There's never enough time in the day, is there." Her neck cranes slightly while she tries to follow Leova's line of sight, eyebrows lifting in a silent inquiry after she gives up and returns her attention to neatly arranging what's atop the slice of bread before her. A low chuckle. A nod. And, with humor, "No work? Really." Leova rubs her hands over her bent knees, then sets about doing the same with her own beginnings of a meal. The breeze ruffles what's long hair for her, just past her jaw rather than rider-short, dark auburn rather than the rust the sun will add later in the Turn. Prosaically, "Not that I don't, at times. No more risk than taking it up to my weyr." Up. Jocelyn's little smile turns self-deprecating for that, accompanied by a dry, short laugh. "Technically, we're supposed to have a restday. I usually ignore it and try to get more done, " probably not surprising, "but it seems as good of a day as any to work on some administrative matters of a - personal nature." Sandwich composed, she unstops the skin next, pouring a cupful of spring-cold water before nudging the remainder in Leova's direction. There's a careful bite of her creation, a pleased look, then another. "I asked Jounine for advice on selecting an assistant, " she reveals at some length, "despite the fact that I'd prefer not to have one." But as this isn't the Marvel-verse, it just might help her in the long run if she did. "She had some good recommendations, solid enough choices from our lower caverns." Pause. "And her niece, who, as I understand it, lives somewhere thataway, " with a vague wave at some distant point behind them. "She'd be an outsider, " which elicits a wrinkle of her nose, "but that could be an advantage." Leova's own curious look doesn't press, and when it's answered anyway, fills with interest. After Jocelyn's done, and she's done chewing, "Could be," she agrees. "Could go either way. Though, can't think Jounine," of all people, "would recommend someone who she couldn't see fitting. Not the sort to apt to squeal, 'ooh, Weyrs,'" said in quite the deadpan tone for all the phrasing. "What do you know you want?" "No, she wouldn't." Jocelyn, with surety. And, "I trust her judgment. She thinks the girl won't be the sort to squeal, as you put it." While cups make excellent, convenient methods by which one can hide her expression, the redhead is quick to raise and lower hers, brows drawing together thoughtfully. "Someone who won't simper, squeal or sink into the floor because she's afraid of me at every turn, " is delivered matter-of-factly. "I'd prefer someone capable, with a good head on her shoulders who's willing to work. If I need help with looking the part from time to time, " dry, "I can easily get that from someone else who doesn't have to be around me constantly. Someone discreet, who can think on her feet and doesn't need to be told what needs doing every five minutes. I saw enough of those while I was an assistant headwoman to last me for turns." No, the girl who gets the role won't find a patient superior. "Or squeal secrets," is Leova's other way of putting it, even as she listens. "Mm. Good luck with that. Those girls you saw... any of 'em seem trainable? Change their ways, that you saw, as Turns went by? Or is it who they were, that's all they'd ever be." She hitches a shoulder. "Like to think the Weyr wouldn't wind up that way, assistants aside." "Or squeal secrets, " Jocelyn agrees with a wiggle of her sandwich. "For some of them, it might just be that they're young. I still think experience makes for one of the better teachers, and no matter how capable someone is, it can't always compensate for some things that can only come with time." Wryly, "People watching has its uses. Someone observant enough with that should do well here, with Jounine, or elsewhere as she chooses. The weyr, " elicits a careful exhale, "this weyr will always, I think, draw willful people. High Reaches folk are hardy and resilient. Everyone knows that they're expected to pull their weight, native or not, and if they don't - they'll learn how, one way or another, or find somewhere that suits them better if weyrlife doesn't live up to their romantic expectations." It's not truly as simple as all that, but there's an answering shrug to fill in what goes unspoken, gray gaze steady. People can, after all, grow and change as many often do. Young has Leova's mouth tucking together, an added light in those amber eyes. "It does that. Observant, I like that. Sounds like you'd rather not have to do all too much training, just now? and no reason not to be choosy, beyond ruling 'em all out." She hesitates. "As for moving, though. It isn't... hm. Always achievable, in a practical sense and not 'if only they try hard enough,' to find somewhere that 'suits them.' Negotiating a place as'll take them, even if they can talk a rider to fly transport. References. A place, and a job as doesn't have seven generations of mothers and daughters lined up for the spot. Wonder a little about her family's letting her join a Weyr, come to that... Is she married?" "Some traits can't be trained, " Jocelyn feels the need to point out, making a face for the remainder of Leova's reply but acknowledging it nonetheless with a simple, "True enough." She shifts a little, sliding previously crossed legs outward to better stretch out and wiggle booted feet. "Jounine says that she's engaged. She'll be married in two turns and settle in another cothold here in Keroon." Yes, she asked, says that subsequent, knowing glance. "She apparently wants to see more of the world before then, and there are certainly worse ways to go about it than working at a weyr. There's always the risk that she'll let something slip to the husband once she's left the job, if she were given it, and that he could have connections with intentions to act against us - " She clears her throat. With reluctance, "But that's a risk with anyone, and I can't eliminate all potential assistants based on that alone." Alas. The tip of Leova's head goes along with that point. The sudden smile, that's for the face. The sun catches her aslant as she eats with those neat, even bites, casting a long shadow past her blanket-cushion and disappearing into the uneven grass. "Her husband, her best friend. Her new best friend." This smile has sympathy, but not just sympathy, tied up with it. Her words are slow. "Hope she'd be loyal, Jocelyn, her aunt and all. Long engagement, seems to me. But. Might be they do that different too, 'round here. Why do you reckon they're willing, he's willing, to have her come to the Weyr?" "He's not yet her husband, " Jocelyn replies at some length, after working a bit on her own sandwich. "Jounine says that she wants to see more of the world before she's married and settled down to begin her life in her own cothold. She's eighteen. If she's as smart as her aunt, she'll appreciate an opportunity to learn and observe things she'll likely never get to witness again - and I get the impression that most parents want what's best for their children. I suppose it's a safe enough way to experience more of wider Pern, " curses and plots aside, "and there are far worse ways one could go about it. She wouldn't be entirely cut off from her family, either. Can't speak for elsewhere, but here she'd have the headwoman's protection." And hers, if their meeting went satisfactorily. "Mm." Speculative. "Hope so. It is all sorts of opportunity." Leova leans, shaking crumbs off into the grass. Rubs her palms to dislodge any finer particles. Stays leaning, this time to run a green strand between thumb and forefinger before letting it spring back. She still watches it. "Via's settled in, at Harper." Jocelyn mumbles something that's probably an affirmative, nodding some minutes after in confirmation while she makes the rest of her lunch disappear. Eyes more blue than gray consider the older woman silently while she chews, swallows, finishes off her cup of water. Finally, "Is she transitioning well?" Unspoken: Is Leova? Finally enough that Leova has... not put the grass out of its misery. Not moved on to the next. Just let it stand, tall, touched, unbruised. But she's eyeing it. "Seems to be." Amber eyes refocus on Jocelyn's, a slow slide with her head still tipped. "As much as they do. Nightmares and such." Via's, at the least. "Not that she wrote of them," and that wry. "Time may help, " Jocelyn supposes in a similar tone, fiddling with the now-empty cup in her hands. She won't probe, but she will lift her eyebrows a hair afterward, expression even. "Surely they wouldn't refuse her, " or you, "an hour or two to visit." There's a look tipped upward to dark skies that are now sporting stars, pinpoint bright. "As peaceful as this is, I can't cancel my entire afternoon, " even if the notion is occasionally tempting. Regretfully, she leans forward to begin gathering up their lunch ingredients. "Timing," Leova provides answer and variation combined, flecked with a little more hope but quiet. She does what's left to help. "Was a good idea, Joce. Going to stay out longer. Got a meeting with U'sot later, want her to burn more energy off." A little tired, that. More energy. Again. She rises too, though: this energy will be burned off together. "That man needs to go south yesterday and let you take over the program, " Jocelyn sniffs while finishing her wrapping, casting a side look with an arched eyebrow at Vrianth's. "I have at least some sympathy for someone who's unwilling to let go of their reins, as I know I wouldn't want to go quietly in his shoes - unless, of course, I were shown that it would result in a better, stronger contribution to the weyr if someone else continued my work." Amber eyes flick Jocelyn's way, uncharacteristically wide. Leova sinks back on her heels in the soft ground before bending to scoop up the blanket. "It's not on him," the dragonhealer says, low. "Well. Don't know as he'd want to go South, more'n just a day or five. But. The rest." The blanket requires careful folding. "He'd hand over those reins, but I've got the wing, and Vrianth... You know she don't take to sitting." There's a little, acknowledging tilt of Jocelyn's chin for Leova's response, but her look is still pointed, lips pursed. "Your approach and his wouldn't have to be the same even if you had his job. Why couldn't you work in enough going and doing to keep Vrianth happy, too?" It must be a rhetorical query, as she moves afterward to secure her basket and its packages to Aidavanth for the flight home, shrugging back into her flight jacket and helmet with a face for the heat generated by the additional layers. "True." Reluctant. Leova's slower to rug up, slowest to reply to that last. "She wants her... gang," is the only word she has for the helmet. "Exerting, competing, and sweeps to wear her out. Too much pride for Sleet, and she'd outrun them besides. It's not," a break, "compatible." "There must be a compatible, " to use Leova's term, "wing with a leader that would be flexible enough to allow you to do both, " opines the helmet's owner, whose dragon snakes her head around - so large in adulthood unlike those measurements of last spring! - to aim aquamarine eyes at the older rider with a soft vocalization. "I imagine it'd be a small enough price to pay in the long run to keep your capabilities in their ranks. Both of you." Up Jocelyn clambers, fiddling with straps, buckles, checks before Aidavanth even pushes to her feet. Leova's gaze has lifted to Aidavanth, that head, those eyes, that sound. "Have to be awfully flexible," she says roughly. Vrianth's circling in, waiting. But, "Clear skies," she calls up to the younger woman and steps aside, so the other two have all the room they need. She and Vrianth, they won't get back to the Weyr for quite some time. |
Comments
Alida (01:53, 20 March 2016 (PDT)) said...
Ilicaeth can sit like a stone for hours. Except for that tail tip(s). ;)
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