Logs:More than Mediocre
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 23 December, 2015 |
| Who: Quint, Alysce |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint's going to the Hall for a few days; Alysce isn't. |
| Where: Craft Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
  |
| Alysce has been a good apprentice, lately, but one has to attribute that to the plague, unfortunately. Without gathers to run off to and with dragonriders unable to ferry her around at her request, she's been confined to the Weyr. Her energy has finally, eventually spilled over into her work, producing many pieces of music even if they are predictable and easy works. Her ability to write lyrics has improved with the practice, however, and it seems to be what she's doing now: her dark head is bent over a piece of hide, ink dripping from the end of her quill as she hovers over the next word as she remains curled up in one of those fuzzy armchairs even as evening draws on High Reaches and many gather in Snowasis to drink. She isn't even paying attention to one of the handsome smith apprentices talking with his Journeyman nearby. Quint, too, has been different since the plague began, though his has a slightly different reason: one that Alysce is likely to guess, given she met his mother and sister while they were posted at Boll Hold. Ten days ago he arrived adragonback from Boll along with a subdued-by-comparison Gizzy, and without his mother. Coincidentally, in the last seven he's been assigning more in-class teaching to Alysce and sometimes even leaving her alone -- although only with the older children. He's encouraging of Alysce's work, though there's been no pieces of hers yet that he let her play with an audience other than himself or occasionally Ryneton. He's wearing his typical harper colors, striding in with familiar grace, gaze sweeping the room and taking note of Alysce's presence, steps slowing as he notices where her attention is -- and is not. With a twist of lips, he alters his path to take him towards the apprentice, choosing the seat across from hers and slipping into it, wordlessly reclining in a picture of repose. There is a sudden flurry of Alysce's quill. A line gets viciously drawn through a word a few stanzas before her current, replaced in a quick scrawl before she returns to her current verse to finish it with another jotted word. The whole hide is like that; it would be easier if she were to use a sand table, but cost doesn't seem to have factored in, yet. It's only after she finishes that her gaze draws up to Quintus, as if she knew he were there before she looks. "You'll have to look this over when I'm done," she tells him as a greeting. "I don't really have any music in mind to set it to. You probably have something I could use." Well, she hasn't changed completely~~ "I will," the Journeyman allows with an ease that suggests she needn't even ask. "I might have something," Quint allows, before he amends, "It's a lovely day outside, and you're inside, writing. Has Ryneton been getting to you again? You know I keep telling you you oughn't try and compete with him." "So are you," Alysce counters teasingly, the end of her quill lifted to her lips in a habitual gesture to draw attention there. "But if I invited you out for a drink, you'd just say no, anyways." It seems for a moment as if she won't address the subject of Ryneton, but then she rolls a shoulder upwards in a small shrug. "He's not. He is what he is, right? Good. Special." "I haven't your," Quint gestures expressively towards his apprentice, "Youth," with a quirk of lips. The slight shift of posture suggests a positive answer to her guess about his potential acceptance of drinks. "Ask me again at Turnover. One ought to make an exception then, if any time." His fingers tap lightly against the arm of the chair while blue eyes consider Alysce. "He has natural talent," the older harper allows. "But you can't fault that he still works hard. Have you heard from your parents?" Since the plague, presumably. "They sent word. They are alive. Father's writing a new ballad about the loss, after I am sure he spent the whole of it isolated in his rooms," replies Alysce dryly, rolling her eyes as she lets the hide and then pen fall into her lap. "The perks of being important, isn't it?" For a moment, her dark eyes show something bitter, jaded before she turns away from Quint's lighter eyes to finally appreciate the smith there. That is who she watches when she adds carelessly, "I know he works hard. It doesn't change anything. If anything, it makes it worse." "That sounds like the safest course of action," is Quint's easy response, head tipping briefly as he continues to study his apprentice. "If one is not in a position to contribute, one is better off not making it worse, no?" Straighten, he leans forward, marginally. "I'm heading back to the Hall for a few days, tomorrow. You should come with me, let them know you're ok in person." He notices the cut away of her gaze, but he doesn't follow it. "People are complicated," he says in an quiet undertone, instead, not necessarily in defense of her father. "You and he... relationships are difficult. Your father is still alive, and you still have an opportunity to change that relationship." "No." The single word cracks slightly, and Alysce still can't meet Quint's gaze as she answers it so quickly despite his own recent loss. But then she does look back, complete with tossing her hair over her shoulder as she swings her attention back to her Journeyman with a smile. "No, take Ryneton. Show off your precious, talented apprentice. If they wanted to see me--." That smile disappears as she presses her lips together into a tight line. "If you want to take me anywhere, you can take me to the next gather. Now that Healer has declared the plague over, I'm sure that will be any day now." There's a slight thinning of lips, practically a scowl in the naturally cheerful default expression of Quint's. "I'm not asking Ryneton. I'm asking you." His fingers still, gaze meeting hers. "Would you have preferred to lose him?" He deliberately avoids talk of a gather, focusing on the topic at hand. "I don't care, Quint," Alysce replies with practiced carelessness, shrugging up her shoulder lightly. "I'm not going." Her chin tilts stubbornly, meeting her Journeyman's displeasure with the attitude of apparent disinterest that only a teenager can pull off. But she adds, just to drive her own point home, "Do you want to know who sent word? My father's apprentice. Not my father, not my mother. Two stupid lines, 'Master Allent is alive and well. Your mother and her family are as well.'" Quint's gaze goes ceiling-wards. "So," he muses, thoughtfully, "You're going to sit here at High Reaches Weyr pouting, instead of taking the opportunity to remind the powers that be at the Hall that you exist, that you are Master Allent's daughter, and that, some Turnover, they ought to recall your name for promotion?" He tilts his head, as gaze drops again. "That seems counter-productive. But," with a twist of lips, "What do I know?" Alysce's dark eyes narrow at him but her chin still holds that stubborn tilt as she answers dryly, "Yes. Yes, I am." Her gaze flicks away as well, but when it returns to him, she seems to have forgotten to keep glaring. Instead, she lets out a soft breath. "I honestly don't care, Quint, if I ever get promoted. I'm happy being your apprentice. And especially since I know it will annoy him if I don't walk the tables until well past the normal age." "So the extent of your plan is to follow me all over Pern, and never seek anything greater?" Quint's lips purse, before he leans forward: is voice is soft, with the intention that it doesn't carry behind the pair of them. "Aiming for mediocrity is not what I'd expect out of an apprentice of mine. Doing so in some futile attempt to gain the attention of your father is sabotaging your own future to spite someone that might not ever even notice. Alysce," his gaze is serious, expression intently interested in the response, "Don't you want to one day be your own woman? Have postings of your own?" "What's so wrong with that?" Alysce questions defensively in counter of Quint's own question, her arms moving to cross her chest as she leans back in her chair in the same defensive posture rather than leaning forward to be closer. "We both know that I am mediocre. Shit, I don't want a posting of my own. It'd be inane and boring and I would be horrible at it, anyways." A pause, and her dark eyes fall over the journeyman, looking for something as she adds: "Besides. I like you. What's so wrong with following you?" Quint holds her gaze, just as he holds his posture and the timbre of his voice is unchanged, determined, yet soft: "Because I don't want to see you spend Turns of your life on something if it's not what you want. Especially when I think you could be more than mediocre, if you wanted to be." Something ripples briefly across the Journeyman's expression at her addition, though his voice is unchanged as he answers her question with another of his own: "Do you think of yourself as a harper?" Quint's words only evoke more stubbornness in Alysce, her lips tightening. It's only shocked away by the question, replaced with a flicker of surprise as she asks, "What? Of course I am a harper. I have the knot and everything." With a dismissive wave of his hand, Quint counters: "The knot is merely a knot; it doesn't represent who you are. The knot can be discarded. What is in here," he taps fingers against his chest, "Less readily." A beat. "If you didn't have the knot, how would you introduce yourselves to people? How would you define Alysce?" "Are you going to take my knot away, Quint? Is that it? Do you not want me as an apprentice anymore, now that you have Ryneton?" is how Alysce answers, a sharp edge to her words and defensive again despite his soft tone. "It doesn't matter--. I am Alysce. But there's no craft for that, and I wouldn't want to be a Holder or have to be bound to a dragon, so." "That's not what I said," Quint corrects, firmly and quickly. He gestures towards the hides, "You've been writing a lot, lately. If you're not going to come with me to the Hall, you have an assignment while I'm gone. I want you to write a song that expresses who Alysce, the person, not the harper, is. I expect you to be forthright. I don't want you to write what you think I want to hear. I want the truth." It's not often that Alysce agrees to extra work without a fight, but apparently stuck between the choice of the Hall or the assignment, the apprentice drawls out a, "Fine, then." Her teeth, however, worry at her bottom lip as she eyes Quintus, thoughtful. She finally asks, "Why are you going to the Hall? You're not-- asking for a different post or apprentice, are you?" If her Journeyman is disappointed by the decision, it isn't visible in his expression. Quint, being a harper after all, merely smiles enigmatically at her question. "If you were coming, you'd find out. You've made your choice, Alysce." He pushes to his feet. "I'll discuss with the other Journeymen, you'll be assigned a greater share of classes while I'm gone." To keep her busy, presumably. "Sometimes, you're an asshole, Quint," Alysce replies dryly, but not without a depth of underlying affection for the man that makes the statement pointless. She doesn't try to pursue answers that she knows she's not getting, instead lifting her gaze to follow him as he stands. "If they need me. There are enough of them to handle the workload without you or me, and I might just get in the way." "Indeed," Quint agrees, with barely a pause, even grinning at her. "Don't let that get around, though." He makes a clucking sound as he stoops to press a hand onto Alysce's shoulder. "It's as much about your own learning as need. At the very least, you should step in for me to make me feel less expendable," he says, with a quirk of lips. Alysce's fingers lift to brush over Quint's hand, as long as its there, prolonging the contact as she cranes to look up at him with a brief smile of her own. "Well, then, hurry back before they notice that you're expendable," she counters instead. "I will." Quint lingers a moment longer, gaze on his apprentice. "Would you -- check in on Gizzy while I'm gone? She's still settling in to things here -- as much as taking the same job provides continuity, she doesn't know anyone here aside from you and me." "Of course," promises Alysce sincerely, growing serious for the moment as she straightens under that gaze. "I'll make sure to pop in every day while you're gone. Maybe get her to go out and meet the locals with me." That last is offered with a reassuring smile. "You're a good girl. Thank you." Quint's fingers squeeze briefly against her shoulder again before his hand drops away. If he's worried about what his apprentice's interpretation of meet the locals means, he's probably confident enough in his sister's ability to handle herself not to comment. "I'll catch you up when I'm back from the Hall. Good night, Alysce." "G'night," Alysce says, only a touch of wistfulness as his fingers fall away and it's clear that good night is all she's getting. Her gaze slides briefly to the smith apprentice again, instead. |
Leave A Comment