Logs:Play Acting
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| RL Date: 13 December, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn comes to bring Ethran a gift. |
| Where: Farideh's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 7, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Ethran/Mentions, Drex/Mentions, Sevesa/Mentions |
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| Having mostly kept to herself since she moved into one of the vacant junior queens' weyrs, what glimpses of Jocelyn come from weyrwoman meetings and chance passings in the corridors are slight ones, perhaps, but enough for the increasing workload and some stress to show in her distracted, often tight-lipped expressions. Congratulations were relayed following the news of Farideh's delivery, but the weyrling, true to her nature, hasn't made any further, demonstrative overtures. Aidavanth's warm presence reaching out to her mother is hardly unusual, but her insertion mid-conversation of, « Jocelyn would like to visit your Farideh after drills this afternoon, if she is free, » is a request that hasn't been heard often. And after Flurry finishes with their scheduled duties for the day, the redhead takes the steps not to her own ledge, but to Roszadyth's, pausing just before the entrance with an uncharacteristically uncertain look. Roszadyth accepts the request on behalf of her other half, with her typical graciousness and gentle warmth. That much later, the queen is vacant from her ledge, but the other weyrwoman is within the hearth-warmed weyr. Everything has become more tidy with the help of a second assistant, bringing Farideh's total to two once more; they keep all areas within the weyr clean, organized, and presentable for guests. Tonight, Farideh is lounging on her couch, legs tucked under her reddish-violet skirt. She's holding a glass of wine and studying a picture book that's open in lap, which is much favorable to the pile of hides sitting on her coffee table that, doubtless, still need her attention. Nowhere in sight is Drex, or the baby, or even a nanny! It's quiet, save for the crackle of the fire in the grate and paper sliding against paper whenever the goldrider turns a page. "You and Irianke keep your weyrs much too warm, " is Jocelyn's brisk greeting once she's through the entryway, but there's a wry twitch at the corners of her mouth to soften words that otherwise sound annoyed, even if her now-smooth expression is anything but. There's an appraising sort of look cast about the weyr at large before she moves to perch on the edge of the seat of one of those nearby chairs, fingers drumming in silent pattern over the upholstery. Her "You look well, " is pushed out in one breath, even as a cautious glance darts toward the more private section of the weyr. "How - I heard he's healthy." Being awkward to the nth degree around children or the subject thereof might explain why she's abruptly depositing a small, well-worn comfort object onto the low table. It's a stuffed ovine that's certainly seen better days, but it's clean and still soft, even if it's missing an eye. Gruffly, "You probably have enough of these already." "Hm?" Hazel eyes lift from the delicately drawn flowers on the page to the younger goldrider, a question both in her eyes and on parted lips. "I suppose. They tell me I've recovered well. I still have months yet to go-- and Irianke, well, she's being safe, conservative with not letting me fly yet. I feel mostly fine. It's only a problem if I do too much," Farideh sighs, closing the book and setting it onto the couch beside her. "Ethran? Perfectly healthy. Ten fingers and ten toes. Chubby, now. Happy, but he gets mad fast." Something quality of her voice softens in talking about her son, though it isn't overtly apparent. "This?" She reaches out to take hold on the stuffed animal, squishing it between her fingers with a laugh. "No. Not yet. Blankets, booties, and all manner of frivolous thing, but not-- he'll love it. Thank you, Jocelyn," she says, smiling. Jocelyn studies her former roommate, one shoulder lifting into a brief shrug. "It sounds like quite the ordeal to have a recovery that long." No, she won't be rushing to sign up for the experience any time soon. Sensibly, "You'll know better than anyone where your stamina is. It's good that you're taking things easier." That last is delivered drily, with an expression to match; it's clear, even during her training, that there's practically no such thing for them as being able to take it easy. There might be something of a sympathetic scrunch of her nose for the concept of baby Ethran's speedy temper swings, focus dropping to Farideh's acceptance of the toy with a small exhale. "It was mine a long time ago, " she says somewhat stiffly, "and I've had little use for it for turns." It's perhaps telling that she never relinquished it back to the nursery or to the stores, but she seems pleased by the change in ownership. "I do not recommend it. It's painful and-- messy." Farideh's nose wrinkles up appropriately, as the unsavory ordeal is recalled to mind. "I don't see how women do it over and over again. It's so-- so-- time consuming, both then and now, and my body--" Another face, but she cuts herself off and lets her feet drop to the ornate rug covering the floor. "Are you sure? If it's yours? Doesn't it hold any sentimentality?" Despite the words, she holds it to her chest, cradling it like she might cradle her babe. "Ethran might be too little for it yet, but he can sleep with it in his cradle at least." "Painful and messy, " parrots Jocelyn with an only slightly exaggerated shudder. "I'll pass, thanks." There's a mirrored nose-wrinkle for Farideh's elaboration on childbirth, even if her features soften a smidgen at the other's query. "It - was important, once upon a time. I can't see myself - " Having children? Being maternal? A dismissive wave fills in the blank, followed by the sound of her clearing her throat. "I decided I should give it to a friend's child some day. I'm sure he can put it to good use." Is that a hesitant little pause over the word 'friend?' Whatever the shift in her tone, it's tiny and gone as quickly as it came, tucked neatly away behind a crisper, "I heard you found replacements for your assistants. I'm beginning to gain a more immediate understanding of why you - we - would need them. Even though I'm still in training, it's challenging to find the time and energy to keep my weyr as clean as I feel it should be." And it's so much larger than an assistant headwoman's room. "Irianke will be disappointed to hear it," Farideh says, not concealing the laughter behind her eyes. "We will treasure it. Does it have any significance?" She drops her eyes to the stuffed animal, turning it around in her hands and examining its shape. "Children have security comforts, I believe. Lots of children in the nursery to. Softies, blankets, toys." Lifting her eyes to Jocelyn, she smiles again. "I can barely tell them apart, but yes. You'll find your own uses-- you may want one for one thing and another for another. They keep me on task and help make some things less boring. They do the menial things I just don't have time to. When I can go between again, the new girl, Sevesa, is an expert with a brush and some pins. Have you gotten used to the idea yet? Of playing-- the part?" "No doubt, " Jocelyn replies wryly, arms folding across her chest, "but I certainly don't plan on reproducing any time soon." Or at all, goes unspoken. "He was definitely all of that to me when I was small. I was still dragging him around with me when I was somewhere around five. He listened." Her brow pinches a fraction after she finishes speaking; perhaps she didn't quite mean to offer that last sentence for consumption. Assistants are a far safer subject, so she gratefully gravitates back to that topic with haste. "I can see the usefulness of having one to help keep the outer portion of my weyr tidy, " she concedes at some length, "but I don't want someone to - brush my hair or go through my desk." As for playing the part? Her expression darkens, shoulders held stiffly before she releases a breath. "No." It's a simple, exasperated admission. "The harpers say that I'm much improved at dancing and practicing formal etiquette. Irianke says that I'll need 'clothes befitting my station.' I like my clothes just fine, but - " There's an almost-sigh. "It seems like so much of this is about acting, Farideh. I'm not good at pretending to be something that I'm not. I'll learn what she feels I should learn, of course; I lost the ability to choose months ago. But forever questioning people's motivations, their intentions - " Here, she breaks off, permitting herself to look and sound troubled to a fellow weyrwoman. In a near monotone, "The ballads make it sound so glorious." "Hire someone for the occasion, then, or you can borrow Sevesa whenever you have a need for it. Faranth knows it's hard finding someone in this Weyr who knows how to do more than a braid." Farideh self-consciously runs her fingers through her shoulder-length hair. "I'm not going to be much help for you in that department. I know how to play the part because I am the part, but I am no more good at acting than you. I'm not good at hiding my emotions, but you-- you're practical, Jocelyn. It should be easy once you let your reservations fly." She waves a hand in the air, offering an amicable smile to soften what comes next. "It is our duty to the Weyr, to be what it needs us to be. Politics are as important to its sustainability as rationing and the stores. Deals can be brokered, alliances made when we most need them, if only you know how to walk the walk and talk the talk. Think of it like a dance-- sometimes, a dangerous one. We're all players and if your strategy is just right-- but you should look to Irianke for those types of things. She is the very best," is only slightly wry, "as those types of maneuvers." "Surely a braid and some pins would suffice for most occasions, " Jocelyn sniffs. Her own hair, which usually precedes her into the room, is probably due for another cut in the near future. It's getting several inches past her chin, where weyrlinghood has kept it in recent months. "My reservations, " and her tone shades distinctly wry for the word, "would need a pair of wings, first." Her attempt to inject a small amount of levity into their conversation gets couched into a more sober look for what follows, features set into the resignation that's been present all too frequently lately. "I'd rather think of it as how to manage a situation. That makes sense to me." And dancing, apparently, does not. "A braid?" Farideh is caught between being indignant and laughter. "You'll look like the common cotholder's daughter from down the lane. No one would take you seriously, if you shoed up to a formal ball or gather with your hair in a rider's braid." She sighs. She rolls her eyes. She gives Jocelyn a considerate, if impatient, study. "You can think of it however you need to, to resign yourself to the situation. You may be Weyrwoman one day. You need this particular skillset." "It wouldn't have to be down, " Jocelyn says, a touch defensively. "People pin their hair up with braids to make it look more fancy, don't they?" One hand lifts to pinch at the bridge of her nose while she pushes to her feet; Weyrwoman is a possibility that she looks unwilling to properly entertain for the moment. "I know, " is offered after some minutes. There's no defeat in her voice, but it's in the way her hands ball into loose fists at her sides, the quiet, "I should get some more studying in before dinner." "Pinning your hair up--" Farideh falters and frowns, taking in the other goldrider's posture. "I'm sorry, Jocelyn. Forgive me? You came to offer a gift and I reprimanded you." She holds the stuffed toy to her chest again and nods once. "I understand. Thank you for coming by and checking on us. Ethran will get the toy, soon. We'll take good care and it, and Jocelyn?" Almost hesitantly, she offers, "I'm always here to help if you have a question or you need someone to listen." It appears, she did hear that bit. Jocelyn doesn't exactly wave off the apology, but there's a small nod for Farideh even so. "No need. I could have been clearer. I - appreciate your help." Those words sound difficult to get out, but they do see the light of day. Of her fellow rider's offer, "There are benefits to being neighbors. Even without dragons, we wouldn't have far to go." So perhaps, that goes both ways. "Good afternoon, Farideh." Somewhere in there might be a 'goodbye' and 'thank you, ' for she's already heading to her own weyr afterward. The wine glass, so easily cast off, returns to Farideh's hand in a tradeoff with the stuffed animal, which she sets on the coffee table. Her eyes follow Jocelyn out until she cannot see the other goldrider anymore, and then she releases a pent up sigh. Emotion unvoiced, words unspoken, but the wine will not go to waste, at least. |
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