Logs:Ring Around The Rosie
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| RL Date: 4 June, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, Quint, Ethran |
| Involves: High Reaches Area, High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Quint go 'round and 'round. |
| Where: Tillek Hold |
| When: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snow. |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions |
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| Tillek is a white, wintry wonderland, from snow-covered earth to the frosted tents and banners set out in the gather grounds. It's early in the day yet when a contigent from High Reaches Weyr arrives, complete with an assortment of riders. "Stop-- you're going to catch your death if you don't--" Farideh sighs and gives up on trying to secure the buttons on her toddler son's coat, leaving the precocious child's nanny to chase after the too-quick one turn old. She watches as they dash away into the crowd, wearing an expression of dissatisfaction, despite the jovial attitudes of her comrades nearby; they, at least, look like they've come to enjoy what diversions Tillek has to offer. But the goldrider, already annoyed, declines their offer to join, and instead meanders slowly after Ethran and his nanny, snuggling her chin down into the down of her fluffed collar. It's too early in the day for dancing, yet, though a couple of the hold's harpers are setting up instruments, strumming more in practice than earnestly from their post near the dance floor, the faint sounds drifting out across the gather as a pleasant backdrop. For now, the rotunda that forms the centerpiece of the gather is host to other early risers and their children, clapping, singing (and some stamping) along to a well-known nursery song, lead by a pair of harpers -- one with Tillek's knot, and one more familiar one with High Reaches'. The song involves a holder and his many, many animals, the noise of which is enthusiastically given by Quint and echoed by the children. The song, or the perhaps it's the other children, pulls Ethran away from his madcap dash, giggling and all, through the crowd. He stops, enthralled, and his nanny too stops outside the ring of children, breathing heavily after her chasing efforts. Lastly, Farideh makes her way closer, bemused by the scene at first, and upon closer examination, amused by the familiar harper helping to lead the sing-a-long. For the moment, she's as much a spectator as the rest, however a silent one among the giddy and off-kilter voices. To his credit (or the credit of his profession), Quint throws himself into the song as wholeheartedly as any other, his, "Here a moo, there a moo!" accompanied by an enthusiasm that can't be wholly faked. When they get to the end of the song, there's a polite clapping from parents and guardians alike, and the two harpers confer briefly. The Tillekian harper stands, gesturing, "For the next one, we need everyone to make a circle and hold hands -- let's do it around the outside, huh?" it takes some time for any kind of organization to arise and a proper circle to form, so that by the time the 'Ring-a-round the rosie' starts up, Quint's politely and yet deliberately extricated himself a couple of steps away from the now slowly moving circle. That he's ended up next to Farideh is no coincidence: "Joining in, weyrwoman?" he asks, with a kind of deliberate blandness. Tiny hands make tiny claps, but Ethran's attention is captivated completely until there's the call for circle making; its up to his nanny to convince him to hold hands with his neighbors, which includes her own mitten-covered hand. "Me? Oh, no," Farideh exclaims, after a slight nod to the harper in greeting. "I'm not one for all of-- that. I'm surprised you're here. Last we met, you were-- what? Guarding someone's treasures in the middle of a road? I thought you'd still be wasting away there. However did it turn out?" She turns inquisitive hazel eyes on the harper, eyebrows uplift in expectation, the antics of the children and their ringing-the-rosie outside of her interests of the moment. "All of what?" Quint response, with a curious tip of his head as he regards Farideh. "Singing?" with a flippant gesture at the children. "Oh, well, yes," of their run-in. "I was rescued before I was accosted by anything more than a curiously nosy avian or two," he allows. Perhaps he deliberately misunderstands her question, for it's towards the children now circling around to rotunda that he gestures: "Do you know the origin of this song? Some people claim it was about a plague -- not unlike the one we recently suffered under -- and that the falling down was the bodies falling in the street. Strange, isn't it -- the concept of time and distance -- and what it can do to our perspective of events." "Singing, dancing," as if the moving could be considered such, but then there are those children so inclined to do more than side-step in a circle. "That's a little bit morose for a gather, especially given what conspired recently--" Farideh's voice is dry as she turns to regard Quint, eyes narrowed and all. "What do you mean? I don't agree with how you always speak in riddles, as though I have the time and effort to decipher them." She lips tug to the side, before her eyes flick back to the children. "We always seem to meet in the oddest of places, even here." Which might imply more that she finds him odd, than the actual randomness of their meetings, considering tone of voice. "Well, it's not a claim always substantiated, but it's one of those rumors that persist, and when you see--" Quint sucks in his breath as the the children all fall down, exhaling low and long. Nevermind the children, for the most part, seem happy squirming around in the fresh-fallen, soft snow; he focuses his gaze rather deliberately on Farideh. "I'd always thought I was rather plain-spoken myself; but then I suppose only a person knows their own mind, mm?" His brows go upwards at that last. "Well, if it makes you feel more... comfortable, I was posted here for two Turns -- about when I was your current age," he allows, with a thoughtful glance. "It's good to touch base with those I've grown friendly with. I intend to do the same, after I've left High Reaches -- assuming you don't think it too odd?" he tips his head, no sense of amusement in his gaze, like he's genuinely waiting for Farideh's permission. Ethran goes along with the game the other children play, and seems delighted on a whole with the whole charade. He claps his hands and giggles, completely oblivious to the nature of the conversation his mother seems to be having with the harper; nor will he be conscious of such things, likely for turns to come, yet. "Plain spoken? Truly? Who told you that?" Farideh blinks back at Quint in disbelief, and then laughs briefly. Cupping a gloved hand around her mouth, she gives her head a toss, amusement alive in her more-green-than-brown hazel eyes. "Plainly is simple, simple is-- well, I'm sure you know what simple is." She sends a maternal look her child's way, and then: "You're more than welcome to keep in touch. I'm sure I'm more willing to do that than our dear friend Jocelyn. Unless you've managed to win her over?" Except the lift of brow and lips suggest doubt. "Well, it's all a matter of perspective, you see," Quint says, in easy, unperturbed answer to the weyrwoman's disbelief. "Plain, is also truthful," he amends to Farideh's counter, falling silent while Farideh gazes at her child. Instead of following her gaze, however, his stays on the goldrider, thoughtful of expression himself. "Well, that is a relief," the harper says, as if Farideh's particular blessing was of great importance to him. It's the latter that shifts his expression, marginally, head tipping. "It's interesting, isn't it, the way one's upbringing shapes one to different views, despite now having a shared experience and circumstance between you?" "You can be as plain and truthful as you want, but when you start talking in long sentences that seem to have no end, without clarity--" Farideh's finger traces a seemingly aimless pattern in the air, before her hands falls back to her side, only shortly, and then she's lifting it again to point an accusing finger at the harper. "We are talking about you and Jocelyn, me," comes as a nudging reminder; it holds no warning, only waning amusement at his flip. Quint grimaces, and doesn't try to hide the brief embarrassment the words engender. "I'm afraid that's as much a part of my calling as anything else. Certainly it's not intended to befuddle, yet eloquence by its very nature forms a part of a harper's story telling, I'm afraid." His brows go upwards at the latter. "Were we?" With a tip of head, like he'd forgotten, only a slight glint in blue eyes to betray amusement. "Yet there's very little to tell, and so much more to muse on in your own relationship with your fellow weyrwoman." "It is quite strange. When I was younger, I loved to sit and listen to the posted harper sing, and sometimes he'd sit and improv. All of that-- what do you call it-- eloquence. Now, it's grating. Isn't that something?" The goldrider wiggles her fingers in her gloves, glancing down at them, before her eyes flick back up to Quint. "Hm," Farideh says, the sound dissatisfied, "What is there to tell of that? We each do our own job. We report to the Weyrwoman. We have our own lives." "It's something," Quint agrees, with ease. "Some might suggest that's a loss of innocence, a loss of joy. Me, personally -- well -- everyone reaches a point at which they realize that some stories are just a story, and not to be dreamed of or chased. People react differently to that awareness." While the children are doing their shuffle dance around the rotunda again, the harper's eyes stray there for a moment, a subtle tap of fingers against his leg in time of the music. "Some might find common ground, or even comfort and a sense of camaraderie in such a circumstance, that's all," he says, spreading his hands as if attempting to dissipate her dissatisfaction. "A loss of-- joy," Farideh repeats, in much softer tones and with much more thoughtfulness put into the actual words; she's spinning that one around in her head. "Some might. Some might also have a break down and be sentenced to the infirmary. Things never quite happen as we imagine, and I'm long past the point of dreaming up some fairtale place where everyone gets along and treats each other nicely. We do what we can-- and sometimes-- sometimes a little opposition can be a good thing." She levels a look on the harper, but her eyes go flitting off again as Ethran, easily bored, starts to trip off in the opposite direction, nanny in tow. "Yes, indeed, it can," the harper swiftly agrees, with a genuine smile. "For all of us, in fact." Quint follows her gaze towards her son and nanny, before he says, "Don't feel obligated to stay on my behalf. I have plenty to keep me busy." He gestures towards the group of children, now gathering in pairs for some other game the hold's harper has in store for them. "Perhaps you'll allow me to purchase a drink for you later, in the spirit of celebrating opposition?" His head tips, waiting on her response. Farideh regards the harper with wary eyes and her head tilted to the side, reading-- his expression? his intentions? "In the spirit of celebrating opposition, Harper Quintus," she acquisces, inclining her head in a curt nod. "Until later." It's as much of a stalemate as he'll get out of the conflict-happy goldrider, before she picks up her skirts and follows, at a much more sedate pace, in the footsteps of the other duo. Later, there wil be time for more small talk, or confusing talk, and drinks, on the harper's dime. |
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