Logs:Stirring Curiosity
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| RL Date: 26 February, 2016 |
| Who: Jo, Quint |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint makes good on that music lesson. Jo continues to try and find out more about the harper. |
| Where: Harper Classroom, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alysce/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions |
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Harper Classroom, High Reaches Weyr
A thick door provides some soundproofing against the escape of sour notes
and the chanting of Harper Ballads that are common in this room. Chalkdust
from the blackboard lingers in the air, motes of the stuff catching the
light from many glows clustered in a hanging basket in the middle of the
ceiling as well as tucked into sconces around the walls.
Just inside the door, cubicles line one wall, each labeled with a child's
name and containing various bits of lesson equipment: slates, chalk, scrap
hide and paper, pens, ink and pots of glue. Long benches span the room,
providing seating for at least fifty children between the ages of seven
and fourteen; a tall wood screen stands folded near the middle of one
wall, ready to divide the room into groups of older and younger students
for more age-targeted study. Storage shelves along the back wall hold
musical instruments for learning, mostly small hand drums and single bore
pipes plus two rather battered xylophones. It's after dinner; far too late for any of the normal classes to be operating. Only the glows at the front of the class are unshuttered, enough to spread light across where Quint is sitting cross-legged on top of one of the desks, humming in tune to the simple ditty that he's had Jo practicing on the guitar to after teaching her some of the basics. Finally, he starts singing along: the story is about a girl who takes a cow to trade for a horse, and a horse to trade for a boat, and a boat to trade for a tavern, all won with her winsome smile. When he's finished, he's grinning. "Good," he leans forward, to tap fingers against the wood of the instrument, "You can take this for practice. It's one of Alysce's works -- not the best she's ever made, and I doubt we'll be able to sell it." It's the song, of course. Jo grins through the lyrics of it, her own smile winsome enough with half a wattage on display. She seems to be quite the attentive student in the lesson as she plays along with strings with ling fingers. When Quint speaks of the instrument for practice, "I'll be sure to return it if ya need it," she offers, nodding her thanks. "Not one of her best, perhaps, but an ol' Holdbred girl like me wouldn've known the difference. Yer a good teacher," she meets his gaze easily as she sets the guitar in her lap. "Doubt Alysce will even miss it," Quint says with a smile. "And when she finally does notice I'll task her with tracking down the culprit -- that will keep her distracted for a few sevens, give or take." He uncrosses his legs, long enough that he can set them flat against the ground while still seated on the desk. "You're very focused," he replies in turn, chuckling. "That makes my job easy -- especially after a day with the five-to-ten Turn olds." He squints around the room. "I'm afraid I haven't anything tucked away for a nightcap -- too tempting to young, curious minds, I'm afraid." "Ya must enjoy yer work," Jo teases Quint on tasking Alysce as she arches her back to stretch. "I should be takin' some cues from you instead of my wingleader. Watching him, his response on being focused draws quiet laughter and, "Helps that yer easy on the eyes," she's casual and bold in saying. "'N patient. I don' get too frustrated too quickly when there's somethin' that interests me. As for nightcaps," she pauses as she sets the guitar aside in favor of rummaging through the pockets of her dark leather jacket that she still has on, pulling free a flask. "It's strong," she gives in warnin', her dark gaze seeming to take the harper's measure in. "I was never a klah sorta girl, darlin'." "I do have that privilege," Quint allows, without a trace of embarrassment. It's the next that catches him off guard, eyes widening briefly. "From me? I -- wouldn't know the first thing about being a Wingleader," he protests, with ease, hands lifting. "I'd imagine wrangling old, wily riders is a far different prospect than wily children or impatient apprentices." He tips his head in consideration, "For the most part," with a rueful grin. He takes the compliment about his appearance with an easy grace, not directly alluding to it. Instead, he reaches for the flask with a grateful nod. "Should've suspected you'd come prepared," he observes, wryly, before he takes a small sip, exhaling sharply at the strength of the liquid inside. "Indeed. I'm glad you warned me," he says, offering it back. "Old, wily riders can act just like wily children at times," Jo says, amusement showing on her face as his look of surprise. "They'll throw their toys just as passionately, ya can bet marks on that." She releases on her hold on the flask once Quint takes it, her brow briefly lifting to his comment on her coming prepared. She waits until he's had a taste before she takes it back and takes a healthier drink from it herself. "Well it's not my initial aim to corrupt ya, harper," she notes now, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "We're doin' so much for each other already, what with our deal'n all." "Hm," Quint, to be honest, doesn't look entirely surprised about that revelation, but accepts it since he isn't the one that voiced it aloud. "Well, you're welcome to come and watch a lesson or two one day. See how effectively I wield the three R's: repetition, rest, and reward." He cocks his head to one side, and leaning in, he gestures towards the flask: "Prime example of a reward for older children of your stripe," he murmurs. He straightens, one hand brushing down already immaculate blue tunic. "But maybe a secondary one?" he guesses, lips twitching. "I admit I'm not used to bein' in charge like this over folks that could die on my watch," Jo says of her wing with a shake of her head. "Lordin' over canines'n friends, sure. I might pop by. Ya harpers like to think differently than the rest of us, I notice. Ain' so bad for a wingsecond." She passes the flask over to Quint then, grinning at his comment on rewards before she states, "There's far more satisfyin' rewards than strong drink for us older children. I've been known to reward generously when I've a mind to. Secondary." She pauses as if to assess the question - to assess him, even - before there's a slight incline of her head. "Not sure yet," she muses after a moment. "Haven' decided if yer corruptible or not yet, though ya drinkin' from my flask migh make me rethink my stance on the matter." Quint's lightheartedness dissipates, seriousness stealing across his expression. "Not too much chance of that in an interval, I would've thought?" he says, though there's a lilt in his voice that turns it into a question, gaze on Jo's expression. He makes a brief, if wry, face when she speaks of harpers thinking differently; "I think I'll choose to take that as a compliment. Or an attempt at one, anyway," he notes, ruefully. He gaze flickers to the flask, and with an odd kind of seriousness, says, "I'll try not to make it a habit." Whether to decide the fact of his corruptible nature, or some other reason, he seems earnest enough in saying so. "Sometimes, there are worse things out there than Thread, darlin'," is all Jo says on the Interval and risks, her gaze leading. "Even the plague we've had of late." It's not a topic she lingers on, the chuckle that comes forth being for Quint's answer on harpers. "It's a compliment," she confirms on them thinking differently, baring teeth in a smile. "Better'n the ones that'll likely have ya red in the face." She notes his seriousness and look towards the flask as she takes a lingering drink before she nods to his words. "I ain' tryin' to turn ya into a drunk," she says, her tone both managing to be serious and humorous at once. "Though, I likely ain' much good for ya to be around, either. I can tell yer a good sort of man. Good self control. It's admirable." There's a pause as she straightens up a bit and stoppers the flask before she asks, "How's yer sister been?" "It seems like you talk of the life of all people, not just dragonriders," Quint observes, easily. He doesn't seem keen on lingering on that particular topic either, judging by the sharp shift of gaze away, somewhere above her head, for just a beat. There's a flickered smile, though it has only a trace of warmth as he says, "I think it's early for you to pass such judgement on me. Self control isn't always borne out of a good place of the heart. Though I do," with a shift of hands, and a gesture towards her, "Appreciate the sentiment all the same." Mention of his sister lights something warmer in the harper's gaze. "She does nothing but complain about all the teenagers she has to stay with when I'm down there -- but the second I suggest she come back, she gives me a look to fry me in place." He shakes his head, lips twitching. "The Weyrlingmaster said they'd hatch within the month near on three sevens ago, so I suppose we'll know soon enough." "I do," Jo answers the first easily enough. On judgements, there's the faint glimmers of a teasing look as she says in return, "I only have my observations to go by. Yer ain' an easy one to read'n figure out, Quintus. Ya say things like that, leavin' me all amounts of curious." Watching his light in his eyes as he speaks on his sister draws a more genuine grin from her as she listens. "She must be excited, 'n nervous," she muses on that, shaking her head. "She's taken to livin' at the Weyr well, then?" "It's my job as a harper to stir curiosity -- in even the oldest of students," Quint says, with a spread of hands, looking about as unapologetic as one can be. "I don't know if she really comprehends what it would be like. But she's -- stubborn," he grimaces. "And I'm told she'll be offered a place at the Weyr when she doesn't Impress." When, not if -- he sounds certain of that. "Perhaps she'll find her way, then." His gaze goes distant, briefly, and then he exhales, straightening. "Well, I shan't keep you all night with my family woes. He leans to tap at the guitar, sounding a dull thud that reverberates through the strings, "Practice! And we'll meet again in say a seven?" he cocks his head inquiringly to see if Jo's amenable. "Ever a harper sort of answer," Jo states on that as she pockets the flask. "I hear siblins' tend to be stubborn. I don' envy ya, darlin'." Patting the guitar with a nod, "I'll practice," she promises, "'n we'll meet in a seven. I'll even bring ya somethin' much less stronger for a nightcap." She reaches for the guitar again to pluck just one lingering note from it as she gets to her feet. Quint lifts his hand in classic, you got me gesture of conciliation. He gives a nod for Jo's assurance, a grin as she plucks the strings, and: "Good evening, Jo," is his warm, easy parting as he strides from the room. |
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