Logs:Understanding Others
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| RL Date: 20 February, 2016 |
| Who: Quint, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quint and Olivya discuss candidates and getting to know each other. |
| Where: Galleries / Olivya's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 1, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Gisele/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions |
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| Galleries, Fort Weyr The entrance to the Sands and Galleries alike is little more than an
archway and a section of flat stone that curves into a broad pathway in
front of the Galleries that are carved into the right-hand side of the
Hatching Cavern. This pathway is set with three flights of stairs that
lead all the way up to the upper tiers of the Galleries; one set near the
entrance of the cavern, one set at the northernmost end, and one set
between both. Beyond the pathway, that flat stone dissolves into the Sands
proper, a golden expanse that sits before the large, odd engraving that
lines the far wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red
Star.
The Galleries themselves are rows of flat seats carved from the stone wall
and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the
golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by
a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other
Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated
spectator's box at the topmost row.
It's late afternoon, and amongst those taking their time to observe the eggs down below is an older looking blonde woman with a Fortian candidates knot, and a Reachian Journeyman Harper. The former is gesturing towards the sands, while the latter has all his attention on the woman. When another Fortian candidate appears and gestures, the woman leaps up, hissing something under her breath, and walks off at a brisk, unstoppable pace. Quint, in the wake of the departure, rises to his feet, staring after the woman, before exhaling and sinking back down, allowing his gaze to rove amongst the other occupants of the galleries, now. That the weyrlingmaster must step past the departing candidates is just odd timing, not any specific plan or goal on her part. There's a moment that she stops to pass along something or another, before she is back to her goal towards the stands. Her gaze is searching out for another figure, so it comes to stop on Quint in surprise before flicking briefly back to his departing sister. Whatever she was looking for before, she doesn't seem to find it. So it is Quint that must deal with her approach and the light greeting of, "I hope she told you that she is doing well?" Long-formed habit means that Quint is rising to his feet even before his gaze has settled on Olivya. "If I told you she said it was enlightening and exhilarating and she loves all of Fort Weyr, would that perchance secure her her own room?" The twist of lips makes it obvious the harper thinks it unlikely, and yet he tries all the same, chuckling as he does so. He gestures towards the seat next to him in mute invitation, as if it were his home, and not hers. "It may, but you would need to tell it to Rin, since she decides those things," answers Olivya with her soft humor teasing at only the edges of her words. And since he has risen, her fingers settle lightly on his forearm before she leans in to brush a kiss lightly against his cheek, the gesture the kind a Lady Holder might make to a friend. Then, however, she's drawing away to shrug out of her bright jacket and claim the seat he's invited her to. "She got to touch the eggs the other day." "It's been some time since she shared a room with young teenagers," Quint says, with a sympathetic twist of lips. He gives an easy shake of his head: "Oh, I'm sure she'll adjust. Or suffer through it -- she seems determined," he says with a wryness that might suggest he's attempted to convince her otherwise. There's momentary surprise at her greeting, but he's too well-schooled for it to stay overlong, giving an easy smile in return as he seats himself at the same time as she does. "That must have been something," he says, with tone that suggests rather the opposite of jealousy. "Is there any indication how long it might be until the hatching? I'd like to attend, if possible." "You would like to? I believe that you owe me a dance, so if you do not--," is what Olivya returns lightly, offering a smile. But her gaze slides out to observe the eggs, tipping her chin thoughtfully. "Less than a month, now. But beyond that-- It's hard to say. Even if we knew the day, we wouldn't know the time. But I will send one of my assistants to get you." "I'll do my utmost," Quint corrects himself, with an easy grace and spread of hands. He follows Olivya's gaze towards the eggs, looking thoughtful, undoubtedly doing the calculations in his head. "After our weyrling class' graduation, before Tillek's next gather -- so that should be workable." His head tips as his gaze is drawn back to the greenrider, surprise faintly audible in his voice, "Won't they be busy?" and a beat of pause, "I'm sure there will be plenty of High Reachian riders attending, as much as I appreciate the offer." "It depends on how much warning we have to prepare," answers Olivya, though she nods simply for the point of other 'Reachians. "I have hope that we'll have plenty of warning, even with Taeliyth being a new mother. She is rather observant, after all." But she smiles, the faintest thing that is worn away in only a brief breath. The harper has no comment on the Fortian queen, though his gaze does go to the sands, naturally. "If," Quint pauses, unusual enough for the normally glib harper; "If she doesn't Impress, would she be allowed to stay?" He doesn't refer to his sister, but of course there's no one else he could be referring to. Olivya's gaze slides sideways in a moment at the question, marking the harper with a hint of a question. Instead of answering, she asks quietly, "Would she want to? She wouldn't get another chance to stand. What would be here for her that isn't at High Reaches?" There's barely a pause, before Quint replies: "Distance. Independence." He spreads his hands, casually, his expression largely even. "Has she said that is what she's seeking?" presses Olivya with the same soft curiosity. "No," Quint allows, with only the slightest twitch of lips. "But I'm a harper, and her brother." There is a long pause as Olivya considers the harper, finally offering only the hint of a smile. "Then don't try to make the decision for her, Quint," is a contrast to that smile, though. The words are firm, dismissive, with the weight of her rank. "She will get offered the opportunity to stay after the hatching; the candidates that don't impress always do. But she may surprise you--." "I won't," Quint replies, adding after a beat, "I won't have to." He gives a nod for that latter, as much acknowledgement of the words as mute thanks. With a twitch of lips: "I prefer to think there is little that would surprise me." "Little? Not even if you came to the hatching and impressed yourself?" challenges Olivya lightly, her brow curving upwards as she slides a look over the harper in a brief study. "If your Harper Master decided to become a baker? If--." And it is obvious that she'll continue once she thinks of more things that may surprise him. That definitely earns a chuckle from the harper. "Now that would surprise me. And everyone, I imagine," Quint says, with a shake of his head. "But thankfully -- for the sanity of everyone involved -- it's impossible. If advanced ages such as mine," or to a lesser degree, his sisters, "Were apt to Impress, surely there'd be less instances of dragons not hatching, and more Impressions from the stands?" He's eyeing the Weyrlingmaster sidelong, looking amused, as he adds: "If your green were to clutch fifty-five eggs on the sands?" "There are not very many instances, in general, of Impressions from the stands. Perhaps if we allowed more people of your such advanced age onto the sands, then there'd be more Impressions of people your age," Olivya answers musingly, meeting the harper's blue eyes with her own and holding the gaze. At least, until he looks away. "If I were to run away and live on a secluded beach tomorrow." Though, perhaps, that wouldn't be so surprising to him given that he doesn't know her well enough to judge her level of commitment, as much of just a humored joke. "I think people of our advanced age," and Quint's stress is slight but audible, "Are generally well content with their chosen path in life, exceptions here and there aside." The glance over his shoulder in the direction his sister went indicates one such exception. His brows go upwards as his glance turns back to the greenrider. "You'd go crazy after mm, about a day, I predict. You are someone who needs people," the harper observes, easily. A laugh is exhaled on a breath, though Olivya only answers with a firmer 'tsk', "And now you are insulting a lady's age and independence, I see." But there is a pause as she considers Quint in turn, before she adds in a simpler question, "Is that how you see me, harper? And for yourself? Do you need people?" "I wouldn't presume," Quint manages to look affronted by the accusation, but it's clearly an act, given he lifts his hands to fend off any further words on that score. His hands drop to his lap soon after, surprise briefly flickering across his expression, before he shakes his head. "One aspect of one's personality does not a whole person make," he says, plainly, and, after a moment, admits: "It is the bread and butter of what I do." "People are what you do?" Olivya assumes, before continuing, "But do you need them, Quint?" It is a curious press of the words, determined as she studies the younger man. But she seems to catch herself after a moment, shaking blonde curls out dismissively. "We are all complex puzzles, aren't we?" Quint doesn't disabuse the assumption, silent for a moment before he says, "Teaching is what I love to do. I can't teach without someone willing to be taught." When she shakes her head, he smiles. "Yes. A fact of which makes us all interesting." He gestures towards a pair of young men seated further down the galleries from them, "You can look at someone, and talk to them, but never really know them, not unless they let you." "Even if they do let you-- You'll never really know them. How can we ever really understand each other?" supposes Olivya in a murmur, though she pairs the words with a light hint of a smile. "Take your sister, for example. You'll never really understand what she wants. You can only try to support her." "The pleasure is in the trying," counters the harper, swiftly, as if it were a well-practiced response. Although there's a brief tightening of expression, Quint's expression is otherwise light and thoughtful. "I don't think that's true at all. I think that she's been through a trauma, and these things are to a degree predictable. She's reaching out for something -- for stability -- and she's hoping she'll find it here. Whether she does or not is," he spreads his hands, as if to indicate he has no control over that. That well-practiced response receives the quirk of her brow and a brief smile before Olivya drawls on a timed beat of, "I am sure you say that to all of the women. They likely even fall for it." But she falls more serious for the harper's next words, finally inclining her chin in a point to Quint's. "Perhaps. Or she's looking for independence, for adventure. For a connection that would understand what she's been through. Or all of it. But, you'd know better than I would; you know your sister better." "But not you," Quint concludes, all serious, even with the Weyrlingmaster's smile. He gives a slight nod for her words on his sister, exhaling a breath. "I don't believe she'll find what she's looking for on the sands. But I think she has to do it, all the same, before she comes to the same conclusion." He exhales, slowly, gaze distant on the sands for a moment. "My ride's not due for a couple more hours; are you working, or can I buy you a drink?" "I might, if you try," Olivya answers, a curious look once again dragged over Quint. She moves on smoothly to agree, "Hopefully she finds what she's looking for off of the sands, instead, then." But then she's stretching to her feet with a nod, hooking her jacket from the seat beside her as she glances across the galleries one last time, searching before looking back to the harper. "It is my Weyr. I will buy you the drink." "That's my hope, too," Quint says, of his sister, giving a brief, if genuine, smile at the hope. He rises when she does, shrugging into his thick coat, before offering an arm to the greenrider. "If you insist," he says, with a grin. Raised as she was, Olivya has no compunction about accepting that arm with the press of her fingers against his forearm, only murmuring a quiet, "I do," before she will let him lead them to the drinks. Olivya and Ivraeth's Weyr, Fort Weyr
This first cavern is a large, bubble-shaped cavern occupied almost
entirely by a smooth, oval wallow large enough for two that has been
covered in a dyed fleece of soft black, guaranteed to compliment any
visitors. Copper hooks line the right wall, while on the left-hand wall, a
polished, dark wood door leads to the Weyrlingmaster's office and the
weyrling complex beyond. Another matching door at the back of the cavern,
complete with a lock, leads to the rest of the rider's quarters.
The second cavern behind that second door, also large and bubble-shaped,
is a finely decorated living area. Two matching silver green couches, made
of soft fabric, plush cushions and clean lines, sit opposing each other,
flanking the wide hearth and with a dense, silver rug between. The hearth
itself sits on the right-hand wall, a large square of red brick inserted
into the stone around it and covered with a black screen, with a polished
wood mantle above holding an array of crystal-cut decanters. Centered over
the mantle hangs a piece of art, the piece an impression of sun through
forest and a deep, blue lake hidden there. On the left-hand wall, it has
been lined with polished, dark wood bookcases, filled with books and
knickknacks.
The archway to the bedroom has been left uncovered, the last
bubbled-shaped cavern in the series. It is dominated by the bed which is
made up of black sheets, silken to the touch, and plush pillows in the
same. It is her downy blanket that is different, in a bold red. At the
foot of the bed, furs of silvery-grey have been folded and left. Another
piece of art has been framed above the bed, and this one is simply a pair
of red lips of which the occupant must have modeled.
Olivya's 'buying' seems to only count as the drinks that she already has in her weyr, rather than at the Fountain or otherwise. It means that they must step past Ivraeth where she has curled up on her dyed wools, watching Quint with slowly whirling eyes as the Weyrlingmaster unlocks the door to the weyr beyond. "Make yourself at home," she suggests warmly to the harper as they step through to that second cavern that seems to make up the majority of her living space, however, even as she takes a moment to carefully shut the door; after all, there are weyrlings not so far away who might be tempted to spy. "What do you prefer to drink?" While Quint isn't as intimately familiar with the Weyr as his companion is, he does at least know the direction of the living cavern and that, after a certain point where they walk in the bowl, that they're not headed towards it. There's no objection from the harper, though perhaps an air of amusement as they move, giving a nod towards Ivraeth as they pass the green. "That seems a dangerous invitation to a relative stranger," the harper says, as he shrugs out of his coat, lying it over the back of a chair as his gaze roams around the weyr. "What if I took that invitation at face value and moved in?" He observes Olivia's move to the door with a curiosity that doesn't move him to question aloud, instead answering: "Red, if you have it. If not -- whatever you're having is fine." "And abandon your duties to High Reaches and your craft?" challenges Olivya as she crosses the room to the mantle and the decanters there. Each of them speaks to marks, but there is none that seem to be red; instead, she reaches for one filled with amber liquid, pouring two generous glasses. "I think I know you enough to know that, at least, I am safe from." She turns from the mantle to extend the glass out to the harper, though she doesn't move closer. "Well, it is bigger than any room I've ever lived in my whole life," Quint says, although there isn't any jealousy audible in his voice. While she gets the drinks, the harper continues to look around, examining some of the contents of the bookshelves, before finally stopping near her in front of the mantle, studying the painting there. He reaches to take the glass with a nod of thanks, before gestures to the painting, asking, "Is this -- it looks good on the wall, or it speaks to you in some way?" With his drink passed over, Olivya lifts her own to her lips as she shifts to face the painting and study it at his question. "Both, really," she answers lightly. "It goes to our conversation before, doesn't it? There are secrets everywhere. They can be beautiful if you bother to find them." There's a brief chuckle from Quint, and he takes a small sip of the liquid with a nod, before he says: "Even I don't buy that you planted this here just to make a point." He gestures towards the painting, but his gaze is on Olivia. "Let me guess -- the previous owner left it and you thought it seemed pretty, now you use it to play the mysterious woman?" He glances to the painting again, leans in: "Ought to have a mysterious figure or two painted in there, too." "Mm," is all Olivya'll give away to that accusation, mysteriously, though the corners of her lips quirk up in a smile even as she takes another sip of her whiskey. But then she'll answer, "No, I've had it for turns. I didn't have it commissioned, though; I found it at a gather after the original commissioner decided it wasn't what he wanted. The one in the bedroom, however-- That was commissioned." Despite Quint's earlier expressed desire for a drink, when he lifts his glass to his lips, it's a rote sort of action, with a minimal amount of liquid imbibed. "Oh?" is his answer to that, and he appears to take it as an invitation, since he gestures for Olivya to precede him in that direction. Olivya considers Quint for a moment at the gesture, before she finally rolls her shoulder up shamelessly, only a hint of humor touching her ice blue eyes. She does lead the way, through the uncovered arch to her bedroom only to gracefully fold herself into a seat at the foot of her bed. "I take it the way this speaks is clear enough?" is a light question. The harper follows, close on her heels, but remains standing by the bed while she sits. Quint studies the painting for a short time. "No, it doesn't actually," the harper says. "It could be a display of your sensuality, an expression of your sexuality. You could just really like red," he adds with a chuckle, as his gaze flickers to Olivya. "You know you're just asking for some bold weyrling to come in here and nick it one day." "I'd bet on the weyrlings to focus on the liquor in the other room, not the paintings," counters Olivya with a light dismissal, tipping her head only softly as she looks up to continue watching the harper. "I do like red. But, it's simply-- both of those, I suppose." "I don't know," Quint disagrees, thoughtfully. "After a few months of no privacy and sharing barracks, I'd think a teenage boy has other priorities." He gives a wry, somewhat apologetic look to the greenrider, "Spoken as a once-teenager." His head tips. "You suppose?" he queries, curiously. "I suppose. Though, I admit-- I've always thought of it as an invitation," Olivya answers with only a hint of hesitation, stretching to her feet even as she says it with a glance towards the painting and a slow sip from her glass. But then she laughs, adding in a lighter joke, "I think bringing you here was a mistake. You are learning entirely too much of me compared to what I know of you." "An invitation," Quint echoes, with surprise and interest both, gaze going back to the painting to re-assess it in light of her words. It's only with Olivya's latter words that the harper looks away, chuckling. "Me?" he presses a hand against his chest. "I'm an open book," he says with the ease of long practice, or plain truth. "You're the mystery." "Then tell me more about yourself, Quint, before your ride comes," invites Olivya easily, brushing past him with a smile to retreat from the bedroom and apparently expecting him to follow. "How did you become a harper?" She does glance over her shoulder as she asks it, to perhaps make sure he's following. Whether or not she's a mystery-- Well, she seems to find amusement in the statement all the same as it warms blue eyes. And Quint does -- or at least, he tells her a story about joining the harpercraft after being inspired by seeing a harper pass judgement on someone, and plenty about his time there. To tell it, it's relatively uneventful, punctuated by the normal teenager antics which are described in amusing detail. He doesn't make much headway with that glass, but he does at least finish it by the time he stands to part ways and seek out his ride back to High Reaches. |
Comments
Roz (11:53, 23 February 2016 (PST)) said...
The face on Quint's icon, lol.
Roz (11:53, 23 February 2016 (PST)) said...
Also, good scene, guys! :D
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