Logs:Weyrlingmasterly Advice
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 28 November, 2013 |
| Who: A'rist, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Following his conversation with Edyis, A'rist comes to talk to Quinlys about Lythronath. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Rh'mis/Mentions |
  |
| By now, Lythronath's head-swaying, weight-shifting stance in front of Rh'mis' couch might just be a nighttime routine, so much as the bronze has those. The standoff tonight doesn't take so long as it normally does; A'rist arrived from the baths with Purpose. And once his dragon has relented, that same Purpose brings him to the weyrlingmaster's office, introducing himself with a firm knock on the door and a, "Weyrlingmaster," that should carry through it. As the dragons get older, night shifts get less intensive, and so Quinlys is making use of her evening shift by leaning back in her chair, sipping from a mug of something warm, and reading something that probably isn't work-related (don't tell). A'rist's knock changes this picture only minimally: her reading material gets set down, face down, but otherwise she doesn't move except to say, "Come in!" A'rist comes in. When the door swings open, Lythronath might be seen beyond. And then in the doorway, blocking it open with his head. "Hi," is less formal than the original knock, maybe a faltering of that epic Purpose. "I had a question. If you have the time." He's up to the table now. Quinlys waves her free hand towards the empty seats around her, gaze fixing upon A'rist for a few seconds only before it sidles off towards Lythronath. "Better here than bugging you-know-who," she muses, far too light for it to be an altogether serious comment, though she is quite deliberate in not naming the pair in question. "Of course I've got time. What's on your mind, A'rist?" Easing into a chair alongside her is paused halfway at the mention of he-who-shall-not-be-named, and the heat that promptly comes off A'rist's cheeks might well be palpable, even from the next chair over. When he sits, it's with a bit of a decided drop, and there's something a bit more firm in the set of his eyebrows. "Lythronath." (The door pushes open a little more.) "Is that an invitation or a--?" Yes, Quinlys glances back towards the door, but this time it's only for a moment, and really, she doesn't seem to be serious about her question, not when she's glancing back to further consider A'rist's physical reactions. "Every dragon is different, A'rist. They all... have their quirks. He's fine." A'rist can't quite keep a sigh back, and places one hand on the table, almost ready to get up and go. Except he doesn't. The hand comes off the table, and then down again, not to slap, but pressing harder. "But other dragons talk." Quinlys drops her gaze towards that hand upon the table. "Yeah," she agrees. "Other dragons do talk. Some of them talk so much their riders wish they would just shut up for once. Some of them... now this is a good one, believe me. Some of them? Make their riders start scratching at their own skin until it bleeds, when they're upset with them. It's in the weyrling records, seriously. My point is... I know it feels like he's weird and wrong and different, and I do get that. But he is who he is. Would he be Lythronath if he started talking in paragraphs?" She may start sounding a little flippant, but by the end, her words hold nothing but sympathy. A'rist grinds his teeth a bit, though the look he sends over to the door is faintly guilty. And still concerned. "Dragons are supposed to all... work together and stuff. He's made at least four of the weyrlings bleed." (« Blood. » Sagely.) "And the senior queen's toes, too." After the fact, and hazarding a look back at Quinlys, comes the uncertain correction of, "Ichor?" "Ichor," confirms Quinlys, in a way that might be approving if she weren't distracted by the rest of the topic at hand. Sighing, she sets down her mug, then uses that free hand to run through her hair. "Dragons learn to work together, mostly, I think. Because we do. I mean-- yeah, they all obey the queens. But the rest of the hierarchy is kind of enforced upon them, I think. I won't deny, A'rist, that his penchant for accidental accident," her nose wrinkles for that particular choice of word, "and injury and whatever is not ideal. You're going to have to learn how to control it. Teach him what's appropriate. Things that he can get away with now, when he's a baby, won't fly later on." "Mmph," as the weyrling sits back and digs his fingers through his hair. "I'm working with him." When A'rist looks up next, Lythronath scratches a line in front of the door. Still no effort to barge through. "Just..." The hand is out of his hair, and gesturing to his dragon. Up, down, all of his dragon. "He's not like any of the others." It's not a complaint. It's not a boast. It's mostly just sober. Quinlys' answer is quiet. "I know you are," she says. "And no, he's not. But you're doing well with him. Sometimes, it's the pairs that have the most difficulty who do the best. In a way. Sometimes, the pairs who seem to be doing just fine really aren't, and it doesn't become obvious until later. But I think you're doing a good job, A'rist. And I think you both have a lot of potential." A'rist makes a bit of a face at the word 'difficulty', but any thought of contradicting dies as only that; the weyrling's lips remain firmly sealed. His hands find each other on the table before him, and press at each other's knuckles a bit, in turn. It's a long while of just sitting before A'rist says, even more quiet than Quinlys' answer, "He doesn't feel, the way people do." (The tapping of talons might be satisfied, who knows.) "Then you'll have to feel for him," returns Quinlys, slowly, and sounding distinctly thoughtful. "Balance him out. Show him how it's done. He can, after all, feel through you." She draws her hands together, unconsciously half copying the weyrling's gesture. "I wish there were an easy 'fix' - a way to make everything simple. But he is who he is, just like you are who you are. But you've changed, since you were little, and so can he-- not that I'm saying he'll ever be effusive, or outgoing, or... wordy. But." It's right after 'you've changed' that A'rist goes a little pale. The words that follow bring a bit of a forced smile, but he doesn't really look... better. Just like he's trying. Another period of relative silence, during which the rider is looking back to his dragon. Finally, "We might go just around the bowl some before turning in." The glance back, this time, looks for permission. Quinlys has certainly noticed that, and seems... not concerned, exactly, but perhaps bewildered. What did she say? "That sounds like a good idea," she says, instead of trying to push that question that's so obvious in her expression. "Sleep well when you get there, A'rist. Both of you. You're going to be fine." Only she sounds a little less certain about it, now. "Thanks for talking with me," is quick. When he pushes his chair back, Lythronath wiggles his haunches and tail in anticipation. Yes. Stomping. A'rist doesn't even look back. Quinlys, however, follows the pair with her gaze until they're out of sight. And if she picks up her reading material again, after that? It isn't as though she seems to get much enjoyment out of it. Not now. |
Leave A Comment