Logs:Weyrwoman 101
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| RL Date: 20 November, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke tasks Jocelyn with her first set of marching orders. They don't go over well. |
| Where: Weyrwoman's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Kyouri/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
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| With sickness gaining a slow foothold at High Reaches, Irianke's request comes to Jocelyn through dragons, Niahvth relaying the directive to young Aidavanth with a time and place: later that evening in Irianke's weyr. When later that evening comes, Irianke is in her brightly lit weyr, candles and glows everywhere and a fire lit in the hearth making the weyr warm, almost uncomfortably warm. A decanter of something deeply red sits on the large stone meeting table and a platter of crackers and sliced cheeses is by it. The Weyrwoman, however, sits on a chaise, far from that table, with a glass of wine and her spectacled eyes pinned to a loosely bound set of of hides that she annotates with a pencil. It's hardly surprising that a punctual assistant headwoman would make for a punctual weyrling; Jocelyn appears in the doorway to Irianke's weyr at the expected time, attention absorbing all of that illumination, the setup at the table before her pale gaze flicks briefly to the hearth, settling some moments later on the older rider. "Weyrwoman." Her greeting is low, and as even as her expression. She's mostly clean and presentable enough, having taken the time to change into a set of shirt and trousers that isn't stained with oil (or blood). "You're well, I hope." One hand rises to tug at her collar; it's perhaps a little too warm for her personal comfort. A hand gestures, dismissive but welcoming all at once, particularly as the absentminded gesture indicates for Jocelyn to take a seat at that table and help herself, or something like that. How much can be indicated in one flippant little wave? Before it turns into the universal signal for just a moment as one finger points to the ceiling while Irianke's attention fails to deviate from her text. Her mouth purses, a brief hiccup in the grim visage of the Weyrwoman's face, and then a low sigh exhales. Jocelyn's stride soon follows the direction of that gesture, carrying her to silently settle into the indicated seat. Irianke's arrested attention is an opportunity not to be squandered; hands still bearing faint ink-stains are wiped quickly over her pants - or perhaps she's just smoothing a crease. In any case, she uses that interval of pause to observe the other woman for as long as it lasts, hands linking in her lap so that her small fidgets can, for now, be kept under the table and hopefully out of sight while she waits in quiet impatience. The exhale leads to the woman swinging her legs off the chaise and settling the mass of loosely bound hides on the low table near the chair. Irianke, along with her wine glass, rises, and heads over to the table, taking a chair two removed from Jocelyn and steadfast dark-blue eyes look to the young weyrling. "I'm well enough. Certainly not sick if that's what you meant to ask but couldn't quite figure out the polite way to do so." There's a brief smile on the older woman's face. "And you? Avoiding sickness and trouble?" "It's good that you aren't, " says the redhead matter-of-factly enough, shoulders lifting and dropping in a quick, little shrug. Her, "Overall, yes. Not that avoiding the latter has historically required great effort on my part, " shades wry, leading the corners of her mouth to twitch momentarily upward before her expression smooths again. More briskly, "I don't think you asked me here solely to inquire after my health, however." Can a statement be both pointed and polite? Her delivery is certainly respectful, if accompanied by an expectant expression. "Have you had your glass yet?" If not, does it matter when the Weyrwoman is already pouring you a glass of the red wine? The goblet is placed equidistant from the Weyrwoman and weyrling, Irianke reclaiming hers after performing this act of service for Jocelyn. "I wanted to speak to you of your training and your future, particularly as..." Well, does the plague need to be spoken of further? "Have you any thoughts of how your duties will be similar and yet different from what you were doing before? I admit, I don't have the experience on the other side of management." "My - " Glass, right. Jocelyn rather gingerly reaches out to accept the offered wine with a nod and a quiet thank-you, fingers gently rotating the goblet as she considers the topic at hand. "I think that there's a little overlap, " she says slowly. "I can only go off of what I've seen thus far from others, mind you, but the skills required and duties expected where the lower caverns are concerned seem to be not unlike what I'm used to. Higher level, I expect. Bigger picture, rather than focusing exclusively on the day-to-day minutiae when one is assigned to a specific department." No, lower caverns management won't be overly challenging for her. There's a faint nose-wrinkle that follows as she adds, "That's about where my experience ends. I've spent enough time in the records room to have a general idea of where to look for most subjects." Beyond that, well. Dryly, "I didn't have to know how to dance to be a good assistant to Jounine." Irianke considers Jocelyn, her chin shifting away even as her gaze leans in to study the younger woman with those measured, keen eyes of hers. "Would it please you to continue to do the work you are most comfortable with?" It's such a simple, easy question, but it's hard to read Irianke, for she's now sipping her wine. Simple questions don't always have simple answers. Perhaps that's why Jocelyn finally lifts her glass to take tiny sips of her own, brow pinching into a frown. "There's something to be said for comfort and familiarity, I suppose. Is that the work that I'll likely find easiest and adapt to the quickest? Very probable." Carefully, she sets her wine back down, fingers leaving the stem of the glass to air-tap a steady pulse just over the surface of the table. "It would please me to be of as much service to my home as I can be, and I don't think I have a good understanding yet of what that's supposed to entail. Not at this level." But Irianke might, says that little dip of her chin, those lightly lifting eyebrows. "You don't fail very often, do you?" Full of simple, leading questions tonight, Irianke has no apology in her expression when the wine glass finally is set on the table. "The silver thread program, a strange endeavor from what I can see, starts soon and you already are ahead of the curve with the lessons that the weyrlingmaster team has suggested for the first few months. Lower caverns management, as you say, is already a skillset you possess. I'd like you to shadow Farideh in her duties for the next month. However, you will not attend our lower caverns staff meetings as it'd be a waste of your time for now. Instead, I'd like you to spend the time acting as an intermediary between the Headwoman and the healers." "Failure is usually undesirable." There's a flick of a hand for the subject, but it does occur if the way her gaze drops briefly away to the table is anything to go by. It lifts again immediately after, however; Jocelyn nods in the appropriate places for the directives that follow, leaning more forward at the edge of her seat when the other goldrider pauses. "I haven't spent much time working with healers previously." It's almost approving in its agreeability, her tone, even as it turns questioning. "Where do they meet? With the infirmary seeing so much use, " that's one way to put it, "I expect they have to be more careful about how and where they hold their information sharing sessions." "The Council Chambers when it's not in use by either K'del or myself. I should have you know many would think my assignment of a weyrling to this undesirable, but as you've already been trained in everything else typically taught at this point and this being a need neither Farideh nor I can accommodate, I will be interested to see how you work with them, particularly Master Madilla." Irianke considers her goblet, takes a quick, long dreg, and puts the glass down. "Under no circumstance should you physically come in contact with the healers. Keep your distance, they will respect yours. It's in no one's best interest if a queen dies before her time." Jocelyn makes a thoughtful sort of noise while digesting this, stilling her hand so that she can better wrap it around her glass to tip it back for another small, measured drink. After, darkly: "These are far from ordinary times, and I won't always be a weyrling. If I were already in your wing, I might yet still have been your logical choice given my pre-existing relationship with our headwoman." It's factual and clipped, even as her lips press thinly for Irianke's caution, a sentiment that's mirrored back to the Weyrwoman from the weyrling's very gray eyes. "No." That's a terse, sober agreement. "It isn't. We'll keep it to verbal and visual contact. You'll want copies of my notes with them and with Jounine, I expect." Irianke's assent is given in a sharp downward pull of her chin. "Your pre-existing relationship notwithstanding, I wouldn't discount Farideh's work with the Headwoman over the last turn. Certainly," the Igen rider's mouth seems to shape into a smile of just a little humor, "Nothing compared to your born and bred association." The Weyrwoman reaches for the decanter and pours out another goblet, though doesn't drink from it yet. "How are you doing? Your dragon? You? Have you had thoughts of how you might fit or what you might do once you do graduate? I'd like to take into consideration your own ideas while drafting up a new curriculum for honing your," she pauses, nose tip twitching, "Leadership skills." Jocelyn's return smile is very small, but it's there, even if it's not completely readable. "It's much more than I'd ever thought, " she says at some length, free hand waving vaguely to encompass the weyr, the bowl beyond as fingers flick in that direction. More ruefully, "Some things can't be learned by sheer force of will. I don't know that I'll ever be fully comfortable with some aspects of what I've gleaned comes after. I've always preferred, " wry, "to be practical rather than polished, if given my druthers, but Aidavanth feels that it's something neither of us should completely discount. We sometimes, " often, "disagree on where to put things like that in priority. There's another foot to bathe and oil every few days, it seems, but I hear that's normal enough at this stage." The weyrling leans forward slightly at the prompt for her input, gaze keen and tone, frank. "I imagine it'll be easy enough to continue working with Jounine, even if things will be different from this end. I understand what it means to take care of my home here, " and a hand presses briefly to her chest. "But to say that I know how to do so from a big picture standpoint here, " a tap now at her temple, "is - premature at best; folly, at worst." Beat. "I think it's important to try to turn what's perceived as weaknesses on my part into strengths. Hopefully, that will also best serve this weyr." "I see." Irianke takes it all in, every word the other woman says, a thoughtful tap of her finger to her jaw. Her hand then drops to pick up her goblet and sip it, considering the young woman across from her over the rim. "And what if I don't determine your work to be with Jounine in the future? She and her assistants have a marvelous handle of the lower caverns and after the plague ends," cause it will end, is the implication in the subtle fierce undercurrent in her voice, "We will be left to reaffirm diplomatic ties and see what ways the Weyr can position itself advantageously in that new world. I will rely on you and Farideh to execute many of the leadership's decisions, which, however odd it might seem, means I will require you to focus on honing your soft skills in the upcoming months." Something akin to regret might pass over Jocelyn's expression, but it dissipates with her quiet exhale as her posture straightens a fraction. "My livelihood belongs to High Reaches in fact, now, rather than just in feeling. I can't deny that I miss being in the lower caverns, but that job, that life - those are no longer mine." For all that her eyes are bright, her tone remains flat. Resigned. Still, there's a steely determination present, even as she takes a slightly longer pull from her own goblet. "What would you have me focus on first? Weyrwoman." "Beyond shadowing Farideh, I would like you to observe how she holds herself, how she walks, though granted, she is with child right now and her comportment might not be quite what it used to be. As well, in lieu of lessons of the lower caverns and their inner workings, I'd like you to find a suitable harper tutor on the ways of etiquette. Spoons, forks, how to politely hold someone else's arm, what types of behavior are suited for what types of company." Irianke's mouth presses fine, some ill-hidden humor twinkling in her eyes, as if she realizes how at odds these suggestions might be for Jocelyn. "Dancing. Comportment. Etiquette. And I will line up a few weavers to speak with you on your personal style and how to dress you as befits your station." Was at least some of Irianke's reply expected? Jocelyn's jaw drops only a little, to her credit, even if it snaps shut again moments after to settle in a tight line. "That, " she manages to get out grimly after a few minutes, "is a lot of firsts." But she knows she's hardly equipped to deal with those types of situations as she is; it's there in her eyes, the way she pulls her gaze down to the ink stains on her hand as she carefully sets the glass back down on the table and withdraws both hands to fold just in front of her. A noticeable swallow follows, then: "I'll get started, preferably with a harper unless you feel I should see to one of those other things first." It's difficult to not wear the constipated expression of someone who was just told to eat a pile of salty citrons, and the weyrling struggles. "I trust that you have the maturity enough to put together a schedule and series of events that will work best for you." Irianke is warmth itself in allowing this, and sips from her goblet. "Weavers may have to wait until after quarantines are through and we see...," Well. That sobriety from earlier, when she was on her chaise, returns to cloud the Weyrwoman's attractive face. "Just take care of yourself, don't work yourself too hard and make yourself susceptible to whatever it is... this is. But you may look to your duties, Jocelyn." Jocelyn's "Thank you, ma'am, " is polite enough, if dry, delivered with all of the unspoken 'how kind' for that warmth, that graciousness. "I will, of course, keep our health a priority." Apparently taking the other's words as a dismissal, she hesitates a moment before getting to her feet, fingers lingering against the back of her seat. "You'll stay well too, I trust. I'll - unless there was something else you wished to discuss." Eyebrows lift there, expectant. "Is there?" Irianke looks to Jocelyn a long moment, considering. There's a neutral expression on her face. "Are you expecting something more to discuss? Perhaps the fact Monaco is now down to one goldrider?" The line of Jocelyn's arm stiffens, hand pressing into the back of the seat she had been occupying. She's no genius, however clever, and it doesn't take one to make a leap of assumption between the discussion of her training and now - this. "The one from Benden, " she says slowly, face pinched as she regards the other weyrwoman. "I know little about her." She allows some wryness to color her next words. "Is this your next directive to assist me in building whatever it is I lack? You'd send me from the only place I've ever known, throw me into unfamiliar territory with all of your best wishes?" A breath, then, and she colors. More quietly, "I apologize. This is, after all, my home." Paranoid, much? Irianke says nothing, only looking at Jocelyn with a quiet countenance. There's no visible calculation or thought on her face. Just a steadfast, neutral look that says nothing of what she might be thinking of. Finally, the Weyrwoman says, "You have currently duties to this Weyr to perform, weyrling. Don't worry of a future that may or may not come to pass." That is a dismissal, particularly as Irianke rises from the chair and returns to her chaise and those mountains of hides to pore over. The many many candles of the goldrider's weyr will burn low tonight. Jocelyn's fingers curl into her palms at her sides, gray eyes following the Weyrwoman as she resettles with her reading material. Her exit is a tight-lipped, silent one, footfalls evenly paced with a forced steadiness as she rejoins the weyr proper and those duties that do indeed await. If she takes an extra lap around the bowl before lights out, well. Surely that can only help. |
Comments
Alida (00:15, 25 November 2015 (PST)) said...
Alida would say, 'There's *always* an option 'c,' Jocelyn... if you're brave enough.' ;)
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