Log: Happy New Turn
Who: Jenivrys, Giremi
When: Turnover between turn 14 and 15
Where: Giremi's Quarters, Telgar Weyr
What: Vrys rescues Remi from the Reaches after he's been abandoned by his bronzeriding lift post-Teonath's flight. Harper and brownrider share a quietly pleasant Turnover.
Weyrharper's Quarters (Giremi)(#10721RJh)
Comfortable quarters boasting an anteroom and a sleeping area at the back have been decorated and arranged tastefully by the occupant. Writing implements are neatly arranged on the desk along with stacks of freshly scraped hides and a precious bundle of paper. The chair drawn up to the desk is sturdy wickerwork with a plump cushion on the seat for comfort. Another chair of similar design is turned towards the stone hearth and a matching wicker work table with a board top stands on a warm-hued carpet that takes the chill out of the stone floor.
The small hearth is built into the right side of the room, the mantle a long shelf above it carved right out of the wall holds a few bound tomes, the titles pressed into the bindings declaring them to be volumes of stories and poetry. On the walls are hung several paintings and tapestries, among them one that seems to be a family portrait (+view 'portrait').
The evening is quite cloudy, with only a few open patches to let the stars and the stars. The smaller Belior is shining brightly as a full moon while Timor winks as a waxing crescent peek through. A light wind blows and the winter air is cold. The ground is icy beneath your feet.
Jenivrys managed a discreet escape for them both from the Reaches - Xoneth bespoke Sionath so Giremi could be waiting in the bowl. Then the brown flipped *between* lower than usual, cutting off any attempt at conversation. As they wound their way through the tunnels Vrys remained tense, answering only with monosyllables until they reached the safety of Remi's room. Now she stands just the side of the door, her head thunking back against the wood as she exhales a long breath, eyes closed and jacket hanging open over her red sweater.
Giremi is all confusion and concern as he steps into the room, unwinding his scarf from around his neck and looking over at the brownrider with a little frown. He doesn't speak right away, moves to get down the wineskin, pours out a glass, then approaches Vrys, holding it out. "What happened, Vrys?" the harper asks in a quiet voice, eyes drawn briefly to the sweater, then they retreat back to her face. "Why all the urgency, I mean, I ah ... realize there was a flight ..." the lanky young man clears his throat lightly then gestures inward. "Won't you have a seat?"
Jenivrys thunks her head again, her eyes flying open at the impact, and pushes herself off the support. She manages a smile of thanks as she takes the glass, her other hand fiddling with the last of the buckles that holds her jacket closed. "T'rev..." she begins, clears her throat. Tries again: "T'rev came to me. After... a little while ago. He said he'd taken you there, but Teonath rose. He said... he said he'd attacked one of the other men. Riders. He wasn't in any shape to, to come get you, and anyway..." She drowns the last of that sentence in her wine, letting the glass linger near her mouth to dissuade further explanation.
Giremi's frown only deepens a little at this explanation. "Ah." His eyes skip over to where he laid the bronzerider's jacket earlier when they came in and nods once. "Well I assumed that Mecaith had chased when I found his jacket without him attached to it," tone dry. "But it is somewhat disconcerting to be forgotten, so." Pause. "Thank you for coming to get me, Vrys. I appreciate it, though I'm sure my mother wouldn't have minded. I wonder if there'll be any anger at all about the fight though, I mean, these things happen sometimes in during flights. It would be ... bad if a grudge were held, on top of everything else that's happened." He sighs once and then moves to get himself a drink, the expected whiskey. "Are you all right?" The question is posed softly, after he's poured out the whiskey and set the bottle down on the table before the hearth, the glass itself held in one hand.
Jenivrys considers him, her head tipped to the side. "Telgar attacking Reaches? Telgar -at- Reaches, during their senior queen's flight?" Pursing her lips she shakes her head and crosses to sink into the chair offered. "I don't know. I think so. I'm just... rattled. T'rev... I've never seen him like that. He couldn't even get up Mecaith's straps. I don't know if they're still up there - I hope so. He wasn't safe to fly."
"Yes." Giremi looks grave as he too settles down into a chair. "Hopefully things will not ... devolve further." He speaks slowly and carefully, that little dent still between his brows. "I almost feel bad now about asking him to take me to Reaches tonight. Ah well, hopefully it'll get sorted out." He tilts his glass up takes a sip then shoots a look over at Jenivrys. "Really? I mean I've seen the after-effects of a goldflight before and it's usually pretty intense, especially for the riders involved, but that sounds a little bit extreme." Pause. "Would you like to go check to see if he's all right? I'll be up for a while longer. That is, if you'd care to return ... er."
"It's not the Turnover visit you expected," is all she says about his abortive trip to visit his family. As for T'rev, she rubs the bridge of her nose with her thumb, doing nothing to the wine but hold it. "I... no. That wouldn't be... very smart. If I went back, he'd think it was for, for -him-. Xoneth is talking to Mecaith; they won't let anything happen." She musters up a hesitant smile for the harper. "I don't think it would be very... safe."
"Not at all," Giremi murmurs with a wry grin into his whiskey though he shoots another look over her way, eyes on the movements of her fingers, attentive to her tone of voice. "Ah. I see. I ah -- well. Yes. A rider after a flight would have trouble with his ah ... reactions." Best to drink a little more just then and then he grasps at straws a little. "Perhaps I could play for you? Something to relax the nerves?"
Her smile broadens, if only for a moment. "I wouldn't... Xoneth hasn't chased yet. But... yes. I think so. It's safer for me to be here." Finally she straightens and focuses further onto the lanky man. "If you'd like to, then yes, please. I've heard you play in the living cavern and such, but never... only big things."
"Oh ... well I'm sure the Weyrlingmaster has prepared you all adequately for that. I'm weyrbred so while the flight /did/ affect me, I'm used to it enough that it wasn't any great matter to push it aside. Gold flights often affect the residents as well as the riders, though obviously not to the same degree." Giremi takes another sip from his glass then sets it down, with a coaster properly placed beneath and rises to fetch his gitar, uncasing it carefully. "I'd be delighted - especially if you don't ask me to sing too much," he says with a little laugh. "I manage all right but I'm well aware that's not my best skill."
Jenivrys says primly, "I don't know if we -can- be prepared," as she tucks her feet under her chair, her back straight and shoulders back. "Right now he just wants to watch the greens, and really... I'm all right with that." Reminded by his own drinking, she finally takes a sip of her wine and watches him fetch his gitar. "I don't remember me asking you to sing at all. You can sing if you want to - you're the harper."
The gitar is lifted and Giremi returns to the chair, tuning it lightly. He looks up and over at the brownrider with a little grin. "No, you didn't and you didn't ask me to play either, but I'm offering. Because I'd like to help if I can and this is one of the ways I can think of." His fingers strum lightly over the strings, the harper tuning the instrument with deft turns of the knobs on the neck. He nods eventually and strikes a true chord, then starts to pick out a relatively well-known tune, sweet-melodied, soothing. The words that usually go with it describe a sunny afternoon spent by a river.
While he's tuning Vrys says again, "You can sing if you want to," then quiets to listen. She bobs her head in time, mostly watching his fingers on the strings but occasionally flicking her eyes to his face. The level of her wine steadily decreases in those tiny sips she takes.
In private quarters, when he doesn't have to entertain a crowd, Giremi is a far different performing harper. He actually gets into the music, the stiff, proper exterior he usually wears gradually softening. At first he doesn't sing, but then with a shy smile for his companion he does sing two of the verses. His voice isn't anything to write home about, but it's not unpleasant either, tuneful.
Jenivrys joins in on the last verse, her cheeks going pink. She's a soprano - an untrained one, but with a clear voice that reminds of pipes. As he winds up with a flourish she draws back into her chair, cradling the last few swallows in the glass to her chest. "I think you have a very nice voice. I don't see why you don't like to sing."
The harper stills the strings at the end of the tune and blinks over at Jenivrys in surprise, then smiles, a wide bright, flattered smile. "Thank you ... I suppose it's partly because I know that by comparison to most other harpers I don't really have a standout voice. And it's not even so much that I don't like to. It just took a lot for me to get over being shy for performances. I still get nervous, even when it's just evening entertainment here."
"Well," she decides for him, "You should sing more often. We don't have any other harpers here to compare you to. And since there aren't any babies crying..." She tilts her head pointedly, going quiet to listen for the lack of sobbing children. "See? I think the only one who minds you is you."
Giremi colors just a little, then laughs. "Uh no ... I don't usually make babies cry. But ... thanks Vrys." His smile reappers, warm and friendly. "So ... do you know this one?" And he starts up another song, this one's a jaunty tune, with funny words, a little less popular than the other, but not outside of the realm of what Vrys might know. The topic's holder-oriented, something to do with sheep and wool.
Jenivrys listens, head nodding, through the first two lines. She gives him a little shake - don't know it - but the lyrics have her smiling. By the second repeat of the chorus she's singing along; during the verses she quiets and has more wine. The glass finishes before the song does, but she waits for the end before setting it aside to clap. "That one was lovely. Do you know any about mining? Or... or forests?"
Warming up further, Giremi's formality wanes some more in the light of her clapping. "It's a good one, usually a crowd-pleased, especially in parts of the world where sheep are a common occupation." He plucks at strings seemingly at random, idle tuning as he thinks through his repertoire. "Sadly, most of the mining tunes are hopelessly /dire/. Mostly serious, teaching ballad stuff ... but, forests? Yes." The harper tweaks the tuning slightly and this time, the tune has an air of quiet majesty to it, and the words describe the peace to be found in the shade of great trees, sing the praises of the forested slopes of Lemos, draw vivid imagery of cool glades and wind singing through branches and leaves.
Jenivrys relaxes further as he plays, her smile appearing more and more frequently as the evening progresses. She sings when she knows the songs, watches him when she doesn't, drinks a second glass of wine. Her cheeks flush enough to proclaim her a lightweight, but she never gives sign by voice or manner that she's the slightest bit tipsy. When the muted cheer marks the Turn's end she makes her excuses and stands, thanking him for the lovely evening. As they walk together to the bowl she laces her fingers into his, even accepts a quick brush of his lips on her cheek with Xoneth as chaperone. "Goodnight, Giremi," she says, and leaves him for her brown, giving him a little wave before the pair spiral up into the new Turn's night.
When: Turnover between turn 14 and 15
Where: Giremi's Quarters, Telgar Weyr
What: Vrys rescues Remi from the Reaches after he's been abandoned by his bronzeriding lift post-Teonath's flight. Harper and brownrider share a quietly pleasant Turnover.
Weyrharper's Quarters (Giremi)(#10721RJh)
Comfortable quarters boasting an anteroom and a sleeping area at the back have been decorated and arranged tastefully by the occupant. Writing implements are neatly arranged on the desk along with stacks of freshly scraped hides and a precious bundle of paper. The chair drawn up to the desk is sturdy wickerwork with a plump cushion on the seat for comfort. Another chair of similar design is turned towards the stone hearth and a matching wicker work table with a board top stands on a warm-hued carpet that takes the chill out of the stone floor.
The small hearth is built into the right side of the room, the mantle a long shelf above it carved right out of the wall holds a few bound tomes, the titles pressed into the bindings declaring them to be volumes of stories and poetry. On the walls are hung several paintings and tapestries, among them one that seems to be a family portrait (+view 'portrait').
The evening is quite cloudy, with only a few open patches to let the stars and the stars. The smaller Belior is shining brightly as a full moon while Timor winks as a waxing crescent peek through. A light wind blows and the winter air is cold. The ground is icy beneath your feet.
Jenivrys managed a discreet escape for them both from the Reaches - Xoneth bespoke Sionath so Giremi could be waiting in the bowl. Then the brown flipped *between* lower than usual, cutting off any attempt at conversation. As they wound their way through the tunnels Vrys remained tense, answering only with monosyllables until they reached the safety of Remi's room. Now she stands just the side of the door, her head thunking back against the wood as she exhales a long breath, eyes closed and jacket hanging open over her red sweater.
Giremi is all confusion and concern as he steps into the room, unwinding his scarf from around his neck and looking over at the brownrider with a little frown. He doesn't speak right away, moves to get down the wineskin, pours out a glass, then approaches Vrys, holding it out. "What happened, Vrys?" the harper asks in a quiet voice, eyes drawn briefly to the sweater, then they retreat back to her face. "Why all the urgency, I mean, I ah ... realize there was a flight ..." the lanky young man clears his throat lightly then gestures inward. "Won't you have a seat?"
Jenivrys thunks her head again, her eyes flying open at the impact, and pushes herself off the support. She manages a smile of thanks as she takes the glass, her other hand fiddling with the last of the buckles that holds her jacket closed. "T'rev..." she begins, clears her throat. Tries again: "T'rev came to me. After... a little while ago. He said he'd taken you there, but Teonath rose. He said... he said he'd attacked one of the other men. Riders. He wasn't in any shape to, to come get you, and anyway..." She drowns the last of that sentence in her wine, letting the glass linger near her mouth to dissuade further explanation.
Giremi's frown only deepens a little at this explanation. "Ah." His eyes skip over to where he laid the bronzerider's jacket earlier when they came in and nods once. "Well I assumed that Mecaith had chased when I found his jacket without him attached to it," tone dry. "But it is somewhat disconcerting to be forgotten, so." Pause. "Thank you for coming to get me, Vrys. I appreciate it, though I'm sure my mother wouldn't have minded. I wonder if there'll be any anger at all about the fight though, I mean, these things happen sometimes in during flights. It would be ... bad if a grudge were held, on top of everything else that's happened." He sighs once and then moves to get himself a drink, the expected whiskey. "Are you all right?" The question is posed softly, after he's poured out the whiskey and set the bottle down on the table before the hearth, the glass itself held in one hand.
Jenivrys considers him, her head tipped to the side. "Telgar attacking Reaches? Telgar -at- Reaches, during their senior queen's flight?" Pursing her lips she shakes her head and crosses to sink into the chair offered. "I don't know. I think so. I'm just... rattled. T'rev... I've never seen him like that. He couldn't even get up Mecaith's straps. I don't know if they're still up there - I hope so. He wasn't safe to fly."
"Yes." Giremi looks grave as he too settles down into a chair. "Hopefully things will not ... devolve further." He speaks slowly and carefully, that little dent still between his brows. "I almost feel bad now about asking him to take me to Reaches tonight. Ah well, hopefully it'll get sorted out." He tilts his glass up takes a sip then shoots a look over at Jenivrys. "Really? I mean I've seen the after-effects of a goldflight before and it's usually pretty intense, especially for the riders involved, but that sounds a little bit extreme." Pause. "Would you like to go check to see if he's all right? I'll be up for a while longer. That is, if you'd care to return ... er."
"It's not the Turnover visit you expected," is all she says about his abortive trip to visit his family. As for T'rev, she rubs the bridge of her nose with her thumb, doing nothing to the wine but hold it. "I... no. That wouldn't be... very smart. If I went back, he'd think it was for, for -him-. Xoneth is talking to Mecaith; they won't let anything happen." She musters up a hesitant smile for the harper. "I don't think it would be very... safe."
"Not at all," Giremi murmurs with a wry grin into his whiskey though he shoots another look over her way, eyes on the movements of her fingers, attentive to her tone of voice. "Ah. I see. I ah -- well. Yes. A rider after a flight would have trouble with his ah ... reactions." Best to drink a little more just then and then he grasps at straws a little. "Perhaps I could play for you? Something to relax the nerves?"
Her smile broadens, if only for a moment. "I wouldn't... Xoneth hasn't chased yet. But... yes. I think so. It's safer for me to be here." Finally she straightens and focuses further onto the lanky man. "If you'd like to, then yes, please. I've heard you play in the living cavern and such, but never... only big things."
"Oh ... well I'm sure the Weyrlingmaster has prepared you all adequately for that. I'm weyrbred so while the flight /did/ affect me, I'm used to it enough that it wasn't any great matter to push it aside. Gold flights often affect the residents as well as the riders, though obviously not to the same degree." Giremi takes another sip from his glass then sets it down, with a coaster properly placed beneath and rises to fetch his gitar, uncasing it carefully. "I'd be delighted - especially if you don't ask me to sing too much," he says with a little laugh. "I manage all right but I'm well aware that's not my best skill."
Jenivrys says primly, "I don't know if we -can- be prepared," as she tucks her feet under her chair, her back straight and shoulders back. "Right now he just wants to watch the greens, and really... I'm all right with that." Reminded by his own drinking, she finally takes a sip of her wine and watches him fetch his gitar. "I don't remember me asking you to sing at all. You can sing if you want to - you're the harper."
The gitar is lifted and Giremi returns to the chair, tuning it lightly. He looks up and over at the brownrider with a little grin. "No, you didn't and you didn't ask me to play either, but I'm offering. Because I'd like to help if I can and this is one of the ways I can think of." His fingers strum lightly over the strings, the harper tuning the instrument with deft turns of the knobs on the neck. He nods eventually and strikes a true chord, then starts to pick out a relatively well-known tune, sweet-melodied, soothing. The words that usually go with it describe a sunny afternoon spent by a river.
While he's tuning Vrys says again, "You can sing if you want to," then quiets to listen. She bobs her head in time, mostly watching his fingers on the strings but occasionally flicking her eyes to his face. The level of her wine steadily decreases in those tiny sips she takes.
In private quarters, when he doesn't have to entertain a crowd, Giremi is a far different performing harper. He actually gets into the music, the stiff, proper exterior he usually wears gradually softening. At first he doesn't sing, but then with a shy smile for his companion he does sing two of the verses. His voice isn't anything to write home about, but it's not unpleasant either, tuneful.
Jenivrys joins in on the last verse, her cheeks going pink. She's a soprano - an untrained one, but with a clear voice that reminds of pipes. As he winds up with a flourish she draws back into her chair, cradling the last few swallows in the glass to her chest. "I think you have a very nice voice. I don't see why you don't like to sing."
The harper stills the strings at the end of the tune and blinks over at Jenivrys in surprise, then smiles, a wide bright, flattered smile. "Thank you ... I suppose it's partly because I know that by comparison to most other harpers I don't really have a standout voice. And it's not even so much that I don't like to. It just took a lot for me to get over being shy for performances. I still get nervous, even when it's just evening entertainment here."
"Well," she decides for him, "You should sing more often. We don't have any other harpers here to compare you to. And since there aren't any babies crying..." She tilts her head pointedly, going quiet to listen for the lack of sobbing children. "See? I think the only one who minds you is you."
Giremi colors just a little, then laughs. "Uh no ... I don't usually make babies cry. But ... thanks Vrys." His smile reappers, warm and friendly. "So ... do you know this one?" And he starts up another song, this one's a jaunty tune, with funny words, a little less popular than the other, but not outside of the realm of what Vrys might know. The topic's holder-oriented, something to do with sheep and wool.
Jenivrys listens, head nodding, through the first two lines. She gives him a little shake - don't know it - but the lyrics have her smiling. By the second repeat of the chorus she's singing along; during the verses she quiets and has more wine. The glass finishes before the song does, but she waits for the end before setting it aside to clap. "That one was lovely. Do you know any about mining? Or... or forests?"
Warming up further, Giremi's formality wanes some more in the light of her clapping. "It's a good one, usually a crowd-pleased, especially in parts of the world where sheep are a common occupation." He plucks at strings seemingly at random, idle tuning as he thinks through his repertoire. "Sadly, most of the mining tunes are hopelessly /dire/. Mostly serious, teaching ballad stuff ... but, forests? Yes." The harper tweaks the tuning slightly and this time, the tune has an air of quiet majesty to it, and the words describe the peace to be found in the shade of great trees, sing the praises of the forested slopes of Lemos, draw vivid imagery of cool glades and wind singing through branches and leaves.
Jenivrys relaxes further as he plays, her smile appearing more and more frequently as the evening progresses. She sings when she knows the songs, watches him when she doesn't, drinks a second glass of wine. Her cheeks flush enough to proclaim her a lightweight, but she never gives sign by voice or manner that she's the slightest bit tipsy. When the muted cheer marks the Turn's end she makes her excuses and stands, thanking him for the lovely evening. As they walk together to the bowl she laces her fingers into his, even accepts a quick brush of his lips on her cheek with Xoneth as chaperone. "Goodnight, Giremi," she says, and leaves him for her brown, giving him a little wave before the pair spiral up into the new Turn's night.