Log: Harp Lesson
Who: Giremi, Vrys
When: Evening, day 6, month 10, Turn 15, of the Interval
Where: Workroom, Telgar Weyr
What: Remi and Vrys are still exchanging lessons.
Workroom, Telgar Weyr
Telgar's workroom is usually aflutter with activity. When the skies are clear of Thread and the main caverns taken care of, many of the residents gather here to work on hobbies and projects of one sort or another. Leather strips hang neatly on pegs along the northern wall, while varying hues of threads in an array of widths dangle beside them. Thin strips of wood are gathered into baskets that line the wall beneath the pegs and, one would assume, are used in making other baskets. The eastern wall boasts a long, if narrow wooden table. Materials and hides litter its top which are likely works in progress left by owners for the now. A small hearth and nearby table complete the room as they occur by the southern-most stone wall. Mugs, cups and small plates claim the table as home while there always seems to be something brewing over the heat. Glowbaskets are scattered about the cavern for use by whomever needs them. They manage to add a warm glow that tends to pervade those who enter here.
It's a quiet night at Telgar, the skies clear for the first time in several days. The workroom is a little emptier than usual tonight, as many people are out enjoying the weather - "the last good night!" many say, cheerfully dreading the impending winter. Jenivrys is not one of them. Tonight she is tucked back into a quiet corner of the room, one leg folded beneath her and harp balanced on her lap. Her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she runs through scales.
Giremi comes in from the impending chill, unwinding scarf from neck and makes his way unerringly back to where Vrys is sat. "Good evening, Vrys, ready for the next lesson?" His inquiry is accompanied by a warm smile, the harper's manner easier with her than it has been in weeks, like before certain unfortunately forward events.
Tall at some six and a half feet, Giremi does not wear his height well, having a tendency to stoop and hunch his shoulders as if wishing he were shorter. Lean and lanky, he's put on some muscle in the last few turns that have at least provided him with more of an air of maturity than he used to possess, so he at least looks twenty-something now. Pale and freckled, the young man doesn't look like he's spent much time out of doors and when he does, the sun is not kind to him. Clear blue eyes and wavy auburn hair are his two standout features, the rest of his face largely unremarkable.
Dressed simply, his Journeyman Harper's knot, hangs from his right shoulder.
Jenivrys looks up with a smile, her fingers faltering through the last arpeggio and earning a wince for her timing. "Good evening, Remi. I think so." She stills the strings with the flat of her hand before rubbing the tips of her thumbs against her index fingers in a nervous habit. "Are you... are you well? I'm glad it's dry tonight. The harp is finally staying in tune, I think."
"Good, sounds like you've been practicing those scales, getting the fingers all stretched." Giremi sheds his jacket now as well and folds both it and his scarf precisely over the back of a chair. This he then pulls up beside Vrys and reaches for her hand, turning it over to examine the pads of her fingers. "More time will yield some callus," he murmurs, then releases her hand and looks up smiling again. "I'm very well, thank you and it's a lovely night. Perhaps you'd like to take a walk after we're through?"
Lightly, "Well, I have to do something." She studies her hand while he does, as interested as if she knows what he's looking for; her fingers twitch under the scrutiny and hide in a temporary fist when they're released. She says ruefully, "I'm not sure about the calluses. With as much oil as I put on Xoneth... They'd be nice, though - my fingertips always ache after I've been practicing." Reminded, they rub together again. "I think a walk would be lovely."
"Yes, practice is vital to success," Giremi says encouragingly and nods. "Dragon oil is a serious impediment to building up the proper calluses. I'd never thought of that as a possible detraction for dragonriders. Ah well. So, play through a scale and let's see how you're doing, hmm? And when your hands start to tire, let me know and we can step out for that walk." Beat. "The gardens are probably nice for all the winter weather is encroaching."
"And Xoneth in particular," she laughs, picking a simple chord before stilling the strings again. "He's why I cut my hair in the first place - my hands were always so -oily-." A deep breath dispels the last flicker of smile and she turns to the harp, as serious as a judge. "Scales. Right." She picks through a simple scale, then another, returns to the first to speed it up slightly.
"Ahh. He has dry hide then?" Giremi inquires politely, gaze flickering to her hair. "Understandable, and yet a shame." Beat. "You have lovely hair Vrys." He quiets to listen, leans forward once to make an adjustment to how she's holding her hands. "Do you have trouble reaching across the fifth still?"
"I," Vrys begins, grins in that distracted way riders so often do. Tries again. "Well, /he'll/ tell you he does. Sometimes I even believe him." Her gaze flicks over and down, color pinking her cheeks that brightens when he rearranges her hands. "Thank you. I... what? Yes, a little. Not as much as before."
"So it's more that he enjoys it and will come up with any reason, you think?" Giremi continues and clears his throat a little as she blushes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He leaves it at that though and nods. "I have to say, the harp was very easy for me," one long-fingered hand extended with a wry smily. "Just angle your hand a little more like this," he notes encouragingly. "Otherwise your reach will extend gradually with practice."
"/I/ didn't say that," Xoneth's rider says soberly though her eyes dance at him from under lowered brows. "And... you didn't. You don't." To prove it she angles her hand, just like he suggests. See? "Oh, that -does- help." She plucks another scale, more confidently this time. "You must have the longest fingers at, at Harper, I was going to say, but here at Telgar, too."
There's a soft little chuckle from Giremi for those words and the caught twinkle. "Good," he adds on though, softer still and nods as she works out the fingering better. "Hm. Could be, there aren't all that many people /taller/ either. I've never really bothered to compare though." Remi, thoughtful.
The brownrider says briskly, "Well, there's no point comparing them to mine. You're over a foot taller than me, so it only stands to reason that your fingers are, too." Another scale of seven notes. "--What about your brother? Or V'ard? Those are the only two I can think of who are close to your height."
"No, P'draig's hands are not as long as mine. He's more ... proportional overall, less extremes." Giremi's brows furrow a little and he shrugs about the other rider. "Perhaps. The Reaches' new Weyrleader is also just a little shy of my height, but he's more broadly built." Again wryly: "They called me treetop or stringbean for a reason at the Hall.' His head tilts listening to the scale and nods. "Again, please, then let's try the simple piece?"
Jenivrys presses the strings between her palms, idly watching the buzz still to nothing. "I remember seeing him once - back when I was still a weyrling. He's no tree, he's a mountain." She offers over another quick smile. "I prefe... Oh, you -would- ask that, wouldn't you?!" Good humor fades under a half-pout, half-not-a-pout. "All right, but only if you promise not to laugh. The middle sounds awful, and I don't know why."
"I'd have to agree with that assessment," Remi says with a little nod and his brows lift a little. "Prefer?" prompting lightly and another nod, his gaze lingering just a fraction of a second longer than it ought on that pout, then he's studiously looking at her hands and the harp. "All the more reason for me to hear it so I can /help/," the harper insists gently. "Only way to learn is by making the mistakes and fixing them."
Jenivrys shifts in her chair - shifting is so very important before a recital - and rolls her shoulders. "No laughing," she commands again before, with a deep breath, she launches into a half-speed rendition of a simple teaching song. It's not -bad-, at least not until she reaches the chorus and misses a handful of notes. She grimaces at that - see? - but continues on, managing to bring the speed up out of dirge for the last few measures.
"I solemnly swear not to," Giremi says with a hint of humor dancing in his eyes and a little smile for the brownrider. Then he folds those long-fingered hands together and listens. "It's good you tried to slow it, you can work on bringing it up to speed after you get the accuracy. Now let's work on those passages that are giving you trouble and take a closer look at what's troubling you ..."
Vrys shakes out her hands, tilts the harp toward him in silent inquiry. "It doesn't -sound- right, but I can't figure out why. That's what's on the music you gave me, isn't it?"
"Seems like you might even be off a string in the middle there, or just having trouble making the change in the fourth phrase ..." Giremi takes the harp and turns his chair a little, setting fingers to strings, he plays it through once correctly from memory, then plays the portion in question through slowly so she can watch. "Do you see it? Now try again, but try to feel it and do the same." And he passes the instrument back.
Jenivrys looks attentive but blank, sits up straight with her hands laced together in her lap to listen. The weyrlingmaster must have -loved- her in class. "I... I think so?" Not that she sounds certain. Her lower lip pulls between her teeth when she takes the harp back; she fusses with the instrument longer than necessary to get it settled. "So... huh." Frowning concentration, she picks her way through the beginning, slows even more when the trouble spot arrives. It doesn't help, though - she still plucks the wrong strings.
Giremi furrows his brows a little, watching carefully and then leans over without thinking, sliding his arms around the brownrider and settles his hands over hers. "Here ..." he walks her fingers through the correct motions, drawing her middle finger out a little more. "It's an awkward feeling, I know, but that is actually the /correct/ position or you won't be able to bridge between the two notes." His arms withdraw then and he nods for Vrys to try again. He sits quietly listening through it all a few more times, makes some more suggestions before calling it quits for the night. When he does, he rises to fetch his jacket and scarf and holds his arm out to her once she's dealt with the harp. "Shall we go enjoy that walk then?"
Jenivrys fastens the harp into its case with no little glee before tucking it back into its nook. "Let's," she agrees, threading her arm through his. "Maybe you could... tell me some of the history of the Weyr as we go? Xoneth's been asking, but I told him you'd know more than I would, even if I spent as much time pouring over records as he'd want." They aren't the only couple enjoying the brisk autumn evening, nor the only pair that is actually a trio or quartet. She - or they - are as attentive as any harper could wish, asking intelligent questions that, as the walk progresses, slowly shift onto other topics. There's a hesitancy around her still, subjects she either glosses over or neatly sidesteps, but all in all, it's a pleasant evening. She wishes him a pleasant evening when they return to Xoneth's side and the two of them watch the Harper back into the living caverns.
When: Evening, day 6, month 10, Turn 15, of the Interval
Where: Workroom, Telgar Weyr
What: Remi and Vrys are still exchanging lessons.
Workroom, Telgar Weyr
Telgar's workroom is usually aflutter with activity. When the skies are clear of Thread and the main caverns taken care of, many of the residents gather here to work on hobbies and projects of one sort or another. Leather strips hang neatly on pegs along the northern wall, while varying hues of threads in an array of widths dangle beside them. Thin strips of wood are gathered into baskets that line the wall beneath the pegs and, one would assume, are used in making other baskets. The eastern wall boasts a long, if narrow wooden table. Materials and hides litter its top which are likely works in progress left by owners for the now. A small hearth and nearby table complete the room as they occur by the southern-most stone wall. Mugs, cups and small plates claim the table as home while there always seems to be something brewing over the heat. Glowbaskets are scattered about the cavern for use by whomever needs them. They manage to add a warm glow that tends to pervade those who enter here.
It's a quiet night at Telgar, the skies clear for the first time in several days. The workroom is a little emptier than usual tonight, as many people are out enjoying the weather - "the last good night!" many say, cheerfully dreading the impending winter. Jenivrys is not one of them. Tonight she is tucked back into a quiet corner of the room, one leg folded beneath her and harp balanced on her lap. Her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth as she runs through scales.
Giremi comes in from the impending chill, unwinding scarf from neck and makes his way unerringly back to where Vrys is sat. "Good evening, Vrys, ready for the next lesson?" His inquiry is accompanied by a warm smile, the harper's manner easier with her than it has been in weeks, like before certain unfortunately forward events.
Tall at some six and a half feet, Giremi does not wear his height well, having a tendency to stoop and hunch his shoulders as if wishing he were shorter. Lean and lanky, he's put on some muscle in the last few turns that have at least provided him with more of an air of maturity than he used to possess, so he at least looks twenty-something now. Pale and freckled, the young man doesn't look like he's spent much time out of doors and when he does, the sun is not kind to him. Clear blue eyes and wavy auburn hair are his two standout features, the rest of his face largely unremarkable.
Dressed simply, his Journeyman Harper's knot, hangs from his right shoulder.
Jenivrys looks up with a smile, her fingers faltering through the last arpeggio and earning a wince for her timing. "Good evening, Remi. I think so." She stills the strings with the flat of her hand before rubbing the tips of her thumbs against her index fingers in a nervous habit. "Are you... are you well? I'm glad it's dry tonight. The harp is finally staying in tune, I think."
"Good, sounds like you've been practicing those scales, getting the fingers all stretched." Giremi sheds his jacket now as well and folds both it and his scarf precisely over the back of a chair. This he then pulls up beside Vrys and reaches for her hand, turning it over to examine the pads of her fingers. "More time will yield some callus," he murmurs, then releases her hand and looks up smiling again. "I'm very well, thank you and it's a lovely night. Perhaps you'd like to take a walk after we're through?"
Lightly, "Well, I have to do something." She studies her hand while he does, as interested as if she knows what he's looking for; her fingers twitch under the scrutiny and hide in a temporary fist when they're released. She says ruefully, "I'm not sure about the calluses. With as much oil as I put on Xoneth... They'd be nice, though - my fingertips always ache after I've been practicing." Reminded, they rub together again. "I think a walk would be lovely."
"Yes, practice is vital to success," Giremi says encouragingly and nods. "Dragon oil is a serious impediment to building up the proper calluses. I'd never thought of that as a possible detraction for dragonriders. Ah well. So, play through a scale and let's see how you're doing, hmm? And when your hands start to tire, let me know and we can step out for that walk." Beat. "The gardens are probably nice for all the winter weather is encroaching."
"And Xoneth in particular," she laughs, picking a simple chord before stilling the strings again. "He's why I cut my hair in the first place - my hands were always so -oily-." A deep breath dispels the last flicker of smile and she turns to the harp, as serious as a judge. "Scales. Right." She picks through a simple scale, then another, returns to the first to speed it up slightly.
"Ahh. He has dry hide then?" Giremi inquires politely, gaze flickering to her hair. "Understandable, and yet a shame." Beat. "You have lovely hair Vrys." He quiets to listen, leans forward once to make an adjustment to how she's holding her hands. "Do you have trouble reaching across the fifth still?"
"I," Vrys begins, grins in that distracted way riders so often do. Tries again. "Well, /he'll/ tell you he does. Sometimes I even believe him." Her gaze flicks over and down, color pinking her cheeks that brightens when he rearranges her hands. "Thank you. I... what? Yes, a little. Not as much as before."
"So it's more that he enjoys it and will come up with any reason, you think?" Giremi continues and clears his throat a little as she blushes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." He leaves it at that though and nods. "I have to say, the harp was very easy for me," one long-fingered hand extended with a wry smily. "Just angle your hand a little more like this," he notes encouragingly. "Otherwise your reach will extend gradually with practice."
"/I/ didn't say that," Xoneth's rider says soberly though her eyes dance at him from under lowered brows. "And... you didn't. You don't." To prove it she angles her hand, just like he suggests. See? "Oh, that -does- help." She plucks another scale, more confidently this time. "You must have the longest fingers at, at Harper, I was going to say, but here at Telgar, too."
There's a soft little chuckle from Giremi for those words and the caught twinkle. "Good," he adds on though, softer still and nods as she works out the fingering better. "Hm. Could be, there aren't all that many people /taller/ either. I've never really bothered to compare though." Remi, thoughtful.
The brownrider says briskly, "Well, there's no point comparing them to mine. You're over a foot taller than me, so it only stands to reason that your fingers are, too." Another scale of seven notes. "--What about your brother? Or V'ard? Those are the only two I can think of who are close to your height."
"No, P'draig's hands are not as long as mine. He's more ... proportional overall, less extremes." Giremi's brows furrow a little and he shrugs about the other rider. "Perhaps. The Reaches' new Weyrleader is also just a little shy of my height, but he's more broadly built." Again wryly: "They called me treetop or stringbean for a reason at the Hall.' His head tilts listening to the scale and nods. "Again, please, then let's try the simple piece?"
Jenivrys presses the strings between her palms, idly watching the buzz still to nothing. "I remember seeing him once - back when I was still a weyrling. He's no tree, he's a mountain." She offers over another quick smile. "I prefe... Oh, you -would- ask that, wouldn't you?!" Good humor fades under a half-pout, half-not-a-pout. "All right, but only if you promise not to laugh. The middle sounds awful, and I don't know why."
"I'd have to agree with that assessment," Remi says with a little nod and his brows lift a little. "Prefer?" prompting lightly and another nod, his gaze lingering just a fraction of a second longer than it ought on that pout, then he's studiously looking at her hands and the harp. "All the more reason for me to hear it so I can /help/," the harper insists gently. "Only way to learn is by making the mistakes and fixing them."
Jenivrys shifts in her chair - shifting is so very important before a recital - and rolls her shoulders. "No laughing," she commands again before, with a deep breath, she launches into a half-speed rendition of a simple teaching song. It's not -bad-, at least not until she reaches the chorus and misses a handful of notes. She grimaces at that - see? - but continues on, managing to bring the speed up out of dirge for the last few measures.
"I solemnly swear not to," Giremi says with a hint of humor dancing in his eyes and a little smile for the brownrider. Then he folds those long-fingered hands together and listens. "It's good you tried to slow it, you can work on bringing it up to speed after you get the accuracy. Now let's work on those passages that are giving you trouble and take a closer look at what's troubling you ..."
Vrys shakes out her hands, tilts the harp toward him in silent inquiry. "It doesn't -sound- right, but I can't figure out why. That's what's on the music you gave me, isn't it?"
"Seems like you might even be off a string in the middle there, or just having trouble making the change in the fourth phrase ..." Giremi takes the harp and turns his chair a little, setting fingers to strings, he plays it through once correctly from memory, then plays the portion in question through slowly so she can watch. "Do you see it? Now try again, but try to feel it and do the same." And he passes the instrument back.
Jenivrys looks attentive but blank, sits up straight with her hands laced together in her lap to listen. The weyrlingmaster must have -loved- her in class. "I... I think so?" Not that she sounds certain. Her lower lip pulls between her teeth when she takes the harp back; she fusses with the instrument longer than necessary to get it settled. "So... huh." Frowning concentration, she picks her way through the beginning, slows even more when the trouble spot arrives. It doesn't help, though - she still plucks the wrong strings.
Giremi furrows his brows a little, watching carefully and then leans over without thinking, sliding his arms around the brownrider and settles his hands over hers. "Here ..." he walks her fingers through the correct motions, drawing her middle finger out a little more. "It's an awkward feeling, I know, but that is actually the /correct/ position or you won't be able to bridge between the two notes." His arms withdraw then and he nods for Vrys to try again. He sits quietly listening through it all a few more times, makes some more suggestions before calling it quits for the night. When he does, he rises to fetch his jacket and scarf and holds his arm out to her once she's dealt with the harp. "Shall we go enjoy that walk then?"
Jenivrys fastens the harp into its case with no little glee before tucking it back into its nook. "Let's," she agrees, threading her arm through his. "Maybe you could... tell me some of the history of the Weyr as we go? Xoneth's been asking, but I told him you'd know more than I would, even if I spent as much time pouring over records as he'd want." They aren't the only couple enjoying the brisk autumn evening, nor the only pair that is actually a trio or quartet. She - or they - are as attentive as any harper could wish, asking intelligent questions that, as the walk progresses, slowly shift onto other topics. There's a hesitancy around her still, subjects she either glosses over or neatly sidesteps, but all in all, it's a pleasant evening. She wishes him a pleasant evening when they return to Xoneth's side and the two of them watch the Harper back into the living caverns.