Log: Talents
Who: Aeriste, Palia, P'draig
When: 19:26 on day 21, month 12, Turn 16
Where: Lakeside, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy and Palia run into Aeriste again and they talk about talents for things and what's required for harpers and Weyrlingmasters or just being 'good with kids'.
Fort Weyr Bowl, by the lake(#1012RJ$)
This long stretch of the bowl lies to the southeast of the feeding grounds. At its western end, near the wall, the ground dips down slightly to where a lake has formed. Dragons are often washed there by their riders, and both riders and their dragons often swim in the cool waters.
The fenced off portion of the bowl for the Weyr's herds is to the northwest. To the north, a small structure built against the feeding ground pens serves as the Weyr's stables. Waves gently lap the shore to the west, and the rest of the bowl lies to the northeast.
It's a chilly evening about a seven before Turnover but the Weyrlingmaster's out walking, hands stuck in pockets and minding his daughter who runs along the shoreline in the dusk calling back to him: "I found a rock, Papa!" With a toddler's faint lisp in her voice.
A young man's voice seems to float up toward them, lightly singing in homage to the season, "The days are short, the sun a spark / Hung thin between the dark and dark./ Fat snowy footsteps track the floor, / And coats pile up near the door." Aeriste walks slowly up to the lake, a heavy black coat thrown on to try to keep the winter's chill from his slender bones. (Note from Aeriste: Poetry is John Updike's 'January')
"Papa!" Palia calls again and P'draig grins, moving to meet her when Aeriste's tune floats his way. "Good evening," he calls over and crouches down, arms spread to catch Palia as she tosses herself at him and opens her palm to show him the chilly surface of a pure white stone.
Aeriste comes up alongside them both. "It seems to be so far," he agrees. "For both of you, I see. Does snow often turn into stones here?" That last is for Palia, and seems to be seriously asked despite the amusement in his eyes.
Palia looks up at Aeriste curiously then holds the rock out. "S'a stone. Not snow." Of which there is some on the ground but not too thick yet. "How's things, Aeriste?" P'draig asks less confrontational than his determined daughter. "Nice tune you were singing there."
Aeriste peers more closely at the stone. "It *is*. How'd you pick that out of the snow? Tt all looks the same to me." To P'draig, he adds, "Thank you. And you both? I'm cold. Winter just isn't my season." It might look it, though, since he's almost as pale as winter snow, and the deep blue of his clothes matches the deepening evening sky. "I thought I'd confront it head-on, and sing it into submission. Do you think it might work?"
Palia just stares at Aeriste for a second then she points back the way she came. "No snow there." And indeed there's a patch where only a little clings and the shapes of rocks and sandy soil are clearly visible even in the low light. "Heh. I'm from the Reaches, guess you could say I have a good tolerance and little miss here is just a bundle of energy, so." He nods though at the former apprentice's words. "Sympathize though about the cold. Wish I could say singing would work, might make you feel warmer though?"
"I'm Fortian-bred. I probably should've been an Istan, though. Balmy weather even in winter, I hear. Ah, well, song and klah and good company'll have to warm me in a tropical isle's stead." Aeriste looks over to where she found the stone - "I see!" - and nods to Palia, too. "She seems to have recovered, then," he says to her father, turning his vivid gaze back to P'draig.
"A little too warm down there for my tastes. And balmy as it can be, it rains a lot. Still, it's my second home, Ista. My weyrmate's a rider there." P'draig chuckles about the klah and company. "Mm, generally both of those go a long way on a cold winter's night." Paddy scoops Palia up and settles her on his hip while the little girl continues to examine her 'prize'. "Yeah, it was just a bad fall, no lasting damage. Gave me a bit of a spell though."
"Ah, so you've a fine reason to escape the chill, while we make do with lesser things." But Aeriste's voice is teasing, not complaining. "Does she still run down steps?"
"Mm, a very fine reason," P'draig says with a light chuckle and hefts Palia a little more, while her little arm goes around his neck. "Of course she does. But she stops to look first now, make sure there's no cracks to trip her up."
"She's doing better than most of us, then, I daresay." Aeriste smiles faintly and looks out over the lake. "We Harpers wouldn't have anything to sing about if everyone approached things so cautiously."
"Palia's a quick learner," P'draig agrees even as said little girl yawns a little and tucks her head down to his shoulder. "You don't think so?" A curious look over at the Candidate.
"Well," Aeriste amends thoughtfully, "A lot less, anyway." He turns his gaze back to P'draig and his daughter, and jams his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Am I keeping either of you? Don't let me, if she needs to rest."
"Hmm. Seems like harper songs cover all sorts of subjects," P'draig opines and cuddles Palia a little closer. "It's why I run her around in the evenings. Helps to get her ready for sleepytime." Palia only smiles though and wraps both arms around her father's neck now. "It's all right, a few minutes more won't hurt anything."
"Since they do..." Aeriste's smile widens fractionally, and he moves to fully face them both. "Is she in need of another lullaby to soothe her to sleep?"
"I don't think so tonight, Aeriste," P'draig says with a low chuckle, rubbing Palia's back gently. The little girl's eyes are all blinky: she's just about there already. "Looks like I'm going to have an evening free and clear." He looks over at the young man though. "You like kids, Aeriste?"
Aeriste considers that. "If they're someone else's," he states cautiously, "Then they're not so bad. I don't know what to do with them besides be entertaining, though. I don't seem to have whatever knack it is that you seem to."
Drooping visibly, Palia yawns again and her eyes close, mouth moving a little, hands curling at P'draig's collar. "She's my daughter ... I don't know if that really means I have a knack ... but we're bonded pretty well, she and I." The Weyrlingmaster nods though about the entertaining. "You've the patience to do that though. A lot don't."
"Thank you. But... I'm a harper," shrugs Aeriste quite cheerfully. "I entertain all sorts of people. Since we rarely have a chance to choose our audiences, it's best to try to learn to amuse them all. And like it, or why would one want to be a Harper at all?"
"Not every harper is like that," P'draig says with a quiet chuckle. "My brother for one. From what he says, there's more than one reason to want to be a harper and performance is only one part of it."
"It is. But if one can't perform well enough..." Aeriste looks back out over the lake. "I'm not too fond of teaching, but it's something I'll have to do, if I end up going back. Or archiving, but if I get posted somewhere where there's a need, I'll have to do that, too. I didn't become a Harper to do those things, but those are inescapable parts of doing one's duty, and I think it's a rare Harper who can't rise to the occasion even if it isn't his preference. We've got responsibilities; cheering people up isn't the least of them."
"Mm. As you say though, doing your duty and pushing through it isn't the same thing as loving it or even having the patience for it." P'draig points this out as he pats Palia's back a little more and shifts her a little higher on his shoulder as she becomes dead weight in sleep. "Some harpers are still probably bette at some things than others when posted, yeah?"
Aeriste's grin is wide and airy, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets so that he might spread his arms wide in a grand gesture- it might seem to encompass all of Pern in one flamboyant sweep. "Who isn't? Human beings are the same no matter what they do, or where they live, or what they are. Would you be Weyrlingmaster if you weren't better than others at guiding the young?"
"Wouldn't say I'm all that good at 'guiding the young'," P'draig counters mildly. "It's more that I'm a good listener. That and practice understanding what Weyrlings need and making sure they get it."
"You have not yet contradicted my assessment, sir." Aeriste softens his own counter with the title, though his gaze gleams wryly up at P'draig.
"I just meant that those are things that don't just work with the /young/," points out P'draig. "The knack with kids is ... well I consider it to be something a little different," he explains with a grin. "Miara, who is effectively Palia's foster-mother, she has it. That something."
"You don't consider someone like me young?" Aeriste inquires. This time, he gestures to himself. "I don't know anything about anything except for singing and talking. Combine someone like that with a dragonet, and I'm sure that you'd have plenty of time to exercise your skills as a wrangler of toddlers. 'No, don't eat that!' 'No, if you run too fast you'll trip... fardles, too late.' 'You should be privy-trained by now...'"
"Young but not a child," P'draig says mildly with a little smile for the former apprentice and he hefts sleeping Palia again. "Like I said, my skills are pretty much limited to her. Maybe my son when he gets there." A little bob of his head. "I'm going to go put her in bed though," the Weyrlingmaster states. "Don't stay out too long in the cold, Aeriste. Good night."
Aeriste lifts a hand in farewell, and leaves it at that. "Good night, sir."
When: 19:26 on day 21, month 12, Turn 16
Where: Lakeside, Fort Weyr
What: Paddy and Palia run into Aeriste again and they talk about talents for things and what's required for harpers and Weyrlingmasters or just being 'good with kids'.
Fort Weyr Bowl, by the lake(#1012RJ$)
This long stretch of the bowl lies to the southeast of the feeding grounds. At its western end, near the wall, the ground dips down slightly to where a lake has formed. Dragons are often washed there by their riders, and both riders and their dragons often swim in the cool waters.
The fenced off portion of the bowl for the Weyr's herds is to the northwest. To the north, a small structure built against the feeding ground pens serves as the Weyr's stables. Waves gently lap the shore to the west, and the rest of the bowl lies to the northeast.
It's a chilly evening about a seven before Turnover but the Weyrlingmaster's out walking, hands stuck in pockets and minding his daughter who runs along the shoreline in the dusk calling back to him: "I found a rock, Papa!" With a toddler's faint lisp in her voice.
A young man's voice seems to float up toward them, lightly singing in homage to the season, "The days are short, the sun a spark / Hung thin between the dark and dark./ Fat snowy footsteps track the floor, / And coats pile up near the door." Aeriste walks slowly up to the lake, a heavy black coat thrown on to try to keep the winter's chill from his slender bones. (Note from Aeriste: Poetry is John Updike's 'January')
"Papa!" Palia calls again and P'draig grins, moving to meet her when Aeriste's tune floats his way. "Good evening," he calls over and crouches down, arms spread to catch Palia as she tosses herself at him and opens her palm to show him the chilly surface of a pure white stone.
Aeriste comes up alongside them both. "It seems to be so far," he agrees. "For both of you, I see. Does snow often turn into stones here?" That last is for Palia, and seems to be seriously asked despite the amusement in his eyes.
Palia looks up at Aeriste curiously then holds the rock out. "S'a stone. Not snow." Of which there is some on the ground but not too thick yet. "How's things, Aeriste?" P'draig asks less confrontational than his determined daughter. "Nice tune you were singing there."
Aeriste peers more closely at the stone. "It *is*. How'd you pick that out of the snow? Tt all looks the same to me." To P'draig, he adds, "Thank you. And you both? I'm cold. Winter just isn't my season." It might look it, though, since he's almost as pale as winter snow, and the deep blue of his clothes matches the deepening evening sky. "I thought I'd confront it head-on, and sing it into submission. Do you think it might work?"
Palia just stares at Aeriste for a second then she points back the way she came. "No snow there." And indeed there's a patch where only a little clings and the shapes of rocks and sandy soil are clearly visible even in the low light. "Heh. I'm from the Reaches, guess you could say I have a good tolerance and little miss here is just a bundle of energy, so." He nods though at the former apprentice's words. "Sympathize though about the cold. Wish I could say singing would work, might make you feel warmer though?"
"I'm Fortian-bred. I probably should've been an Istan, though. Balmy weather even in winter, I hear. Ah, well, song and klah and good company'll have to warm me in a tropical isle's stead." Aeriste looks over to where she found the stone - "I see!" - and nods to Palia, too. "She seems to have recovered, then," he says to her father, turning his vivid gaze back to P'draig.
"A little too warm down there for my tastes. And balmy as it can be, it rains a lot. Still, it's my second home, Ista. My weyrmate's a rider there." P'draig chuckles about the klah and company. "Mm, generally both of those go a long way on a cold winter's night." Paddy scoops Palia up and settles her on his hip while the little girl continues to examine her 'prize'. "Yeah, it was just a bad fall, no lasting damage. Gave me a bit of a spell though."
"Ah, so you've a fine reason to escape the chill, while we make do with lesser things." But Aeriste's voice is teasing, not complaining. "Does she still run down steps?"
"Mm, a very fine reason," P'draig says with a light chuckle and hefts Palia a little more, while her little arm goes around his neck. "Of course she does. But she stops to look first now, make sure there's no cracks to trip her up."
"She's doing better than most of us, then, I daresay." Aeriste smiles faintly and looks out over the lake. "We Harpers wouldn't have anything to sing about if everyone approached things so cautiously."
"Palia's a quick learner," P'draig agrees even as said little girl yawns a little and tucks her head down to his shoulder. "You don't think so?" A curious look over at the Candidate.
"Well," Aeriste amends thoughtfully, "A lot less, anyway." He turns his gaze back to P'draig and his daughter, and jams his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Am I keeping either of you? Don't let me, if she needs to rest."
"Hmm. Seems like harper songs cover all sorts of subjects," P'draig opines and cuddles Palia a little closer. "It's why I run her around in the evenings. Helps to get her ready for sleepytime." Palia only smiles though and wraps both arms around her father's neck now. "It's all right, a few minutes more won't hurt anything."
"Since they do..." Aeriste's smile widens fractionally, and he moves to fully face them both. "Is she in need of another lullaby to soothe her to sleep?"
"I don't think so tonight, Aeriste," P'draig says with a low chuckle, rubbing Palia's back gently. The little girl's eyes are all blinky: she's just about there already. "Looks like I'm going to have an evening free and clear." He looks over at the young man though. "You like kids, Aeriste?"
Aeriste considers that. "If they're someone else's," he states cautiously, "Then they're not so bad. I don't know what to do with them besides be entertaining, though. I don't seem to have whatever knack it is that you seem to."
Drooping visibly, Palia yawns again and her eyes close, mouth moving a little, hands curling at P'draig's collar. "She's my daughter ... I don't know if that really means I have a knack ... but we're bonded pretty well, she and I." The Weyrlingmaster nods though about the entertaining. "You've the patience to do that though. A lot don't."
"Thank you. But... I'm a harper," shrugs Aeriste quite cheerfully. "I entertain all sorts of people. Since we rarely have a chance to choose our audiences, it's best to try to learn to amuse them all. And like it, or why would one want to be a Harper at all?"
"Not every harper is like that," P'draig says with a quiet chuckle. "My brother for one. From what he says, there's more than one reason to want to be a harper and performance is only one part of it."
"It is. But if one can't perform well enough..." Aeriste looks back out over the lake. "I'm not too fond of teaching, but it's something I'll have to do, if I end up going back. Or archiving, but if I get posted somewhere where there's a need, I'll have to do that, too. I didn't become a Harper to do those things, but those are inescapable parts of doing one's duty, and I think it's a rare Harper who can't rise to the occasion even if it isn't his preference. We've got responsibilities; cheering people up isn't the least of them."
"Mm. As you say though, doing your duty and pushing through it isn't the same thing as loving it or even having the patience for it." P'draig points this out as he pats Palia's back a little more and shifts her a little higher on his shoulder as she becomes dead weight in sleep. "Some harpers are still probably bette at some things than others when posted, yeah?"
Aeriste's grin is wide and airy, and he pulls his hands out of his pockets so that he might spread his arms wide in a grand gesture- it might seem to encompass all of Pern in one flamboyant sweep. "Who isn't? Human beings are the same no matter what they do, or where they live, or what they are. Would you be Weyrlingmaster if you weren't better than others at guiding the young?"
"Wouldn't say I'm all that good at 'guiding the young'," P'draig counters mildly. "It's more that I'm a good listener. That and practice understanding what Weyrlings need and making sure they get it."
"You have not yet contradicted my assessment, sir." Aeriste softens his own counter with the title, though his gaze gleams wryly up at P'draig.
"I just meant that those are things that don't just work with the /young/," points out P'draig. "The knack with kids is ... well I consider it to be something a little different," he explains with a grin. "Miara, who is effectively Palia's foster-mother, she has it. That something."
"You don't consider someone like me young?" Aeriste inquires. This time, he gestures to himself. "I don't know anything about anything except for singing and talking. Combine someone like that with a dragonet, and I'm sure that you'd have plenty of time to exercise your skills as a wrangler of toddlers. 'No, don't eat that!' 'No, if you run too fast you'll trip... fardles, too late.' 'You should be privy-trained by now...'"
"Young but not a child," P'draig says mildly with a little smile for the former apprentice and he hefts sleeping Palia again. "Like I said, my skills are pretty much limited to her. Maybe my son when he gets there." A little bob of his head. "I'm going to go put her in bed though," the Weyrlingmaster states. "Don't stay out too long in the cold, Aeriste. Good night."
Aeriste lifts a hand in farewell, and leaves it at that. "Good night, sir."