Log: Growing Pains
Who: P'draig, Berit
When: 4/21/17 - Regular NC Time.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: Berit is having trouble with Zibeth and comes to P'draig for help.
Springtime brings with it a plethora of things - new life, the thawing of ice, and for the weyrlings, the daily challenges of fast-growing dragons. It is just before the noon hour and Berit is creeping into the Weyrlingmaster's office, opening the door and silently closing it behind her. Her dragon is not be seen, though likely she is having one of her usual naps. Giving the customary salute and a meek, "hello", she situates herself in one of the chairs at the table, without so much as a 'how do you do' or a 'may I sit?'. Whatever is weighing on her mind must be a heavy burden to bear to make her forget her usual idiosyncrasies and manners.
Erasing and updating the blackboard again, P'draig turns at the sound of the closing door and fixes Berit with a curious look. She's not spoken and the aspect of her body language doesn't bode well. Seems this is a tough seven for more than one of the Weyrlings. Paddy steadily writes out the last word he was working on. Something about formations and sets the chalk down, brushes the dust off his fingers. After a moment's hesitation he pours not from the juice but the decanter of wine, half the glass, and then waters it, pushes this over to Berit, then sits down, hands folded on the table. "What's up?"
Green eyes fly up to the board and quickly back down. Shyness and uncertainty are there in her gaze, a mixture that stems from some inner turmoil. Berit runs her fingers along the edge of the table, but starts suddenly when the glass grates against the table. "I am not.. I.." She stumbles on her words, falters, and releases a sigh. Her fingers loosely grasp the wine glass, pulling it closer. "I am having trouble." Flatly. "With Zibeth." Surprise of all surprises. "She is starting to ..ask questions." Lifting a pained expression to P'draig, she pushes through the anxiety, "I would not say anything if it were simple questions. I keep hoping she asks why fish swim or why we walk on two feet, but it is more serious than that."
P'draig listens. Doesn't say anything else, as Berit's words stop and start and stumble forth. "Have a drink," he finally advises when she's done and reaches for another glass, pours one of unwatered wine for himself and has a sip. "Then tell me about these questions," Paddy says calmly and folds his hands atop the table again, waiting patiently.
"I.." On the tip of her tongue is the refusal of the drink, but given the wisdom of the other, Berit drags the glass up to her lips to drink. She takes three small sips and places it back down, furrowing her brows as she sifts through all the things she wants to say. "Someone told her that she could not chew firestone with everyone else and she wants to prove them wrong. And we.. we have not completely fixed our issues yet. I can usually control it, but she.. her want is so *severe*." Frowning deeply, she looks up from the watered-down wine in her glass. "I do not want her to do anything that could hurt her."
Again, P'draig listens. Waits until Berit is done and nods. "That is pretty serious. She can't chew 'stone Berit or she'll render herself sterile. Won't be able to lay eggs," the Weyrlingmaster says quietly. "So. First tactic is to try to convince her of why it's so important. See if you can find a way to get through to her. Second tactic, is education, me and Jekzith and the assistants telling her about it. That's the baseline. If it doesn't work, if it comes from Ciath or Niyath or Siarith, she ought to listen and if she still won't, Niyath or Jinieth ought to be able to enforce it. But I'd rather not go there unless we really have to."
Serious - Berit goes pale at the word, sitting up a little straighter, with wide green eyes. Having anything happen to Zibeth would be tantamount to inflicting pain on herself, and that is second only to the thought of what losing the gold would mean. "I do not want that." Her voice is quiet, subdued, and she shivers a little, before taking a forced draught from the wine glass; it appears her nerves have been rubbed the wrong way, or assaulted it would seem. "I have tried to tell her that rules are rules, and there for a reason, but she insists they are frivolous. I am not sure why she keeps thinking this way.. it is.. it is unlike her." Grimacing, she sets the glass down and spreads her hands, "I hope it does not come to that. I do not want her to be seen as a bother or troublesome."
"None of us want that, for you or for her, or for the Weyr, Berit," P'draig says gently and has another drink from his glass. It'd been quite the seven day. "Berit, we'll work it out," the Weyrlingmaster reassures, marking the way the girl moves. "If she's not responding to rules are rules, maybe logic will work. I mean, she's far from dumb, Berit, so I don't think we'll really need to use that last resort option."
Mouth trembling, fingers shaking, Berit lifts the glass to her lips and takes another generous drink without pause; she has never been seen to drink anything other than water, milk, juice, or tea, but from the way she imbibes the watered brew, one might think she had a taste for it. She sets it back down with a soft 'clink', and starts to rub the back of her neck. "I know she is not dumb, but she is stubborn. She never wants to do anything the easy way anymore, or the approved way. No one told me she would be this different from the beginning." With another sigh, she folds her arms on the table and nestles her chin in the crook of one, mumbling, "I just seems like too much at once."
"She's testing out her independence," P'draig opines with a little sympathetic smile. "They all do that to a certain extent, some more than others. Just like human babies," he points out and reaches over to rest his fingers very lightly on her arm for a second. "It's a lot to take in, Impression. Even this far along. And when their full personalities really start to develop, it's like getting to know them all over again," the Weyrlingmaster explains. "I really think that we should give reason and logic a try. It's almost a shame we can't take her Between yet to see another clutch. That might help make it all more of a reality for her."
A sharp, unhappy expression tests the limits of Berit's countenance, drawing in her features unbecomingly. "I think that is why I have not had children had this age. I am not prepared for all of this," she says exasperatedly, wedging her chin further in the bend. "They are fine and good if you are ready for such a thing, but I how am I supposed to keep up with it? I can barely sort out my own wants and desires, much less hers. I feel like.." She bites her bottom lip, letting her gaze stray. "..like, I am doing her no good." Her focus wavers, switches back to the Weyrlingmaster. "Why did she pick *me*? I am sure there are far better suited girls and ones with the right amount of courage. I stick out like a sore thumb."
"I don't think in the end, that most parents are prepared for parenthood, regardless of their age," P'draig says with a chuckle. "I wanted a family and Palia still took me by surprise," he explains, lifting one leg to cross over the other, ankle balanced atop his knee. "And well, to be honest Berit, that's a part of early Weyrlinghood, what you just said about your own wants and desires. It's kind of the point really of some of the rules and how we do things. You have to suspend your wants and desires for a little while. Put them on hold and see to hers. That's what parenting is kind of all about too. You have to be unselfish and put your child, or in your case, your dragon first. As they get older, then you can start letting your own stuff back in, face it together with your dragon. But until Zibeth's ready? You have to be the grown up and set all that aside." His head tilts tot he side thoughtfully, regarding the miserably girl. "You might feel like you're not doing her any good, but think it through, Berit. How far have you both come since the day you Impressed? Think about what happened with A'riste and what you both learned about control then. This is something different, it's a new hurdle, a new task. But you already faced several down. What makes you think you can't tackle this one?" He smiles down at her reassuringly, then bends a little to bring his eyes to her level. "Berit, this has little enough to do with courage really, but a lot to do with determination and you are one very determined and stubborn girl. If you can't tackle this with Zibeth and make it through sailing in the end, I will eat my riding cap."
With her head nestled in her arms and her eyes locked on the Weyrlingmaster, Berit quietly listens, seemingly absorbing everything he says. She does not react to any particular statement, but keeps watching him with that same incredulous expression. When she does speak, she does so quietly, with a hint of uncertainty still mixed in. "I am trying, but no one ever *taught* me how to be a grown up. What is right and what is wrong? How do I know? Everyone else gets along so well and easily. There *must* be something I am doing wrong." Everything is likely in her head, just a bundle of insecurities and doubts that have been bottled up since Impression, and the easiest way she knows how to let them out is to talk. "We have not sorted through *all* of that. Sometimes she still.. we try. It has gotten a little better," she relents, dropping her gaze. "I am not equipped for guidance. I am only sixteen, sir, and I still need a lot of guidance myself." Her voice is barely a whisper, threaded with that earlier meekness and self-doubt. She has done more thinking, no doubt, to come up with these new-founded worries. As she finds him on her level, she cannot repress the unbidden smile that rises. "Your riding cap? I would not want you to do such a horrible thing. I imagine it tastes dreadful."
"Yeah, I'm sure it'll absolutely disgusting. I sweat in that thing!" P'draig says with exaggerated horror, though he's grinning even as he says it. He sobers a little next and props his chin on his hand. "I know you're very young, Berit. Every Weyrling group is a mixed group between the ages of fourteen and twenty-something and most aren't twenty yet. You need guidance and I'm here to give it, to help you get over these hurdles. So. How about giving some of what I'm saying a try? And every time you need help, just come knock or nab one of the assistants. We're not going to just stand back and make you do this alone. That and - it may seem like everyone else is all fine and dandy, but each one of you has their own set of hurdles to face. They're just different ones, because you're different people." He pauses for a moment then goes on, voice soft. "A'riste has to sort out who he is now, rider not a harper, put his old ambitions behind him and find new ones. D'kai has a very gung-ho dragon with particular tastes and he's as much holdbred as you are, trying to adjust to hold ways and Weyr ways. Nerine's got a handful in Zerith, I'm sure you can see very plainly her struggle. Paige is too used to putting others ahead of herself and again, dealing with the change from hold to Weyr, Jendel and X'den both have dragonets with some listening issues too. So, talking to them might also help you to feel a little less alone in this." He rattles off the rest of the group including a long-suffering sigh about Neala and Saryan as he concludes. "You're going to make it, Berit. Trust me?"
A simple wrinkling of her nose and a laugh goes a long way, before she too sobers up quickly. "I will, sir, but I am just.. I.. worry. I never used to worry this much. It is different and I am not used to it. I am sorry to talk your ear off." Berit sits up, gives the wine glass one last look, but opts not to drink anymore. She listens to the recitation of the other weyrlings and their problems, and her expression mellows out some, falling pensive. "I hate to bother any of them with my problems, since they have their own. They do not need to be burdened with my worries about the future." Plucking at her fingers, she looks down into her lap. "I know I will. I ..I.. we have to. We *have* to. I cannot live in the barracks with all those other people for the rest of my life. They smell and they snore and Faranth knows they have some weird habits." And *that* is one of most pressing anxieties!
"You're not talking my ear off," P'draig says simply and then shakes his head. "It's not about burdening your fellows. It's about sharing between you. Two way street, Berit. If someone listens to you, you listen to them in return," he explains patiently then has to manfully bite down on the inside of his lip. "Berit. Not too long from now, Zibeth will be too big to fit into the Barracks. No matter what, you won't be living in the Barracks for the rest of your life." Pause. Breath. "But. You /will/ get there. It just looks hard right now, because it's still pretty early in Weyrlinghood. Zibeth's only three and a half months old. Now. If we're still having this conversation six to nine months from now, then I'll be worried. But right now? All of this really is normal. We just have to get Zibeth convinced about the firestone."
Boy, does she feel better! A little more clarified, a little less meek, Berit starts to rise from the table, giving P'draig a salute for her farewell. "I appreciate your advice, sir, and talking to me. I think some things have been laid to rest, and I will try to do as you say." She rubs her palms against her trousers, stepping away from the table with a shy grin. "I will tell you how the convincing goes. Right now, she is taking another nap, and I think I may join her until she wakes up." Pausing by the door, she looks back, gives him another grin, and slips out.
When: 4/21/17 - Regular NC Time.
Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, Fort Weyr
What: Berit is having trouble with Zibeth and comes to P'draig for help.
Springtime brings with it a plethora of things - new life, the thawing of ice, and for the weyrlings, the daily challenges of fast-growing dragons. It is just before the noon hour and Berit is creeping into the Weyrlingmaster's office, opening the door and silently closing it behind her. Her dragon is not be seen, though likely she is having one of her usual naps. Giving the customary salute and a meek, "hello", she situates herself in one of the chairs at the table, without so much as a 'how do you do' or a 'may I sit?'. Whatever is weighing on her mind must be a heavy burden to bear to make her forget her usual idiosyncrasies and manners.
Erasing and updating the blackboard again, P'draig turns at the sound of the closing door and fixes Berit with a curious look. She's not spoken and the aspect of her body language doesn't bode well. Seems this is a tough seven for more than one of the Weyrlings. Paddy steadily writes out the last word he was working on. Something about formations and sets the chalk down, brushes the dust off his fingers. After a moment's hesitation he pours not from the juice but the decanter of wine, half the glass, and then waters it, pushes this over to Berit, then sits down, hands folded on the table. "What's up?"
Green eyes fly up to the board and quickly back down. Shyness and uncertainty are there in her gaze, a mixture that stems from some inner turmoil. Berit runs her fingers along the edge of the table, but starts suddenly when the glass grates against the table. "I am not.. I.." She stumbles on her words, falters, and releases a sigh. Her fingers loosely grasp the wine glass, pulling it closer. "I am having trouble." Flatly. "With Zibeth." Surprise of all surprises. "She is starting to ..ask questions." Lifting a pained expression to P'draig, she pushes through the anxiety, "I would not say anything if it were simple questions. I keep hoping she asks why fish swim or why we walk on two feet, but it is more serious than that."
P'draig listens. Doesn't say anything else, as Berit's words stop and start and stumble forth. "Have a drink," he finally advises when she's done and reaches for another glass, pours one of unwatered wine for himself and has a sip. "Then tell me about these questions," Paddy says calmly and folds his hands atop the table again, waiting patiently.
"I.." On the tip of her tongue is the refusal of the drink, but given the wisdom of the other, Berit drags the glass up to her lips to drink. She takes three small sips and places it back down, furrowing her brows as she sifts through all the things she wants to say. "Someone told her that she could not chew firestone with everyone else and she wants to prove them wrong. And we.. we have not completely fixed our issues yet. I can usually control it, but she.. her want is so *severe*." Frowning deeply, she looks up from the watered-down wine in her glass. "I do not want her to do anything that could hurt her."
Again, P'draig listens. Waits until Berit is done and nods. "That is pretty serious. She can't chew 'stone Berit or she'll render herself sterile. Won't be able to lay eggs," the Weyrlingmaster says quietly. "So. First tactic is to try to convince her of why it's so important. See if you can find a way to get through to her. Second tactic, is education, me and Jekzith and the assistants telling her about it. That's the baseline. If it doesn't work, if it comes from Ciath or Niyath or Siarith, she ought to listen and if she still won't, Niyath or Jinieth ought to be able to enforce it. But I'd rather not go there unless we really have to."
Serious - Berit goes pale at the word, sitting up a little straighter, with wide green eyes. Having anything happen to Zibeth would be tantamount to inflicting pain on herself, and that is second only to the thought of what losing the gold would mean. "I do not want that." Her voice is quiet, subdued, and she shivers a little, before taking a forced draught from the wine glass; it appears her nerves have been rubbed the wrong way, or assaulted it would seem. "I have tried to tell her that rules are rules, and there for a reason, but she insists they are frivolous. I am not sure why she keeps thinking this way.. it is.. it is unlike her." Grimacing, she sets the glass down and spreads her hands, "I hope it does not come to that. I do not want her to be seen as a bother or troublesome."
"None of us want that, for you or for her, or for the Weyr, Berit," P'draig says gently and has another drink from his glass. It'd been quite the seven day. "Berit, we'll work it out," the Weyrlingmaster reassures, marking the way the girl moves. "If she's not responding to rules are rules, maybe logic will work. I mean, she's far from dumb, Berit, so I don't think we'll really need to use that last resort option."
Mouth trembling, fingers shaking, Berit lifts the glass to her lips and takes another generous drink without pause; she has never been seen to drink anything other than water, milk, juice, or tea, but from the way she imbibes the watered brew, one might think she had a taste for it. She sets it back down with a soft 'clink', and starts to rub the back of her neck. "I know she is not dumb, but she is stubborn. She never wants to do anything the easy way anymore, or the approved way. No one told me she would be this different from the beginning." With another sigh, she folds her arms on the table and nestles her chin in the crook of one, mumbling, "I just seems like too much at once."
"She's testing out her independence," P'draig opines with a little sympathetic smile. "They all do that to a certain extent, some more than others. Just like human babies," he points out and reaches over to rest his fingers very lightly on her arm for a second. "It's a lot to take in, Impression. Even this far along. And when their full personalities really start to develop, it's like getting to know them all over again," the Weyrlingmaster explains. "I really think that we should give reason and logic a try. It's almost a shame we can't take her Between yet to see another clutch. That might help make it all more of a reality for her."
A sharp, unhappy expression tests the limits of Berit's countenance, drawing in her features unbecomingly. "I think that is why I have not had children had this age. I am not prepared for all of this," she says exasperatedly, wedging her chin further in the bend. "They are fine and good if you are ready for such a thing, but I how am I supposed to keep up with it? I can barely sort out my own wants and desires, much less hers. I feel like.." She bites her bottom lip, letting her gaze stray. "..like, I am doing her no good." Her focus wavers, switches back to the Weyrlingmaster. "Why did she pick *me*? I am sure there are far better suited girls and ones with the right amount of courage. I stick out like a sore thumb."
"I don't think in the end, that most parents are prepared for parenthood, regardless of their age," P'draig says with a chuckle. "I wanted a family and Palia still took me by surprise," he explains, lifting one leg to cross over the other, ankle balanced atop his knee. "And well, to be honest Berit, that's a part of early Weyrlinghood, what you just said about your own wants and desires. It's kind of the point really of some of the rules and how we do things. You have to suspend your wants and desires for a little while. Put them on hold and see to hers. That's what parenting is kind of all about too. You have to be unselfish and put your child, or in your case, your dragon first. As they get older, then you can start letting your own stuff back in, face it together with your dragon. But until Zibeth's ready? You have to be the grown up and set all that aside." His head tilts tot he side thoughtfully, regarding the miserably girl. "You might feel like you're not doing her any good, but think it through, Berit. How far have you both come since the day you Impressed? Think about what happened with A'riste and what you both learned about control then. This is something different, it's a new hurdle, a new task. But you already faced several down. What makes you think you can't tackle this one?" He smiles down at her reassuringly, then bends a little to bring his eyes to her level. "Berit, this has little enough to do with courage really, but a lot to do with determination and you are one very determined and stubborn girl. If you can't tackle this with Zibeth and make it through sailing in the end, I will eat my riding cap."
With her head nestled in her arms and her eyes locked on the Weyrlingmaster, Berit quietly listens, seemingly absorbing everything he says. She does not react to any particular statement, but keeps watching him with that same incredulous expression. When she does speak, she does so quietly, with a hint of uncertainty still mixed in. "I am trying, but no one ever *taught* me how to be a grown up. What is right and what is wrong? How do I know? Everyone else gets along so well and easily. There *must* be something I am doing wrong." Everything is likely in her head, just a bundle of insecurities and doubts that have been bottled up since Impression, and the easiest way she knows how to let them out is to talk. "We have not sorted through *all* of that. Sometimes she still.. we try. It has gotten a little better," she relents, dropping her gaze. "I am not equipped for guidance. I am only sixteen, sir, and I still need a lot of guidance myself." Her voice is barely a whisper, threaded with that earlier meekness and self-doubt. She has done more thinking, no doubt, to come up with these new-founded worries. As she finds him on her level, she cannot repress the unbidden smile that rises. "Your riding cap? I would not want you to do such a horrible thing. I imagine it tastes dreadful."
"Yeah, I'm sure it'll absolutely disgusting. I sweat in that thing!" P'draig says with exaggerated horror, though he's grinning even as he says it. He sobers a little next and props his chin on his hand. "I know you're very young, Berit. Every Weyrling group is a mixed group between the ages of fourteen and twenty-something and most aren't twenty yet. You need guidance and I'm here to give it, to help you get over these hurdles. So. How about giving some of what I'm saying a try? And every time you need help, just come knock or nab one of the assistants. We're not going to just stand back and make you do this alone. That and - it may seem like everyone else is all fine and dandy, but each one of you has their own set of hurdles to face. They're just different ones, because you're different people." He pauses for a moment then goes on, voice soft. "A'riste has to sort out who he is now, rider not a harper, put his old ambitions behind him and find new ones. D'kai has a very gung-ho dragon with particular tastes and he's as much holdbred as you are, trying to adjust to hold ways and Weyr ways. Nerine's got a handful in Zerith, I'm sure you can see very plainly her struggle. Paige is too used to putting others ahead of herself and again, dealing with the change from hold to Weyr, Jendel and X'den both have dragonets with some listening issues too. So, talking to them might also help you to feel a little less alone in this." He rattles off the rest of the group including a long-suffering sigh about Neala and Saryan as he concludes. "You're going to make it, Berit. Trust me?"
A simple wrinkling of her nose and a laugh goes a long way, before she too sobers up quickly. "I will, sir, but I am just.. I.. worry. I never used to worry this much. It is different and I am not used to it. I am sorry to talk your ear off." Berit sits up, gives the wine glass one last look, but opts not to drink anymore. She listens to the recitation of the other weyrlings and their problems, and her expression mellows out some, falling pensive. "I hate to bother any of them with my problems, since they have their own. They do not need to be burdened with my worries about the future." Plucking at her fingers, she looks down into her lap. "I know I will. I ..I.. we have to. We *have* to. I cannot live in the barracks with all those other people for the rest of my life. They smell and they snore and Faranth knows they have some weird habits." And *that* is one of most pressing anxieties!
"You're not talking my ear off," P'draig says simply and then shakes his head. "It's not about burdening your fellows. It's about sharing between you. Two way street, Berit. If someone listens to you, you listen to them in return," he explains patiently then has to manfully bite down on the inside of his lip. "Berit. Not too long from now, Zibeth will be too big to fit into the Barracks. No matter what, you won't be living in the Barracks for the rest of your life." Pause. Breath. "But. You /will/ get there. It just looks hard right now, because it's still pretty early in Weyrlinghood. Zibeth's only three and a half months old. Now. If we're still having this conversation six to nine months from now, then I'll be worried. But right now? All of this really is normal. We just have to get Zibeth convinced about the firestone."
Boy, does she feel better! A little more clarified, a little less meek, Berit starts to rise from the table, giving P'draig a salute for her farewell. "I appreciate your advice, sir, and talking to me. I think some things have been laid to rest, and I will try to do as you say." She rubs her palms against her trousers, stepping away from the table with a shy grin. "I will tell you how the convincing goes. Right now, she is taking another nap, and I think I may join her until she wakes up." Pausing by the door, she looks back, gives him another grin, and slips out.