You amble northeastwards to the Weyr storerooms.
Daer's standing at the hand-me-down shelf, holding a white shirt out in front of him. His lips are pursed, his brow furrowed, and he looks pretty much like he's trying to decide the fate of the world. Important things happening here.
Ilesyn, complete with an empty bag in one hand, languishes in step as she emerges from the kitchens. C'daer is noted, though the Mindhealer seems to be more inclined to laze at her task, peering into one of the great barrel of dried fruit and nuts, eyeing it with some trepidation.
After holding the shirt up against himself, C'daer sighs and glances around; Ilesyn, noticed as a woman-shaped object, is the lucky recipient of, "Do you think this shirt looks okay?" He takes a step closer, recognizes, and says, "Oh - never mind, it's you. Doing chores?" Though the temptation to gloat is laced in his voice, he attempts to sound neutral.
Ilesyn's roughtly woman-shapedness is her downfall; she turns, though her lips are set into a sharp, long line, "I'm deeply hurt and offended. I honestly can't see what could possibly be wrong with that shirt." A reluctant nod is indictive of her occupation, though she's the strength of will not to be put out by any hint at a gloat. "I am," she says, neutrally.
Given that it looks exactly like the shirt he's wearing, Ilesyn's pretty much on the mark. C'daer nods thoughtfully, quirking his lips as he peers at it again. "I've got baby spit-up on my other shirt, and no time to go to the Weavers. What duty do you have?" A few steps bring him close enough to look into the barrel.
"It isn't as if anyone really cares what you - or anyone else - wears, as long as you're presentable," comments Ilesyn, reaching into the barrel to pull out a handful of the dried fruits and nuts, placing them in her bag. "Kitchen duty," she explains, calmly.
"Baby spit-up is /not/ presentable," Daer counters, and looks around furtively before plucking a nut to munch on. "Especially not when one is training weyrlings. Kitchen duty? Do you have to stuff wherries? I remember doing that." He wipes his hand on his trous as though it was dirty from the nut, and holds up the shirt to inspect it again.
"You should wear a towel over your shoulder, if you're dealing with babies," Ilesyn retorts, filling her bag with another handful, though she keeps one piece of dried citron in her hand, nibbling on it idly. "No," she adds, between chews. "I don't think they trust me with that. In fact, they'd rather not have me at all-- same as most people. So they send me to do errands like this one, so I don't analyze people."
C'daer makes his decision and folds the shirt, tucking it under his arm. "Wearing a towel is so.. so.." He wrinkles his nose and shrugs, "I don't know. Unstylish. It looks silly." He leans back against a nearby barrel, listening, and then twists his lip, looking at what the Candidate's doing rather than her. "Well, here I am, aren't you going to analyze me?" Without rancor, his tone even hints at curiousity.
Ilesyn, idly, picks up another nut and pops it into her mouth, mentioning between chews, "Most people would only consider you to be sensible to do that. Especially those on laundry duty." Her bushy eyebrows are raised in interest, at the Weyrlingmaster's question; "I had rather decided that in doing that I would only earn less of your goodwill, and it's certainly not my practice to intentionally gain enemies."
He shows a quick grin, "You mean some of what I said sunk in?" Leaning one hand on the barrel behind him, Daer sobers and glances away, saying quickly, "Actually, I sort of picked up from what somebody said that half the women at the Weyr think I'm.. like, some sort of demonized version of M'ial. So."
"No." There's a partially toothless grin to accompany that comment, Ilesyn tossing her head to the side as she picks through the nuts and fruits, dropping them into her bag without much attention paid to them at all. "M'ial? My goodness, they do degrade you-- appropriate or not," remarks the Healer. "I hadn't heard that one."
"It was Shoshana," C'daer says, sounding honestly bemused, "and Osasune, and Sarine. And I can't figure out, at all, what they could have against me. Alora saying that I could possibly understand, and," he admits, blushing faintly, "Sanriel, but.. It's been bothering me."
Ilesyn merely smiles. "You slip too often. You make out this image of being the happily weyrmated man, who is perfectly content in his own relationship-- and then you go and kiss Sanriel." The Mindhealer has a mirthful expression, as she adds, "It's no wonder. People like to pick faults in people who try and project themselves in a certain, deliberate way."
C'daer bridles, protesting, "I haven't slipped in -months-," he says, and leans forward to nab a prune. "What - exactly, without Mindhealer foo - does that mean? I mean, I -am- happily weyrmated, that isn't just a projection." He bites the prune in half, with force.
"Haven't you?" Ilesyn's all innocent smiles, and raised eyebrows-- though there's an edge of insincerity to her voice. "Regardless of whether you have or not, Sanriel having your child does remind people of what you've done in the past, even if you weren't weyrmated at the time. It leaves a blemish that cannot be erased. Perhaps you are happily weyrmated," she adds, picking up a piece of dried apple and chewing on it methodically, "But people will always gossip that it's a front, thanks to Sanriel. Your reputation is ruined."
Not liking that answer one bit, Daer grunts in reponse. "That's -silly-. Nobody does that to greenriders who get pregnant from their flights. And we weren't weyrmated then in any case. I mean.. maybe I was just doing her a favor because she wanted a baby. There could be other explanations."
Ilesyn gives, her smile still in place, a lazy shrug of her shoulders. "But it wasn't a flight, was it? Besides which, everyone knows that Sanriel wasn't particularly after a baby. She's had too many issues trying to balance career and motherhood." She leans downwards, deep into the barrel, her fingers withdrawing at length with another piece of apple. "People don't tend to think - they just jump to conclusions. That's not silly; that's human nature."
"Eh," he says, unhappily. "I mean - it's /not/ like it seems, so I should just ignore them, or what? I heard that M'ial hates me, too." He chews the other half of his prune and jams his hands into his pockets. "I mean, I'm the Weyrlingmaster, and my reputation -is- important."
"It's a bit late to think of that /now/," says Ilesyn, placidly, still chewing upon her piece of apple. "If I were you, I'd just be /very/ careful. Don't try and emphasise your happy, marital-like bliss; be normal, and human, but don't fall to temptation and let Sanriel's wiles interrupt again." She adds, cheerfully, "I don't think it's all that important. No more than anyone else's."
C'daer's off on a tangent, though: "I mean, I can't be teaching classes and having the weyrlings snickering in the background because of Avila's latest gossip.." He trails off and listens, snorts softly, and wonders, "Have you gotten your grimy little Mindhealer hands on M'ial yet? Seems there'd be a wealth of.. of whatever it is you're looking for. Problems, to put it mildly."
While C'daer is pontificating, Ilesyn's making funny faces, though she's back to a placid expression by the time he trails off. "I've made initial attempts," she agrees. "He's a brownrider - and a particularly bad specimen, I will assent. I'd like to do more, but as you can see, I'm forced to submit to drudgery instead." Another handful is placed into the bag.
At that, Daer blushes slightly and looks embarassed. "Yeah. Uh, Ilesyn? I sort of owe you an apology, I guess. I mean, for the.. healing. And stuff. At the garden lake." He snitches another nut and crunches it, slowly. "So, um, sorry about being so, um, uptight about you doing just Candidate chores."
For the quickest of moments, Ilesyn's brows shoot up, the expression upon her face honestly bewildered. A rapid recovery has a mere nod made in response, her expression by no means demeaning. "Apology accepted," says she, though she does succumb to the temptation to add a note of triumph to that - just barely.
"Er - how's the study going, then?" The rider tries to steer the conversation quickly away from that apology, as he returns to his position leaning on the flour barrel - though not without a small handful of mixed fruits and nuts.
"Slowly." admits Ilesyn. "I haven't found anything particularly interesting that I didn't find in the initial study - though there are some interesting cases as a side study, but they're not quite related to my real project." Almost diligently, she drops her bag into the barrel, shoveling the fruits and nuts into it as she speaks.
C'daer nods, wondering, "Have you met Tarrant? It might be interesting to look into why a dragon would search someone who his rider doesn't particularly like - and what's the fruit for, do you know? Something for dinner?" Not that he'll have room left for it, at the rate he's eating what he's got.
"I know Tarrant," agrees Ilesyn. "I would assume that the quick answer to that is that the dragon does not necessarily share the feelings of the rider. The dragon is looking, besides which, at things other than personality." A shrug of her shoulders is in order; "Probably. Maybe a stuffing, or something."
Almost disappointed, Daer nods. "I suppose so. I should have seen that myself - I might not like M'ial, but they fight Thread excellently." He pauses, and then grins at Ilesyn, "Either that, or they're looking for just the right kind of crazy people to risk their lives."
Ilesyn's response is bland. "Exactly." A hint of a smile crosses her lips, though, as she says it. "You and yes, even I, may not be able to pick up the particular insanity that insists a dragon choose - or search - a person, but they are there nonetheless."
"But wouldn't you say," he wonders, tapping his fingers against his thigh, "that the best dragonriders aren't necessarily those who would -want- to do it? In my experience, those who never dared dream about it are more cautious, more willing to learn, more - well - honored."
Ilesyn considers this, her head tipped to the right as her lips purse together in thought. "Perhaps," she assents, at length. "But why should those who do not /want/ to do it accept it in the first place?"
C'daer pauses. After a moment, he qualifies, "I guess I don't mean those who don't want to do it, but those who never really thought about. Like, well - let's use Tarrant. If I have him in my weyrling class, I'm willing to bet that he'll be so taken with himself that it'll take twice as much time to beat even the most basic thing into his head."
"Better worded, there," notes Ilesyn, her face still set with an expression of thoughtfulness. "I think," she allows, "that that might be true, yes. Is it true, then, that weyr children are more likely to make poor weyrlings, than their hold and craft bred counterparts? Perhaps not - weyr children would well know the risks involved, and might take more care."
"Well - for that, we can look at history," Daer says, giving all appearance of enjoying himself as he once more leans for a handful of goodies. "It wasn't until F'lar that they started really looking outside the Weyr for Candidates; the oldtimers insisted on using weyrbred Candidates. Since they fought Thread just as well before that /and/ after, I'd have to say there isn't a big difference."
Ilesyn's bag full, she leaves it to rest in the barrel whilst she finds a more comfortable spot to lean, wiggling into an almost seated position upon the edge of one of the smaller barrels nearby. "But that might have to do with the fact that by the time they graduate, all weyrlings have learned to take things seriously. You wouldn't let them graduate, if they had not. Tarrant, for example, perhaps would take longer than most - but he would get there in the end, and then you would graduate him."
C'daer nods, picking through his handful for a few raisins. "Except it's still in our best interest to get them through training as quickly as possible. Hold and Craft weyrlings do just as well, generally - they need more education in the -basic- care of dragons, but that's about it. And literacy classes, usually, at least the Hold girls."
"I suppose," agrees Ilesyn, admitting after a pause, "I don't have any actual observations on the subject; it's slightly harder to research it, since you sequester your weyrlings at first, and no doubt for good reason." Nose wrinkling, she adds, "It's the 16th Turn of the 10th pass, for shards sake. Such attitudes about women should've been discarded long ago."
Looking vaguely uncomfortable, Daer shrugs and replies, "I mean, most of them get the basics, but there's no time for more in a small hold. I mean, even -I- needed a couple of classes to get my writing up to snuff."
"That's still not fair. You talked about the hold /girls/, not holders in general," insists Ilesyn, crossing her arms in front of her as her head shakes. "At least that's something traders do reasonably well. /All/ of us learnt, and learnt properly."
From afar, Sanriel snugs. Hey, if you're feeling benevolent, I've got a kind of a ridiculous question for you. ;P Well, actually several.
C'daer looks up from his nuts with a guilty glance. "Um, I guess I did. I mean, they just sort of tend to be less literate than the boys. It's probably since they don't think they'll ever need it. I mean, chopping vegetables and doing kitchen chores, what would you need to read for."
Ilesyn wrinkles her nose, though she nods. "I know. Which is stupid, because it isn't as though women are more stupid than men, or something. But I suppose reading gives people ideas-- and if they want to keep you in drudgery forever, reading is a bad idea."
"But -somebody- still has to do the dirty chores," Daer points out. "You might think you're above them because you're a Mindhealer," he holds up one hand to forestall comment, "I mean, -I- wouldn't be doing them either. But which is better, a happy kitchen assistant, or a resentful kitchen assistant who wants to be a Harper Master? We can't all be Masters, Lord Holders, or Weyrleaders."
"It isn't fair that some people should never get the opportunity, though," insists Ilesyn. "I see your point, and I understand it perfectly well, but that doesn't make it fair for those who get stuck in that life - and never know anything better." She scoops up another handful of the dried fruits, crunching on a walnut.
C'daer nods, and plays absently with a ring of dried apple. "Isn't that generally what the hold's Harper does, though, try to steer them in the right direction? So I don't know if I'd exactly consider them 'stuck' if nobody there saw anything in them to single them out."
Ilesyn puts her right hand in her mouth, evidently trying to free a piece of nut from between her crooked teeth. Once she's withdrawn it again, and wiped it upon her breeches, she explains, "But the Harper can't be there for everyone. There are very few people who are good for nothing but that kind of work; the Harpers would be rushed off their feet, trying to cope with them all. A lot of them /are/ stuck."
"Hmm," he says, averting his eyes on the pretext of picking through his handful for a cashew. "But if very few people -are- qualified for nothing else, then who does the work? I mean, we have people who come to the Weyr because of that sort of thing, and most of them end up doing the same thing in the lower caverns, from what I've seen."
"At least in the weyr," begins Ilesyn, musingly, "I think people are allowed to be themselves. It's not a matter of 'let's not educate you, so that you don't have a choice'; there's more freedom." She picks up another handful, regardless of the fact that her hand has been in her mouth, and crunches on them all at once.
C'daer chews his cashew, quiet for a moment before he nods. "Yes. I suppose so. In terms of, um, relationships and stuff, at least. And I know Osasune's been getting lessons from Sanriel at the same time as she does her whatever it is she did before she was searched."
Ilesyn wipes her hands off again, this time not delving back into the barrel. "Exactly. The weyr doesn't seem to mind people being educated. In fact, it encourages it, in my experience, and doesn't limit people to just their occupation. That's what Holds should be like, except they won't be."
"Not much we can do about it, though," Daer says, hooking his finger through an apple ring. "But it's interesting to think about." After a moment, one filled with apple-chewing, he asks, "Did you grow up with Traders? I thought you said your Ma was trying to get you married off."
"True," agrees Ilesyn, somewhat sullen in tone, placing her hands loosely within her lap. "My family have been traders for as long back as they have records for," she agrees. "My mother liked the idea of networking with other groups; she wanted to marry us all off to get links with them."
C'daer surmises, "So in that particular aspect, Traders aren't any better off than Holders. Did anything go differently, though? From what you've said, I'd gather that having been educated, you would all have resisted being passively married off, and - only you did. Right?"
Ilesyn shakes her head. "Not really," she admits. "Not at all. Well-- I was the youngest, by a long way; I basically grew up with my nieces and nephews, because my siblings were married with children. My mother honestly doubted that she was going to be able to find me a husband, even though she wanted to get rid of me pretty badly. Was rather relieved when I decided to become a Healer. I wouldn't've stood for marriage."
"So," Daer asks, tipping his head sideways, "is it possible that those we perceive as stuck in holds are really those who don't mind being stuck? If you were in a Hold, you wouldn't have stood for marriage -then- either. Right?" He finishes the last of his fruit, wiping his hands off thoroughly on his trous.
Thinking about this, Ilesyn goes silent. "Probably not," she admits. "I would say that my disregard of decorum, tradition and tact were the result of my upbringing, but I'm not sure that that's true. Then again, I'm not so sure that many of those people actually have the /opportunity/ to get out-- and if they don't have the backbone to make it happen, it won't."
C'daer considers for a moment. "I guess I find it hard to believe that if someone doesn't want to stay somewhere, that they would put up with it. I'm not familiar with lack of backbone." He hops up to the top of the flour barrel, sitting cross-legged.
"I see it all the time," asserts Ilesyn. "I mean, not in this situation, obviously, because they wouldn't be here if they were Holdbred, and had no backbone. But plenty of people fantasize about change, never achieving it because they're too scared, too unsure, too used to what they do to face something different." She plays with the bottom edge of her shirt, head still sideways tilted.
Nodding, "That's one thing about riders - I don't think I've met one without backbone," Daer muses, settling the folded shirt on his lap. "Probably - well, what do you think, given your opinions on the subject?"
Ilesyn's eyes watch at the ceiling, and finally, she shakes her head. "I think people have Impressed that have no backbone, but I don't believe they last that way for long, having done so. It is one positive effect of the whole bond, I suppose." Grudgingly given, it's true. "Then again, that is also the cause of dependence: this newfound ability is /only/ given through the presence of their lifemate."
"That's pretty much what I thought," the Weyrlingmaster concurs. "It's the effect of having been found - 'special' enough, though you probably won't like that word. And once that wears off - I think it does - Weyrlinghood's pretty much guaranteed to put backbone into you, I think."
"I don't," agrees Ilesyn. "Well. I suppose it could be considered to be 'special'. Special enough to die for everyone else. I won't object with the idea that finding a lifemate may be a wonderful thing, though; I may not understand it, but it's evident enough." She pushes backwards, balancing upon the edge of her barrel more comfortably. "Weyrlinghood sounds hard. I think it would be fascinating to study, and see how people change as a result."
C'daer studies Ilesyn for a few moments without speaking, tapping his fingers on the wherhide covering his left knee. "You really think so? I mean, it's pretty obvious that we change."
A smile - a broad one - expresses itself upon Ilesyn's lips. "I do. Yes, it's obvious that you change, but I'd like to document that, see how it progresses. You can look at a person pre-Impression, and then again once they've graduated from weyrlinghood, but you would miss the intricacies of the change."
"If you'd be willing to help in some capacity," Daer says, slowly, "things like supervision, assistance with clothes and food.." After a moment's hesitation, he finishes the offer, "I'd be willing to let you study this class. You could stay in the barracks with them."
For the second time during the conversation, Ilesyn turns, expression bordering in absolute surprise. "I would be amenable to that," she agrees, after a pause in which, apparently, she tries to find the right words. "Thank you. I look forward to it."
C'daer clarifies his position, although he looks bemused that he's offered. "It's possible that such a study could help me, as Weyrlingmaster, understand my weyrlings better. Although I think, to be fair," a smile twitches his lips, "you ought to undergo the same sorts of things the weyrlings do, with the exception of a dragon, so that you can understand them better. Like with ice skating."
"Sack throwing and drills? You'd kill me," swears Ilesyn, though not without an expression only just short of cheerful. "I imagine it could help you, though, you're right. Being able to understand the people you have to teach is very important. That's part of the reason why I'm working on updating my candidate study, too. I think it could be very useful."
Daer laughs. It's a quiet laugh, but with relish in it. "Have you -seen- the weyrling training field? And I'm sure Kourieth wouldn't mind pretending to be yours so that you could participate in the simpler drills. Or perhaps we could arrange for you to impress a firelizard just after the Hatching."
Ilesyn can't help but shake her head, noting, as she rebalances herself - nearly falling backwards into the barrel. "I haven't. Your reaction suggests it would probably horrify me more than the mere thought of sack throwing and drills." Her nose does wrinkle at mention of Impressing a firelizard; she remarks, quietly, "I think I can manage without either, thank you all the same. Observations from nearby will do just as well." And will no doubt save some embarassment.
"Ever swung on a rope over a big pit full of mud?" Daer asks, very cheerful. "Climbed a dragonlength-high wooden wall and jumped off the other side? You'll -love- it. And you'll be in much better shape afterwards. See, nothing but benefits."
"Sounds delightful." Ilesyn's voice absolutely drips with sarcasm, though she allows, "But we often do things we do not like the sound of, for our jobs. And it /will/ allow me to understand you all that much better."
C'daer grins, then asks, "Me specifically, or me in general? Er, riders, I mean." He shakes his head at his gaffe, and adds, "I'll be doing training sessions for the assistants as soon as I've tapped my other two. I'll want you to sit in on the first one - it'll be about the first year of weyrlinghood, before they fly, and that'll be pretty close to the duties you'd have."
Ilesyn's voice holds a restrained chuckle. "Do you flatter yourself, to believe that understanding you is the true reason behind all this? Riders in general, I'm afraid. A collective you." Her head is inclined forward, her hands dropped to rest lazily by her sides. "All right. I'll make sure I can get off chores for that." There's dry mirth to that, lazy amusement.
"You said 'you'," Daer says without accusation, automatic defense. "I was questioning your specific meaning of the word." He adds a bit of a smile for her last, "Right. If you need it, I'll write you a note. There -are- some records from previous weyrlingmasters in the records room about this sort of thing, though not very detailed."
"My fault," she agrees, "I should have said 'you riders', rather than assume my meaning is clear enough." Toes stretched, within her boots, the Mindhealer-cum-Candidate nods. "Good. I'll do some preliminary research, then, in my spare time, so that I'm prepared when it comes time for that meeting."
C'daer adds thoughtfully, "And it would be especially helpful if you could maybe work on relaxing some of the Holder weyrlings. Osasune - for instance - is terrified of sex."
Avila ambles in from the bright and cheerful living cavern.
Ilesyn's head is drawn into a nod of agreement, though she notes, "You speak as though she's already Impressed. I /have/ been trying to work with her, on other issues, though sex has come up." Loudly. "It certainly is something that I would be useful for, though, I'm quite sure."
Avila enters on that. What a cue. She glances around, the walnuts she was coming in for completely forgotten. "You can teach about sex? Not demonstrating, I'd think. After all, you're a candidate." Avila shoots a disapproving look. "And you might know the mechanics, but you still don't seem to grasp the richer, deeper meaning. Love. Romance. Ilesyn, you're a girl that needs to be wooed."
"Well, I don't think you'd know any of the current uptight weyrlings," Daer explains, shifting his position so one leg dangles off the flour barrel he's sitting on. "She was the first one I thought of. I mean, it's not a big problem, but they tend to get very worried about mating fli- Avila." He greets her, sounding resigned.
Ilesyn's sitting on a barrel, right beside the barrel of dried fruit and nuts, and is in the process of nodding in response to C'daer. "I saw that with one of the last clutches. Alora, for example, was very uptight about it." Avila's entrance, and her words, do not go unnoticed, though the candidate - who once again seems to be without candidate knot - comments, "You misunderstand the conversation, Avila. I'll keep love and romance at bay forever, thank you. Wooing me will do no one any good."
"Well, mating flights are another beast," Avila concedes. Remarkably. "Although a little bit of wooing does wonders in other situations." She finds a place on another barrel, whether they wanted her or not. Three of them in a closet talking about sex. "I think everyone is a little nervous about mating flights. Shards... /I/ was nervous about mating flights. And with good reason, it turns out. When I woke up next to Vasuri..."
C'daer blinks. "Al - she was? - never mind," he concludes hastily, and clears his throat, looking towards Avila. "Guess what, Avila?" He's put on his best chipper tone. "Ilesyn will be joining the assistant weyrlingmaster staff to conduct research on this next class off weyrlings." He waits.
"Mating flights are fun," insists Ilesyn. "At least, for my part. I wake up with people I don't know all the time, although I guess I don't stay there for long before they kick me out. Alora was, yes, C'daer," adds the Mindhealer, smiling. "Apparently she got over that quite quickly." As he announces her forthcoming job, she turns, smiling brilliantly, if fakely, at Avila.
"Oh. Wonderful." Avila answers with an equally fake but brilliant smile, then turns to C'daer with a very quick 'What the Wherry?" look. "I suppose you'll know them well after going through candidacy and everything with them. You'll be able to that much better guage the effects of a draconic brain on an impressee." Avila's speaking very tentatively. Hesitantly. "Umm... Congratulations?"
Daer just beams at Avila broadly. "She'll be sitting in on the first weyrlingmaster staff training session - that's basically what her duties will be, supervision and assisting the weyrlings. Plus, she'll go through drills and training with them." He folds both hands atop the folded shirt in his lap. "So that she'll know some of what they're going through."
Ilesyn nods, still smiling - though more genuinely, now. "Exactly. I'll be able to see very clearly how they change under the influence of their lifemate, and also be there to guide them through that tumultuous time, by being a listening ear. Thank you." She admits, more quietly, though still remarkably cheerfully, "I'm still not so sure about the drills and training, but sometimes we have to do these things, for our work, so I'll refrain from complaining."
Avila purses her lips. "As long as you don't interfere with our other training. And as long as you don't go giving them warped ideas about love! I mean, there will be enough weird influences going on at this time. All we need is clutch full of weyrlings who are just looking for the physical aspects of romance. I mean, we have enough problems with C'- with that with some of our riders already."
For that, Avila gets a hard stare as Daer's mood goes from amused to unamused, and then slides back up the scale. "Say, Avila? Have you seen S'vilen lately?" He adds quietly in Ilesyn's direction, "I'm not sure which would be worse for the weyrlings - her ideas about romance, or what she thinks yours are."
"I have no intentions of interfering," promises Ilesyn. "That would create an environment untrue to the usual weyrling environment, which would invalidate all my findings. As for the sex-- I think C'daer has a point. Between the two of us, perhaps they'll be able to make up their own minds on the subject, if they haven't already. They're not, after all, all of them children." She's expressly interested in Avila's near-miss, and C'daer's unamusement, head tilted to the side.
"Siv? No?" Avila lets that glare thing slide by. She didn't say his name. Nope. Plenty of other guys whose names start with C. "Is he doing okay?" A pause before she turns back to Ilesyn. "Well, yeah. I suppose we can both present our views and let them decide what's better... the unparalleled rush of romance or the loveless pursuit of purely physical gratification." Is she planning on influencing them at all? Oh, nonono...
"I think you should talk to him as soon as possible," C'daer advises Avila pleasantly. "I hear he has something for you. And -" he glances between the two of them, and shakes his head. "I think perhaps we can set aside a few minutes," emphasis follows, "at the mating flight lecture," in about two turns, "for you to talk to them about romance, Avila."
Ilesyn bequeaths Avila a sweet smile. "Indeed. Although I'm sure that all elements of that romance side will be aired - heartbreak, and emotional instability, along with the rest." There's true mirth beneath her otherwise cool gaze at C'daer's further comment. "A generous offer, those minutes, to say the least."
Avila smiles brightly at C'daer's offer. No mind that it's a few moments two turns away. Think of the planning time she'll have! "You'll cover that part, I'm sure, Ilesyn. I think someone needs to talk about that thrill that's in 'Lords in Love' when Melven finally finds Gerluda and they profess their undying love. Now who wouldn't want to live that?" Avila leans back and closes her eyes a little. "I'll cover that part."
C'daer advises, "Cover it with something so I don't have to see it, won't you, Avila?" He rolls his eyes and then asks, "Ilesyn, will you want to be -in- the barracks on a cot with the weyrlings, or would you rather be a little bit separate?"
Ilesyn raises her right hand, and waves it about. "Well, me, for one, Avila. And hopefully anyone else with any sense." Hesitation has her pause before she answers C'daer, "I dislike the idea of sharing space in such an open way, although I assume it would be easier for you to organize that way. What alternatives would there be?"
Avila sighs a little. "So jaded. It's really sad, actually." Avila shrugs a shoulder. "Being right in the barracks might overly influence them, don't you think? I mean, at this point, you can watch them because you've been searched just like them. They accept you. Well, sorta." She glances over to C'daer. "But if you're in the barracks after impression, they'll know that you're there just for research. I've found, in my experience, that the mere presence of a researcher pollutes the findings."
"They'll know that anyway, Avila - I don't think you're planning on keeping it secret, right, Ilesyn?" Daer folds his legs under him again, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Well, I'm weyrmated, so it's not like Miake wants to move into the Weyrlingmaster's weyr with me - it attaches to the barracks."
"Even if I could somehow make it a secret, it would come out anyway, and no doubt poison the results yet again," agrees Ilesyn. "But giving them some time away from my observations would no doubt be a relief. The Weyrlingmaster's Weyr would be ideal. Thank you, C'daer." With a placid expression, the candidate adds, "You doubt my ability to be accepted by my peers, Avila?"
Kaela ambles in from the bright and cheerful living cavern.
Stefen ambles in from the bright and cheerful living cavern.
Avila turns and blinks. "You'll live in the weyrlingmaster's weyr?" This is getting weirder and weirder. But C'daer's the boss. "If that's what you think is best for the weyrlings. After all, you're the one that will have to answer now when we kill them." And Avila has no doubt that filling their heads with Ilesyn's ideas might do just that. She widens her eyes as the other two file in. For a closet, this is a popular spot.
Daer's sitting crosslegged on the flour barrel, in the process of giving Avila a shrug. "Nobody else will be using it," he points out. "Since she'll be a member of the weyrlingmaster staff, if low-level, it's a good idea to have her there so the weyrlings have someone close. Besides - when was the last time you did research?"
Stefen's eyes travel the length of the store room, trailing in close behind Kaela. Close enough if she stops suddenly he's going to run right into her. Running a hand self-consciously though his hair, he peers at the people in here, really trying to figure out which one is the person he is looking for.
Ilesyn opens her mouth to retort to Avila, though she's interrupted by a yell from the kitchens: "/Ilesyn/! Where are those nuts?" The Mindhealer turned Candidate winces, fishing into the barrel for her bag of nuts and fruits, rising to her feet. Instead of answering the greenrider, she agrees with the bronzerider: "I'll be constantly on call, I imagine, and rather than killing them, I imagine I will only make it easier. I'm a listening ear, trained to help people. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have chores to do. I'm sure I'll hear from you soon, Weyrlingmaster, about that meeting."
Kaela stops, since this is a confined space to be in, and turns a little red along her cheeks, "Ummm, This young man was looking for you, greenrider."
You amble southwestwards to the warm and smoky hearths of the kitchen.
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 04:44 PM