Logs:A Weyrwoman's Choice
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| RL Date: 20 December, 2015 |
| Who: Mirinda, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Olivya does not approve of Mirinda's options, makes the Weyrwoman cry. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Kyouri/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Kh'tyr/Mentions, W'leri/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
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| Zaisavyth's not an easy queen to keep happy at the best of times, and she's a fussy dam in particular: since she took to the sands, Mirinda has rarely been seen elsewhere but to sleep and occasionally stretch her legs. This afternoon, at least, the queen is sleeping-- and that gives Mirinda an opportunity to move from the sands themselves to the galleries themselves, where she sits with her knees drawn up towards her chin, watching. She looks tired; it's a familiar enough pose for Olivya, no doubt, though at least the queen's clutches can be counted on the fingers of one hand only. Zaisavyth's clutch holds little interest to her sister; Ivraeth's involvement has always come later, after they hatched and were little things of their own and not inanimate objects. Olivya, though, doesn't stay away. Today, she comes with a book tucked under her left arm, her bright jacket giving her away even as she steps into Fort's hatching cavern. It's this that she offers to Mirinda once she's crossed into the galleries, held out to her before she takes a seat on the same carved bench. "Fourteen. Would have been better for us if it were less," is her greeting to the other woman, not bothering to hold back her opinions from her friend. (Does she to anyone, is the question.) Mirinda drops her feet back to the ground as Olivya approaches, fingers smoothing down her light skirt but releasing it in time to accept Olivya's offering. Her attention focuses on the greenrider instead, however, her smile amused for that bluntness, though her chin drops in acknowledgement. "I would have preferred eight or nine," she agrees. "But it was a good flight; a long one. If our count is right, we shouldn't have to Search in the area too much, at least, which is a relief. Or is it that you're more concerned about having to chase around fourteen little dragons?" "Not with Kyouri's help," agrees Olivya with a sharp bitterness in those words, her gaze sliding to Mirinda to study her for a long moment. But she doesn't press that topic, instead turning her attention back to the eggs with a thoughtful exhale. "Worried? Mmm, either Kh'tyr will be Weyrlingmaster, and I won't need to worry at all since he'd never agree to allow me a position in his training program-- Or, I will be starting as a foreign Weyrlingmaster appointed by the Weyrwoman who usurped their Weyr, without at least one assistant. Why would I worry?" The last is said lightly, paired with a smile. Mirinda shoots Olivya a glance for that bitterness, her own expression far more level, meeting gaze with gaze. "N'rov and Kyouri have a history," is what she says. "It's understandable that she would help him." But not Mirinda? Of the latter point, however, she hesitates, worrying at her lip for a few long moments. "It's going to be you," she says, finally, very quietly. "We've decided that much, but we're to appoint you together, so... act surprised?" It's an attempt at humour, albeit a very poor one. "I'm sure some... I'm sure people will sign on." Olivya doesn't do surprise well, since there isn't even the hint of it as Mirinda tells her for the first time. (She's going to really suck at acting surprised a second time.) Instead, she only tips her chin as if she knew it would come, every inch a Lady in accepting the good news with grace. "Some, surely; there are always people willing to accept change and grab at chances when it comes," she agrees. "But the best? Despite his attitude and whatever happened between you, Kh'tyr is one of the best." Promptly: "Then convince him he needs to stay on. Make him your second. If he's that good," and Mirinda does seem to acknowledge that she can see how he might be, "Getting him on board will be important. But..." Her mouth twists. "Not until you're officially on board, of course." Her gaze slides from Olivya to her own sleeping dragon, and the egg cradled between her forelimbs. Not gold; still precious. "I tried. That if I got the knot--," Olivya starts with a slow sigh, shaking her head as he leans back on the bench. "Believe me, I tried. He wasn't biting, not even if I were the last Weyrlingmaster on Pern." But, as Mirinda watches her sleeping dragon and those eggs, she adds in promise, "I will make a good program even without him. Her children will be safe and care for. And they will learn to fit the new Fort." Mirinda's sigh is a wistful, regretful one, but it comes accompanied by a nod. "I'm sure you did. And... perhaps he'll come around." But perhaps he won't, and her tone accepts this outcome, too. "I trust you, Liv. I know you're going to do the best for her children. The first in this... new Fort. Old and new. But Fortian, not Monacoan." She hesitates, then, before glancing back at her friend. "There are only three queens left on Pern who carry the Monacoan bloodline, and the only one at Monaco may never even rise again. I hate the thought that..." "You sound as bad as a Holder, Rin," accuses Olivya softly, the blunt edge of her words softened by decades of friendship. "Worrying about bloodlines and heirs, and who comes from whom. It isn't the lineage that matters any more than it does for who Impresses. All that matters is that the Weyrs are full, that they are trained, and that we do what is best for Pern." Yet, she will reach out to tangle her fingers in the goldrider's, offering her a simple moment where she meets the dark gaze with her light one. In reply, Mirinda squeezes Olivya's fingers, acknowledging her words with a nod. "I know," she says. "Logically, I know. I'm just feeling... maudlin, I suppose. Zaisavyth's happy, because Fort is hers," let's not even talk about how she acted with Taeliyth during the clutching, something that wrinkles the goldrider's nose now in recollection, "but I still miss Monaco. Having her on the sands is both different and... the same, too. I think part of me had hoped she might lay a queen that we might send back to Monaco." "It would have certainly been a large chip to bargain with, with them," Olivya agrees, though there is a hint of her own homesickness that is rather well hidden otherwise. Except that she cracks to reveal: "I know. I do know what you mean. Ivraeth's flight here and not at home-- It was different and the same. Nevermind the Fortian who caught her." "And," continues Mirinda, almost as if Olivya hasn't spoken, "I know that part of me was very glad when Torith didn't clutch a queen herself." Admission made, she allows her cheeks to go faintly pink-- though a moment later she's managing to focus more intently upon what Liv has actually said. "Different and the same. I miss cottages. And... he was dreadful, wasn't he." Olivya doesn't answer that, instead focusing on those words, on Mirinda's admission. And quietly, she might be try to piece a puzzle together since she accuses again in a murmur, "And if she never does, she would need you back." A darker flush, this time. Mirinda's gaze focuses upon her sleeping queen rather than on Olivya. "One day," she admits, a little uneasily, and not much above a whisper in case of eavesdroppers. "If... when Dahlia is ready. If there's another junior. If I'm not needed here." "And then, what? We go back so that you can be a junior under her instead?" questions Olivya, keeping her voice quiet but with as much heat as Zaisavyth might manage. Mirinda's chin lifts. "Maybe," she says. "I know Zaisavyth won't care for it," understatement of the Interval, "But... it's an option, Liv. I'm keeping my options open. I never wanted to be senior." Olivya's gaze drops to join Mirinda's in watching the queen, perhaps thinking about how she can wake her so that they'd have the numbers on the Weyrwoman. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, the silence speaking to her disapproval rather than words. Until she finally says, "But you are, Rin. You are senior and you can be wonderful for Fort. That is also an option, still, isn't it?" "Being the best I can be for Fort has never been anything but the goal," is Mirinda's firm response. This time, she glances back at Olivya, uncertainty visible there despite the determination of her words. "Fort is my first priority. I realise that you don't like this. I understand. But I have no intention of doing this by halves. I am Fort's senior, and for as long as I am, Fort is my priority." "For as long as you are," repeats Olivya back to her, her lips pressing into a firmer line as she glances back to her friend. She shakes her head, a slow gesture, but the greenrider only pushes to her feet without another word. Mirinda's voice lifts, just a little, as she says: "And that's all any weyrwoman can ever say. Oriane stepped down. Hattie stepped down. That's our choice." She's not angry; she just sounds sad and lonely and frustrated, gaze dropping to her own knees rather than focus upon Olivya. "If it was your choice, Rin, then you should have made it before we even bothered to come here. Before we stepped into a Weyr that doesn't want us," counters Olivya with a steady voice of her own, those sharpened blue eyes falling on Mirinda now that she has the advantage of height, standing. "You should have told the Council no, and we could have stayed in Monaco." With that, she'll turn to leave rather than waiting for her friend's answer. Mirinda doesn't have an answer to give, in the end. Instead, she lifts her feet back up onto the seat, draws her knees to her chest, and then buries her face within them. She sobs. |
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