Logs:Belated Cooperation
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| RL Date: 13 September, 2013 |
| Who: Devaki, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, High Reaches Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: A visit with Lady Issedi turns into an opportunity to speak to Devaki about Hold and Weyr relations. |
| Where: High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 13, Month 10, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated, before Iesaryth's second flight. |
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| High Reaches Hold The visit with Issedi is pleasant enough: there's tea, of course, and the children are there -- Vinien playing happily in a corner while Sealene laughingly crawls around on the floor. There's talk of, perhaps, more children, and questions about Azaylia's role at the Weyr, and brief (very brief) comment on Nabol, but only in passing: the Lady doesn't seem to want to venture too deeply into politics. When they part ways, the Steward, Kiatan, escorts the Weyrwoman back, though as they head down the corridor they pass an ajar door into a plain looking office, where, unaccountably, Devaki is seated at the small desk, carefully penning a message. It really has been too long, as Azaylia will point out more than once-- as genuine as always. The Weyrwoman and Lady Holder trade questions that have little to do with politics, but between the two women such avoidances aren't always terribly subtle. Once it's established that Vienen is so grown, and Sealene is just as pretty as her name suggests, Azaylia rises to leave. Hraedhyth is nearby, surprisingly still for those who know her, though the queen's muscles coil with unexplained anxiety. Listening. The goldrider obediantly follows Kiatan, prepared to soothe her lifemate and leave the Hold's skies mostly dragon free. Instead, quiet steps falter as she catches sight of Devaki, polite silence working to her advantage as she attempts to push the door open. Without checking to see if the Steward has noticed, "Lord Devaki." The room is plain, and frankly, a tad cold: the hearth doesn't burn, leaving a little chill in the air that the occupant seems unaware of. It's surprise that floods Devaki's gaze when he looks up, and a moment later, interest, and an easy sort of smile. It's well practiced, but too, seems genuine. "Weyrwoman Azaylia. Isse mentioned you were planning to visit. I'm glad you two caught up--" his gaze flickers past her, towards the door, and presumably his Steward, with the faintest shakes of his head in dismissal. "Please, come in," he gestures towards a chair. "It isn't exactly where I'd normally receive such guests, so I hope you won't tell my wife on me," a rueful sort of grin there. There's a glance over her shoulder at the Steward, following Devaki's gaze and perhaps a bit tense because of it. When it's a signal that Kiatan is dismissed, she relaxes into a step forward, smile growing nervous as well as wider. "It was lovely. She's... a breath of fresh air." Almost literally, if the delicate sigh she breathes is any indication. The Weyrwoman smooths over her dark autumn dress, blue and black attire offering no contest when compared to Lady Issedi's finery. "I didn't mean to barge in, I just... A Weyr should see how it's Hold is doing." Awkward but not dishonest, the goldrider sits a bit taller in her seat, hand resting atop the other in her lap. "So it should," comes Devaki's humorous tone, waiting until Azaylia has seated herself -- and Kiatan has discreetly closed the door behind her -- before he settles in the other chair close to hers. "Hraedhyth would've seen the ships as you came in. I'd love to give you a tour, if you've the time. We're quite proud of them. Keeping most of last Turns' tithe was a boon for us. However," he's quick to hold up his hand, "You have my assurances that this Turn's will arrive, on time -- before, in fact -- I was just going over the final tally. Your riders appear to have obeyed my restrictions, and I have no cause for complaint." This time, his tone might well imply. Devaki's raised hand halts Azaylia's breath and the squaring of her shoulders, lungs filled for an awkward moment before she slowly releases it. "Good." is a bit firm, followed by a much more gentle, "Thank you." Her hands shift, no longer still as fingers twine tightly together, gaze searching his, "We agree, then. The Weyr should see how it's Hold is doing... and your restriction makes it ha-- difficult." Though she is still as she sits, his palm was not able to banish the tension that lingers. "I was wondering when you planned on lifting your restriction?" If it's not already due, the faint tilt of her head suggests. "And here I was wondering when the new leadership might come and discuss it with me." Devaki's retort is rather light-of-tone, accompanied by a smile to make it less accusing. "Tell me, how is that pair of weyrlings doing? Though... I assume they are riders now." Azaylia's flustered, not to the point of stuttering, but she's caught and in the end it has her giving a soft laugh. "To be fair..." No, as the guilt fades from her smile, the Weyrwoman decides against offering an excuse. His question has a sobering effect, though she speaks of the once-weyrlings easily enough. "They are, though it took them longer than the rest." A shame, but if she's sympathetic to their past punishments it doesn't show. With a note of gentle optimism, "I apologize for how long it took to speak with you... but I can only expect good things from now on. We could-- should be working together for our people." No accusations made, there's a faint excitement at the possibility of cooperation. The Lord's expression remains light, his gaze fixed on the Weyrwoman, taking in her reaction with something between amusement and acceptance. If there's any sympathy for the former weyrlings, it certainly doesn't shine through in Devaki's nod. "We should be," comes the former exile's agreement, with a purse of lips. His gaze rests on hers as he proposes, "I'll lift the restrictions. In return for just one thing: your thoughts on the situation at Nabol." "Other than it's just... awful?" Heartfelt, if not articulate, Azaylia's missing sympathy returns in full force. "Uncertain leadership is... the people of Nabol are suffering for it." Her brows furrow some, "Just a few days ago, we received a tithe directly from one of their minor holds-- and people. Refugees." Though there have been rumblings of the cause, Rone's army, the Weyrwoman is clearly focused on the victims. For now. "I won't turn them away. Your tithe will be coming just in time." Even more gratitude, clearly a weight that has only grown with the Weyr's populace. "Just as the Weyr once suffered for it," Devaki murmurs, though it doesn't seem like it's meant as a barb, even if perhaps it comes across that way. His fingers tap against the arm of his chair -- like some distant beat of a harper's drum. The silence is long, though finally the Islander murmurs, "I trust that the Weyr has learnt how to treat refugees better than in Tiriana and K'del's time." Intended insult or not, Azaylia can only just stifle a full flinch at the comparison, not that she hasn't already made it, "Exactly." The Lord's murmur has her lowered gaze snapping back up, "I'm not Tiriana." A fact, stated as such. Intensity fades into a serious calm, "If the Hold is willing to help with the numbers, offering them a safe place..? Not that I'm not willing to take them all, if you'd rather not." It's just an idea, followed by another, "If you did, we could share their tithes between us. It won't be at the cost of 'Reaches folk." Priorities. "Did you know that the former Lord Rynien paid the Weyr to keep us there? I doubt anyone's in a position to want to do so, this time. My tithe will come in full, but I assume Nabol's will not. If we were willing to help out-- we don't need the tithes. But perhaps we could talk about other compensations?" Devaki is matter of fact, with a little smile as if in apology for the necessities. The flicker of surprise should be answer enough, a faint frown on Azaylia's face as she reveals, "No I... no. I'm sorry." She's visibly troubled by what must have escaped her, if such ill compensation is even in the records. Only slightly distracted, "Did you... what did you have in mind?" Devaki doesn't seem overly surprised that she's surprised at the news. "They didn't want it getting out, of course, none of them. But it pays to bear in mind that most leaders' motivations are borne by selfishness, either for themselves or their people." The rueful nature of the smile that follows suggests that applies to both of them, too. "Marks. If not that, perhaps favors in kind to be owed later. I trust that you would honor such an agreement, even were it not to be used in the immediate future." It's meant for all he's said so far, of secret deals and a leader's selfishness, "Of course." Azaylia can't quite share in that self-aware smile, too busy bringing her lower lip in for a pensive bite. "Marks..?" That earns a moment of consideration, longer than the favor. "If I can be selfish-- I'd hope any favor owed won't put my Weyr at risk." There are limits, obviously. "I can promise you a favor from me... And I would honor it." But High Reaches Weyr isn't for sale. "Marks. A set amount per an agreed number of refugees. Or, favors per the same amount." Just a slight emphasis on the plural. "But I will respect not putting your Weyr in danger," the exile Lord allows. "Is that acceptable?" Hesitant, though there's no real reason for it, "I..." Azaylia thinks it over for only a second longer, "It is. Marks, I think, would be easier... and if it comes to it, I will owe you favors." Plural kept, the emphasis shifting to the Weyrwoman's being in Devaki's debt. "Thank you for being so understanding." Though there's a sense that she expects it from the Exile Lord, at least some empathy. The exhale of breath suggests that Devaki's pleased, leaning forward to offer a hand to the Weyrwoman by way of sealing the deal. "Let us hope this is merely a temporary situation until the Lordship is settled, for the sake of the people. Though given how many heirs Ustelan had--" he gives the briefest shrug of his shoulders. He looks rather remarkably uninterested in the outcome, or maybe it's just an affected neutrality on that score. Azaylia's hand slides into Devaki's, reaching to clasp his wrist in a manner that speaks of deals made between herders in Keroon, so long ago. "I'm prepared, if it things don't sort themselves out quickly." Apathy has more to do with a distance that both Lord and Weyrwoman seem to agree on, as far as Nabol is concerned. A gentle murmur, "I'm grateful that we can work something out, Lord Devaki." Proper, though the pleased glance she aims at him is much less formal. Devaki's hand clasps over hers just long enough to make it official, smiling as he releases her grip. "Prepared?" he echoes, with head tilted, obviously intrigued. "Please. We're alone -- call me Devaki. Isse insists on the titles, but my upbringing was far less strict. Speaking of -- can I offer you a drink? Something stronger than tea, perhaps? Or is that not to your style...?" Confusion, until Azaylia explains, "If we keep getting more people-- if Nabol doesn't get sorted soon. Prepared." Emotionally, at least. The goldrider's faint smile grows, "Mine too... But better safe than sorry." As other Lords and Ladies are much more strict, such as his wife. There's a glance towards the wall, for the anxious gold beyond it, "A drink would be nice... It might help. Hraedhyth's anxious about our junior and thinks she'll fly soon." If there are questions, the dragonrider is happy to answer them and ask after Devaki over something stronger than tea. Striding over towards the low cabinet, Devaki ducks down and peruses the contents for a moment before standing with a bottle in hand, reaching for two glasses. "Sorted," he echoes, kind of dryly. "Would you rather a babe, controlled like a puppet by others, a tyrant in the making, or a unknown? It is not exactly an obvious choice on any count." The Lord's summation of the situation is bland by any stretch of the matter, and his expression somewhat grim as he walks back towards where Azaylia's seated. Splashing the liquid into the glasses, he's quick to offer her one, lifting his own with a, "To a good flight then, I suppose they say?" "Honestly? An unknown won't stay that way if given a chance... but that's if I had to pick." Which she doesn't, so she isn't, and it's far from an official statement. Azaylia takes the glass with a polite murmur of thanks, raising it as her expression mirrors his-- if only for a split second. "To a good flight, where hopefully nobody gets hurt." Grim indeed. The Weyrwoman won't overstay her welcome, but Devaki will be able to convince her otherwise if he wishes. Belated cooperation has Azaylia leaving in high spirits, and hopefully Devaki is equally pleased. Devaki certainly doesn't seem to mind the imposition of her staying -- if indeed it is that. He keeps the topic to something lighter after that toast (and maybe after a second), and after a tour around one of the newest ships -- something he's obviously proud of -- he escorts her personally to her dragon. Only once Hraedhyth lifts off would she perhaps notice the redhead that approaches the Lord, and the two head off for a chilly walk down by the cove. |
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