Logs:Close To Home
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| RL Date: 19 March, 2013 |
| Who: Aishani, N'muir |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Fortian Weyrleader N'muir comes to Aishani with a mostly-personal matter. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 4, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
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| Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest. Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention. A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind. To Iesaryth, Bijedth is faint thunder in the distance, a vague call from across the range intended not to disturb. The thunder holds a question - a hope to be welcomed should he come closer but a distinct respect should a visit not be welcome. He is treading lightly. Very lightly. Now free of the sands and alight with the knowledge of her progeny, voices turned down low in below the constant whisper of the waves, Iesaryth is always polite and welcoming, bubbly seafoam floating out into the storm, threaded with salty sea breezes. The respect is appreciated, but there is the same in return, for the chosen of Elaruth's. None of her underwater /weight/ for the bronze; there's the flash of High Reaches' council room, should his seek hers? (Iesaryth to Bijedth) It isn't long before brassy bronze appears over High Reaches. A mere second or two after the invitation is sent they are there. Maybe they were already in flight before the message was received? Bijedth's greeting is in metaphysical touch only, no audible announcement of Fort's presence drifting down into the Bowl below. Bijedth even looks reluctant to linger where he lands but the bronze posts himself as a sentinel near the entrance to the Council Room as N'muir heads under the cavern's cover. Inside, the Fortian Weyrleader strips off his riding gear and combs his fingers to place curls back into (somewhat) proper order. But now the easy part is over, and dark brows subtly slant with an internal bubble of uncertainty. It doesn't appear to be much of a surprise that they're on their way, or at least coming sooner than later; when Bijedth lands near the council room and the ground weyrs, there's a pleasant rumble for the bronze from one of them - Iesaryth. The queen is in her customary spot, watching the bowl for any of her weyrlings that might wander forth. So /this/ is where Vhaeryth spends his time! When Aishani comes up the steps and into the council room, stride long-legged and brisk, hands in riding jacket pockets, her expression is surely only slightly put-out because the Fortian Weyrleader's beaten her here. Some hospitality. "Can I get you a drink?" By way of greeting, though she'll follow it up with the more formal, "High Reaches duties to Fort and her queens." "And Fort's duties, Weyrwoman," is N'muir's polite return, his head gently bowing. The goldrider's leathers betray a short-lived hint of some blend of confusion, surprise, and regret. "If I've interrupted you at anything, I apologize," he remarks earnestly. As for a drink, he looks to the alcove. "Wine would be greatly appreciated," he admits, and then adds: "but only if you'll join me?" He remains where he is near the entrance, booted feet planted firmly and riding gear clutched absently in one hand. His eyes flick to one of the many chairs at the table but still he stays glued to that patch of floor. "How is Iesaryth?" "No, not at all. Iesaryth's just been more likely to want to go out at night lately. The jacket... I just like." A little shrug, though Aishani's glance back at N'muir is a little bemused for his demeanor and tone - something seeming not-quite-right there to her. As she walks over to the alcove for a bottle of wine, glasses, "Forgive my manners, have a seat if you like. And I'll join you, of course." With a faint smile for the question, as she brings it all back to the table, "She's enjoying talking to the weyrlings. She spoke to the eggs, but they didn't talk back. Bijedth looks well. I suppose I haven't offered my congratulations." A pause, then she sets to opening the bottle. "I don't imagine you're here for any of that, though." There /is/ something not-quite-right. It is a half-hearted attempt at normalcy that isn't anywhere near normal despite how briefly they've encountered each other before. It is awkward here; familiar yet unfamiliar. Even she is looked at as though she is someone known and a stranger all in the same fleeting glance. "You... always wear riding leathers?" asked not with an ounce of negativity or disapproval. Just curiosity. N'muir moves for one of the chairs, pulling it away from the table more than enough to claim it as his own. Once seated and adjusted comfortably, a bit of that not-quite-right-ness settles. This, at least, is familiar. Easy, even. Friendly. His lips give a subtle smile at their very edges - a smile that is certainly for the thought of Iesaryth. "Can they?" Talk back. He takes the compliment as it's meant but the words that follow lend that budding comfort to begin toeing the line of not-quite-right all over again. "I /should/ make a point of visiting other weyrleaders simply to convey congratulations," he admits wryly, brown eyes lifting to the wine bottle. "But I've never really gotten into that habit, no." So there is another reason. Those eyes lift to hers. "News of your hatching feast traveled pretty quick. I was..." It takes time to think of an adjective and inevitably he can't seem to find the one he wants. "It hit close to home. 'Seemed... important to talk to you about it." She seems used to it, or at the very least, used to acting as if she's not being watched at all. Aishani is quick and efficient in opening the bottle, carefully pouring out glasses, sliding one over to N'muir. As she does, "No. Since the hatching? On and off. The jacket? Fairly often, but I have nicer ones. I'm sure the details of my sartorial decisions are fascinating." That last is said dryly, and she takes a seat near enough the bronzerider so they're not yelling across some vast expanse of table, crossing long legs, glass in hand. "They can't. But she wanted them to. And it would be nice to have the time to visit just for that, I suppose." She has a faint smile for how fast news travels, but something about his words have sparked interest in dark eyes, sobered her a touch. "Close to home," she echoes. "I haven't heard that one yet." It's light, careful - careful because 'important'. "Do tell." N'muir smiles knowingly as if that very subject of clothes and their various details drums up fond memories - if slightly dry amusement as well. "I'm used to it," he cryptically assures and his smiling lips disappear behind his wine glass. It flares with soft affection for Iesaryth, aiming that look into the reflection of his wine until it slowly fades with the surfacing of his true reason for visiting. "I executed a girl's mother." The words hang there for a moment like a weight on his mind that steals his focus back into that past. "She was..." His voice fades, words abandoned for other explanations; other excuses: "She tried to kill Nimarie. Dragonriders had their straps cut, firelizards were gutted, it was... like living a nightmare every day." He doesn't look away from his wine. "I felt better for what I did, felt better that the nightmare was over. Until I heard what you said at the hatching feast. Then everything... felt... different again." His eyes move to watch her wine rather than his. "Do you hate K'del? And Tiriana?" There's some little amusement there, as if Aishani has some idea why he might be amused in turn - but she just lets it go due to the serious turn in the conversation. It was to be expected. Fingers tightening on the glass, looking into it, "I know. And I hated that." She's quiet for a time, unable to look up at N'muir just yet either, instead staring into the wine as if there might be answers there. "I know about... some of it. It happened when I was a weyrling, when N'rov and I... were writing. I hated it, because I didn't think there was any reason for going to those lengths. And /then/..." A humorless smile, as she looks up and over at him, bleak. "I'kris killed Iolene. And there was nothing else I could do, despite the vows I'd made to myself, to my father." There's a beat or two before, "Yes. I do. But they didn't just murder my father for stealing. They sent half my family to the mines and left the rest of us to live in poverty. From what I understand, you want to do right by that girl. Just don't lie to her. I told N'rov as much." If N'muir anticipated that she knew any of it, hearing the words is still unsettling and it's a visible flinch in the edge of his eye. His focus hardens and slides back to his own wine, something dark coming over him. He sighs, and some of that darkness slips away with it. The rest of smothered by a long swig of his wine. But since it's a conversation of showing cards and asking questions, he bites and gives her a sidelong look: "What do you mean there was nothing else you could do?" He nods, biting his lip for her admittance and letting his attention drift across the gleaming top of the table but there's a reluctance to that suggestion she makes. But he nods. Just a little. "Will you try to get your family out of the mines now that..." He gestures around - to the Weyr as a whole, and takes another sip of wine. At least it seems Aishani's doing N'muir the courtesy of telling him the truth, or as close to it as she can manage; why he gets that where other people don't might be a mystery... or it might just be because he bothered to ask. Taking her own long drink, she sets her glass down before meeting the Fortian Weyrleader's gaze, asking - rhetorically - "Could we - any of us - let people believe they could get away with murdering a Weyrwoman? And even after that..." She doesn't want to say it, but her gesture his way likely means the stolen eggs. "You can't exile a dragonrider." Catching that reluctance, she pauses, uncertain before telling him, "If she doesn't know who her mother is, you risk making her a martyr." Ahem. As for her family, "Most of them have been released, or... didn't make it out. I haven't spoken to them in turns, really. They're not fond of dragons." Wryly, "Imagine." That is something N'muir supports wholly, deep into the pit of him. "Never," he says, voice firm and full of conviction. That gesture is a reminder of yet another entirely different set of problems and a frown wears the corner of his lips before he drowns it against the rim of his wine glass. His hand lifts to pass over his mouth before he continues. He doesn't remark but he appears to take her caution to heart, eyes meeting hers before settling on her wine again. "You have the ability to change that if you want to," N'muir points out gently. "Though after that hatching feast, something tells me you are up to your t-" He quickly remembers where he is and changes course: "-teeth in sensitive... situations." N'muir drinks the last spoonful of wine in his glass and looks into the bottom of that empty vessel longingly. "I should go back to Fort." Almost a disappointing reality, and his smile is almost as much a wince as it is a friendly offering. "Who knows what the gossipmongers might think if I stay too long." That wince fades, and he extends a hand in offering of farewell. "Weyrwoman Aishani." There's only a nod for his response, as serious as his voice is full of conviction... and there's some little sympathy for the frown. With a quirk of her lips for the way he almost puts it, Shani merely agrees, "I'm going to do my best. To change it. Though... I am a little loathe to go too far of late. But I hope, when it comes time to visit Fort again, we'll still be welcome." Because, sometimes it's nice to go over to your boyfriend's place. Once in awhile. Taking up her own glass again, still half full, she tilts it N'muir's way before drinking. Amused, dark eyes bright, "Who knows indeed. I could be up to anything." But to put the lie to /that/, "Give my regards to your Weyrwoman. And your daughter. Hopefully we'll have more time later." She takes his hand firmly with her slender one, giving him a brilliant smile for her name. "Weyrleader N'muir. Clear skies." |
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