Logs:Freedom
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| RL Date: 21 May, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Iolene |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli and Iolene catch up after Brieli's decided to stand and discuss various subjects, some quite serious and a little shocking. |
| Where: Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 11, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It's a clouded, cool day, with that dampness in the air that speaks of rain to come -- eventually. But not now. Not for a while yet. And as such, the bowl is a bustle of mid-day activity, with some portion of the incoming fall tithe arriving in caravans that push through the massive gates. Perched on the lower steps leading up to the ground weyrs, Iolene watches, her dark blue eyes wide in fascination, as the small train makes its way in to the main bowl. Perhaps it's the dampness and the clouds that have Brieli giving the sky the side-eye when she exits the living caverns with a purpose; that being to get outside. It's just once she gets there that it's somewhat disappointing. The tall brunette is wearing clothes that those used to the Weyr might only wear in weather ten degrees colder, down to a flattering red scarf and matching mittens she holds in hand. As she walks in the direction of the Weyrleader Complex and galleries, Iolene's bright blonde head amidst all the grey catches her attention - her steps shift; she waves mittens in greeting, a red flag. "Io!" Even slack-jawed and staring, it's hard to miss something red out of the corner of her eye, and Iolene's gaze involuntarily shifts, even before Brieli calls her name. A sudden smile creases her lips and she too waves her hand -- a gesture for the other woman to come over. "Be careful!" is her belated call, as the movements of a team of oxen return her attention, however briefly, to the arriving train. "They splash mud. The stairs, they're safe." Indeed, Io's clothes are relatively clean, given the state of dampness and sodden dirt all about the bowl. Grimacing, Brieli dodges a few puddles along the way now that she's been warned, and covers the distance closer to the wall and further from the oxen. Even so, she's got an eye on the train, but it's the goods that interest her, made apparent as she climbs the stairs. "Looks like a decent tithe. Lots of barrels are good, no matter what's in them, I suppose," she notes, examining her slightly mud-spattered pants. With a diffident shrug, sitting next to Iolene, "How's life away from the sands?" "I'm regaining feeling in my bottom," is Iolene's quick response, a note of chagrin mixing in with the resignation. "Ysavaeth isn't too fond of people sitting in the galleries without someone she trusts around and that list is two people and one dragon long." But there's a smile, that lifts up to seek Brieli's face and then down to pat the space on the steps next to her. "Right now, we've reached a compromise so I can eat and bathe," and fritter some hours away sitting outside doing nothing, "While she's aligned herself between the galleries and her clutch. But- this must all be boring to you. It's so boring to me. How are you doing? I-," her teeth ruminate briefly against her lower lip, "I hear you're a candidate?" "I can't say that I blame her. I wouldn't trust people coming to stare at me or my things, but then - I think some might just like how warm it is. I imagine that's not a good enough excuse for her." Brieli returns Iolene's smile, shifting over and up to sit next to her; putting mittens down for a cushion. With a little laugh that sounds sympathetic, "That seems fair. And it's what's happening in your life - I am sorry it's so dull. Ysavaeth sounds - demanding." Diplomatic. As for Io's question, she nods once, looking out to the train and the mud. "I am. Lujayn seemed to think it a good idea, and I'd thought it over, so. At least it's more interesting than mending, something different every day." Immediately, Iolene replies, "I don't mind! Most of the time. She's particular and I haven't always been the best rider to her." A glance steals back to where the Weyrwoman's weyr might be. "She flies in a fighting wing and I'm not a proper goldrider in any sense of the word and I know it causes her a lot of frustrating. She has so much-," the lanky blonde's head tilts, words being visibly considered in her eyes that shift back and forth, before ultimately, "Ambition," is decided upon. "And so many ideas of how things should be." A beat, where a finger lifts to twine about an overly long bang that frames her face, is followed by the most rueful of smiles. "Are you sure this is what you might want to get yourself in to?" Brieli frowns at that stolen glance, Iolene's self-deprecation, the explanation afterward. Giving the Weyrwoman's weyr her own look, with a purse of her lips, "Maybe you're the rider she's supposed to have. It must be frustrating, though. To know what you want, to be close to it, to be unable to change it." There's a pause before, tone careful, "You seem very hard on yourself, Io." But she's quiet for the blonde's moment of consideration, nodding when the words finally come. "Ideas are good. Do you agree with them?" At the question, she'll almost mirror the rueful smile, leaning back on her palms as she admits, "Not as sure as I'd like to be, particularly at the moment." Her last is light, teasing. There's a pause at Brieli's appraisal and then subsequent question. "No," is the most simple answer she can offer, with those clear dark eyes devoid of guile as they study the candidate. "Not always. We don't always agree and I don't always want to know what Ysavaeth is thinking." Iolene is a little embarrassed in her admission of that last. "At the same time, I don't know if she'd always like to know what I'm thinking. I don't- I grew up differently. In a different place with different ideas and it was just very different. I still don't really understand why a dragon's mating flight has to dictate who leads the Weyr. It seems about as silly as being born the son of a Lord Holder allows you to be the best possible leader of men." The question isn't outright asked, but in the lilting end of her final statement, Io's arced brows turn her features inquisitively upon Brieli: what do you think? In a tone that's something close to reassuring - she doesn't think it's weird - Brieli points out, "Blood relations don't always agree on everything, nor do people married. And I'm not entirely sure anyone wants to what anyone's thinking all the time. That made me feel better about the whole idea. That you could keep your secrets." If the tall brunette has any secrets, they're apparently ones she wants kept to herself. And though Iolene's ideas might be shocking, Bri doesn't look completely shocked; her brows raise a touch, but beyond that... "People get set in their ways and call it tradition, yes? I have never really understood the ways of the Weyrs. The Holds..." She offers another shrug. "It's not about who's best. It's about who has the right. That might not be wise, but it's the way it is." "I do agree with Ysavaeth on one thing," opines the blonde girl, those guileless eyes dropping to find the fingers in her lap; fingers that nervously play against each other until forcibly put to rest atop her knees. The will it takes to do that, however, tremors Iolene's voice. "I don't think Tiriana has the right any longer." But after that kind of, perhaps unsurprising, bombshell, the island raised girl is quick to shake her head, eyes closed, before opening them to try and push forth a more cheered visage. She's smiling (or trying), and feigning at least the pretense of lightheartedness in her 'what if' subject change. "If you could be anything in the world, anything on Pern, what would you want to be or do?" Brieli watches Io's nervous fingers, frowns again at the tremor in her voice. Who is this woman that goes around breaking arms and terrorizing people? The assertion might be unsurprising, but she's not sure how to respond to it for a while, until wryly, "You're not the only one." But she'll leave it there, that's also likely nothing that the goldrider didn't know; everyone loves to gossip - and she can take a hint. Tilting her head back to look up at the cloudy sky for inspiration, "No one's ever asked me that. I think maybe I'd like to grow things, like food. You'd never be short. But I'm not a fan of bugs. What about you?" The smile deepens when the subject, for now, successfully changes, and Iolene's gaze shifts from Brieli to the entrance to the hatching caverns, now blocked by the parked tithe train. "I would have wished to live somewhere warm and quiet, with the water nearby and had millions of little babies running around." Such ambition, and the recognition that her aspirations are so unambitious draws genuine laughter from the young woman. "I thought, when I asked to stand turns ago, that a dragon would be a ticket to freedom again. Not that-," she's quick to assert, "I would change anything now, I guess. But still... I think people always want what they can't really have." Brieli counters, "There's not much wrong with warm and quiet. It's just that - I suppose we're not always meant for that. If you believe in being meant for something." She puts particular weight on that last word, making air quotes with her fingers. "I'm not sure that I do. I think perhaps we decide what we're meant for." With a grin for Iolene's laughter, her dark gaze follows the other young woman's to the hatching cavern, expression dissolving into thoughtfulness. "Freedom. That's a loaded word. I suppose it must seem the opposite now? But yes, I think it's in our nature. When you're busy, you want quiet. When it's quiet, you wish it were busy." "Freedom. You would think," begins the dragonrider, oh-so-wistfully, "It would be easier to be free in an Interval, without the threat of Thread making decisions for you. Wouldn't it be nice to live a carefree life based on what you're good at and how good you are at it?" Iolene eases herself off the steps, rising slowly and dusting the bottoms of her pants off. "Ysavaeth is stirring. I hope you find what you're looking for on the sands. It's not all bad. I promise." And in her voice, there's that deep-rooted fondness for her trying dragon-half. "You would think... but they always find someone to punish for that sort of thinking, don't they?" There's an odd tone to Brieli's voice, though it's hard to tell if she's referencing Io's own situation, or another one; one that's she's closer to. "And Faranth forbid me from keeping Ysavaeth waiting. Please send my regards and reassure her that I have no designs on her eggs - I'll stand still and do as told." She grins a touch for the blonde's last, and offers sincerely, "Thank you. I hope... I hope something interesting happens. That's the best outcome I could ask for." Not entirely oblivious, Iolene's departure pauses for a split second at the oddness of Brieli's voice. Something in it drives the lanky, athletic girl to reach over with the most impulsive of hugs (and perhaps a little damp for the weather), before heading off on her way. "As long as it's not as interesting as someone smashing one of the eggs, I think I'll live. See you later!" A person dodged here, a crate leapt over there, and then she's ducking into the galleries once more as part of the long vigil some goldriders just can't avoid, weyrwoman or not. |
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