Logs:Friendship and Loyalty
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| RL Date: 18 January, 2016 |
| Who: Mirinda, N'rov |
| Type: Log |
| What: A walk in the garden. |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
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| It's too chilly for a picnic lunch, particularly if one happens to be Mirinda (and thus always cold), and that's not helped by the overcast skies that, despite not contributing rain, do leave an undeniable dreariness. Still, Mirinda's post-lunch perambulation is by now traditional, and today finds her meandering about the edges of the grove, largely hidden beneath the heavy cloak she's so-often wearing as autumn slides, day by day, towards winter. If only the leaves would fall from those trees that aren't evergreen, it would be easier; as it is, there's only a light detritus for N'rov to to wander upon, and even that is soggy and doesn't swish-and-crunch nearly as well with his steps. He checks the benches first, and with those vacant, doesn't work too hard at looking too thoroughly first; instead he cups a hand to his mouth as he enters the trees for a low, "Mir-in-da." "No-rov," comes the reply, as Mirinda steps away from the (probably damp) trees and towards the centre of the grove where she might better be found; she's not hiding, then. "Is this a game of hide-and-seek? Ought I to have been more difficult to procure?" Despite the chill she's so-obviously feeling, her smile is bright enough, and she even goes so far as to lift one gloved hand to slide her hood back, revealing more of her face. "Procure," gains droll emphasis on N'rov's repetition. "Yes," he tells her as he approaches, her and her trees, "I fully expected you to be huddling in a conveniently carved-out bole (one done with care lest it crack, mind you) or else hiding up in the boughs. How are you doing for scarves?" His hands are in his pockets, his smile quick, his own hood lopsided. Mirinda lifts and turns her gaze, considering the trees and-- perhaps-- their climbability. Evidently the notion is discarded, however, because in short order those dark eyes are focused upon N'rov once more, hands now tucking themselves beneath the folds of her cloak. "I never used to understand the function of a scarf," she admits. "I assumed they were simply fashion. And now..." Now she has one, is wearing it, and seems satisfied with its usefulness. "I may need to obtain some more, for coordination purposes." "It's too bad your Turnday's past," N'rov remarks as he joins her, though he pauses a half-pace away. "You might have had enough to curtain a doorway... if not your doorway." "My doorway would take a good many scarves," acknowledges Mirinda, with a laughing smile. "Perhaps the result of a few turns... although I think I preferred the flowers. Of course, a healthy weyrling class was a lovely gift, too, albeit one I'll be glad not to have next turn." Quick surprise is in N'rov's glance at her, and then his grin, which only widens; "I don't blame you in the slightest," he says gravely. "They were so difficult to wrap. Spotting the shells just so, that took forever; we nearly ran out of grayish-black." Mirinda, amused: "I'm sure. Such a difficult thing." Abruptly, a change of direction: "I met High Reaches' newest goldrider the other day. Her dragon, of course, is descended from both of ours. She seems a thoughtful woman. Reasonable." "And apt to repopulate High Reaches?" N'rov must ask, rubbing his hands together to go with the so-avid lift of his brows. A more serious beat later, "Plan to encounter her again? We aren't acquainted, she and I, though you could say I've run into the others." "Three queens," is musing, and not a direct answer to anything that N'rov has said, at least not specifically. "It's almost a pity. She's obviously loyal to her home, born and bred there, so I'd never wish it, but... it would be nice to have a Monacoan queen at Monaco again." Part Monacoan. But it's the important part, right? "I will visit when her queen has eggs on the sands, perhaps, but it's not that I intend to try to be friends, as such." What other queens? "Perhaps she or Zai will lay one, in the end..." only then to complete it N'rov has to say, with something like regret and nothing like a wish, "And Torith won't." No wish like that for Torith, not unless Kyouri wills it. Though Mirinda... Mirinda who's standing still; "Would you stroll?" He offers his arm. "To keep warm. Why not friends, at least in a way?" "Or Torith will be caught by a Monacoan bronze next time, and then lay one," is plainly a better solution for everyone, made as Mirinda steps forward to accept that arm. "For the moment, it would probably not be politically advisable for her, given... my family, and her Weyr. Besides, friendships between foreign goldriders can be difficult, I find." N'rov catches himself with a laugh. "Yes, of course. Practical," is plainly a compliment, before he glances up in the direction of Tooth Crag where Vhaeryth's dramatically wound himself and then proceeds off at an easy pace. "Unless it helped to mend," he can only suppose, but in passing, for he's just a bronzerider; as such, he wonders, "How so?" in more than generalities. Practical, yes. But Mirinda's silently thoughtful as she matches her stride to N'rov's, delaying her answer until she's worked it out in her head. "I believe she might like to mend," she says. "But with Monaco, not necessarily with me. If that distinction makes sense. For goldriders, though... we're so much on display. There can be an assumption of divided loyalties. Or of attempting to influence." "Ah." N'rov tightens his elbow about her hand, just for a moment, as though he'd have had it otherwise; the distraction doesn't mean they walk into any trees, though, otherwise continuing an easy perambulation. "I was wondering about... specific people, stories, with you. How much was your Weyrwoman frowning on it. But don't feel like," he hitches his shoulder, "you have to." Hesitantly, Mirinda acknowledges that, "Oriane preferred us to keep our distance. She considered my friendship with Olivya 'safe' and thus acceptable, but she otherwise made it clear that close friendships opened us up to difficulty." She adds, after a moment more: "I don't believe that it needs to be that way. I am, nonetheless, still cautious." N'rov's nod is slow. "Dahlia... flits all over Pern, it seems sometimes. I don't know how much of that is close." Mirinda's lips press together, tight and then tighter still. "Not close, I think," is her summation. "Did you face difficulties, when you were... I apologise if this is indelicate. When you and Aishani were seeing each other." N'rov draws in a breath, his head tipping back; then he says, "Not particularly. But then, I was fine with the boots she bought me," if not always, his tone implies, her buying what he needed to escort her, "and the... mingling; I chose to not take offense at those who'd have called me her toy... or her, mine. We knew better. And she made it easy. Do you remember? How she'd shine." "I didn't really know her at all," is apologetic, and perhaps a little wistful; Mirinda's regret for not knowing the rider of her queen's daughter is sincere. "I wonder if others were as sanguine about the relationship-- but that's not what matters, is it, if you were happy. And I'm glad you were." He glances down at her, this time. "No," and N'rov says it with a half-laugh, "they weren't. It helped, I imagine, to stay out of High Reaches' other affairs; and to get to know people there, and elsewhere, as I could." Which is what, by inclination, he does. "And," only then he stops; it's as though he won't continue until, at last, he does. Carefully. "To not seek to transfer there. Not by any means." Mirinda's silence lasts several seconds after that final continuation, though what she does offer is a slow nod. "That was wise of you," she agrees. "No doubt it would have been simpler had you been a greenrider." Pause. "In some ways." Though plainly the idea of N'rov-the-greenrider does not compute, because her head shakes, abruptly, as she draws the bronzerider back into motion. It's enough to let N'rov smirk at her for it; "Wouldn't it?" While he's at it, "I do wish Dee had more close friends, though maybe that's what she's working on. At Fort; but elsewhere, too. Enough elsewheres that they all... balance out. Support. Just not interfering friends." "She needs a Liv," says Mirinda, brightly, but with an edge of regret, too. "But you're right. It's better when we have at least one person we can lean on. Better if they're not someone we work with directly. With luck..." With luck she'll develop that kind of friendship. Mirinda, at least, can be positively hopeful. "All those things," N'rov agrees. "A Liv, a Vil, an Ilv, an Ivl... no, that just sounds evil. Anyhow, I still think you lot need a getaway where you can wear whatever and sprawl however and show up from wherever," any Weyr will do, "and have each others' backs." He has to chuckle. "In a good way." Mirinda's lips curve into a wry smile. "Anonymity," she agrees. "Just every so often." But she's not outright wistful for it, and very promptly abandons that topic for soemthing rather more prosaic: break's over, time to get back to work. |
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