Logs:Good Enough
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| RL Date: 24 April, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A quiet evening on the patio turns into a heated discussion of politics between Farideh and R'hin. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 8, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Josilina/Mentions |
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| The regular darts game of earlier was won rather soundly by Glacier, apparent by the number of Savannah riders who have already slunk off to lick their wounds (and their wallets) in private. There's still a handful here, though, bantering with Glacier riders out on the patio about this-or-that call, and how it was totally unfair. R'hin's drained his mug, and is doing the patting-of-various-shoulders by way of farewell, standing and moving off between tables and chairs, though not in any hurry, pale eyes taking account of other occupants. Fun is hard to come by for the weyrlings these days, between the constant feedings, oilings, and rudimentary exercise that have become commonplace. Still, on the rare occasion that they get time to themselves-- there are diversions, even if those diversions are sitting on the patio ledge and eavesdropping on the fascinating conversations of the other weyrfolk. And that is precisely what Farideh is up to this evening, curled up with one leg underneath her and the other bent, on chin resting on the knee that's closest. Her drink, something non-alcoholic and definitely lukewarm by now, is sitting on the table, untouched, in front of her, as are a couple of roughed-up looks hides. Of course, R'hin gets a look, understandably so, but her expression is pulled into neutral. As soon as he receives a look, R'hin's path diverts -- predictably -- towards Farideh. He reaches out for one of the chairs at her table, scraping it noisily as he turns it around, before dropping down, resting arms along the back of it, and regarding Farideh with a twitch of lips. "So," he says, with a tip of head, "This is what your life is reduced to, mm?" It isn't inconspicuous, the way her lips twitch briefly, when he starts wending in her direction, though the chair scrape earns a frown. "It's only for a short while. A few months." Farideh lifts her chin from her knee and takes a moment to study him across the table. "Didn't you? And you're still here," sounds less than enthused, but there's no hint in her expression to betray any other emotion than that lack of something. "It's nice out now. Before the cold comes again and the snow." Just in case he was checking: "Roszadyth is asleep." "Oh?" R'hin's reply is full of doubt, "Only a few months, hm?" His fingers tap briefly at his arm, while amusement begins to seep into pale eyes. There's the briefest of shoulder shrugs for his experience; "It was a different time then. A different leadership," is offered evenly enough. As for her queen: "I didn't ask." Didn't, wasn't. His head tips. "Are you happy?" is his chosen question, instead. "A few months of this," Farideh says, frustrated; it's likely she's forgotten R'hin's question-games in the length of time between this interaction and their last. "One day, she'll be fine, and I can go where I please instead of hanging out here, with--" She presses her lips together, obviously not saying what she wants to, which is probably "you". "Happy? I'm happy with Roszadyth," is what she chooses at first, instead of answering him outright. "With the rest? I've yet to decide." With a gesture towards the open air, R'hin invites, "You're free to leave." The gesture is met by her usual stubbornness. "I never said I wanted to leave. It's fine, for now," with the now part being the key. "I thought being moody is expected after a thing like Impression." Farideh barely keeps the glower away. "And it's not like I thought I'd be-- this." R'hin waves off the talk of being moody; he's too well-learned to fall into that particular feminine trap. Instead, his response is for her latter comment. "No?" Brows go upwards in surprise, finger lifting to tap against his lips. "I seem to recall a discussion where you agreed it was a terrible idea for you to become a rider." R'hin pauses only one heartbeat, before he asks, "What changed your mind?" "Don't you have things to do? Sweeps to fly? Women to woo? Holds to pillage?" Despite the clear-cut reference to an early discussion they have had, Farideh looks increasingly disgruntled. His questions have her eyes narrowing, her lips pursing, just before she inclines her head civilly. "It seemed like a bad idea, but-- why not? You can be one, and them," pointing to those riders over yonder, "and everyone else. Can't I? I just didn't think-- not Roszadyth. I just wanted to be a rider. A rider." She cuts him a look, and puts her chin back on her knee, staring towards the bowl. "It will take time getting used to the idea. Of everything." "At this moment, I'm right where I need to be," R'hin counters, with a brief twitch of lips. "Though," he reaches across the table for her glass, lifting it to his nose. "Could use more alcohol," with a grimace, as he sets it back unmolested. "Why not," he echoes her, in exactly the same intonation, snorting a moment later. "And thus, great leaders are born." It's an oddly serious expression, and nod, that is given her latter comment. Oddly serious for R'hin, anyway. "Are you?" Farideh doesn't look pleased by his answer or her lame one, but she's reaching to pull her glass closer once he sets it back down; R'hin cooties, gross. "We aren't allowed to drink, or otherwise, I'd be in there and not out here." She loops her arms back around her one bent leg, now that her glass is closer, safer, and considers his words. "Because I don't want to be the one to make all of the mistakes. I don't want to be the one with the sign on my forehead. Or, the one who dies in some fiendish death trap." And by the end, her face is shaded by frustration, her brows pulled down as are the corners of her mouth. "Having a dragon would have been good enough. Don't you know?" There's a marked transition in R'hin's expression, from lightly amused to something more granite and closed off. There's a long silence, where fingers fall still, and he exhales. "You will make mistakes, and everyone will watch them, and judge. It's inevitable. But," he lifts a hand, and there's an odd tone to his voice, intent and almost angry: "You'd serve the Weyr, and yourself, better, if you don't close yourself off like Azaylia did. Find people to trust, and rely on their advice. She could, did never, let K'del in. And everyone knew it." His mouth twists. "Do that, and it will be good enough." Farideh's exasperated expression doesn't lift, but intensifies with R'hin's words. "I'm not like her. I'm not like the one before her either. I'm not even like Irianke. Don't go around comparing their flaws with mine, and--" She scrunches her nose in distaste. "I don't really blame her. K'del is awful." Then, she lifts her shoulders. "I certainly don't trust you, of anyone, and not him, but then, most people don't trust me either. I don't know how anything is going to work-- can work. Not one," oh, no, "but two Igenites on gold. I don't think the Weyr would handle anymore." "No, you're not," R'hin agrees. Like her, presumably. "But one gets better by learning from the mistakes of others." There's a brief, wry, smile, "You shouldn't trust me," he agrees with that particular assessment. "But -- what has K'del done to earn your ire?" With a twitch of shoulders; "It isn't as if the Weyr has much choice. Nor is it like we haven't been through worse than a pair of Igenites. Really," with a lift of eyes, skyward, "You're not even anywhere near as awful as, say, a Monaco queen. Or an exiles queen. But," with another, flickering smile, "It might be something for you to strive for," he says, clearly teasing her, now. "I will always be aware of lanterns from now on," Farideh says, using his advice in the obvious way. "But it's hard to avoid lightning storms. Don't you think?" She rolls her eyes, not even at him, specifically. "You don't find him irritating? Thinking the worst of holders, always trying to be so-- so-- good, as if he is. I've heard things. I'm not dumb." Her mouth sets again, but she's watching R'hin and listening, attentive if quiet. "High Reaches has had horrible luck with their queens in the past, but isn't it their fault for letting an exile on the sands at all? Or accepting a Monaco queen?" R'hin gives a sharp shake of his head, snorting. "It's not easy to be a leader. You have to make difficult choices, and this always results in unhappy people, saying things about you. Good, bad, and ugly." There's a long pause, before the bronzerider adds, "Of course he thinks the worst of holders. Because his job is to protect the Weyr, his people, and to do that he relies on the holders, who have not always been supportive. Granted, this has gone both ways, but -- that wariness is not undue." He gives a little chuckle at her latter words, although it's offset by a slight shake of his head. "Perhaps. But no one person can foretell the future. Would you have stopped the exiles standing, even if it meant breaking another deal that the Weyr needed? Would you have refused an extra queen when the Weyr needed it, regardless of where it was from? At the time, those choices were the best choices. Like," with a twist of lips, and a gesture towards the weyrling goldrider, "Your decision to stand." "I don't think Nimae has such contempt for Igen's holders, as K'del seems to has for ours. I do hope that that can be sorted out. Irianke, at least, is level headed," Farideh comments a little morosely. "Did you? Treat them like that? When you were Weyrleader?" is a legitimate question, with her full attention on R'hin. "I think that there was only the two options. Is there, ever? Just two? Would the Weyr have failed without an exile at the helm? She was poisoned anyway. What good did she do, besides Hraedhyth, who also died? One after the other, after the other," is monotonous, ending on a sigh. "It's not the same." Her chin comes up, her leg goes down, and she grabs her glass, shifting to move, like she's preparing to stand. "We'll have to have a chat sometime when I don't have other responsibilities and we can look at the records, hm? Maybe you can tell me about when you were Weyrleader, and about your two Weyrwomen." "Doesn't she?" is R'hin's light response. "You're so friendly with the Igen Weyrwoman that you know her mind, then?" He gives a low-throated growl as she turns the question around to him. "When I was Weyrleader, Thread fell, and that ass who calls himself Lord Crom refused to close mineholds in the middle of nowhere, and demanded that we protect them. He didn't give a shit that we were losing riders every single fall, because none of it could be predicted. All he cared about was profits." He shifts, suddenly, his weight edging back as he moves arms and instead grips the back of the chair with his fingers. "You don't know anything about loss. I hope for all of our sakes, you learn quickly. Each death diminishes us, either through what they could have achieved, or the dragons theirs could have provided us." He gives a dismissive wave as she stands, though whether it's a farewell, or refusal of her suggestion of a chat later isn't clear. "I don't pretend to know anything," might be juxtaposition to her words, but Farideh's obviously having a different discussion in her head. She inclines her head again, this time in respective farewell; better than flipping him off anyway. "Enjoy your night," she says through a tight smile, taking her drink, her hides, and what's left of her pride, and beating a quick retreat from the patio ledge in the direction of the barracks. |
Comments
Jolie (02:58, 25 April 2015 (EDT)) said...
Innnnnnteresting scene! Loved that play of politics <3
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