Logs:Great Women
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| RL Date: 25 March, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Teenage fears are assuaged, and the great women of Pern talked about. Decisions may have been made, but no regrets.. sort of. |
| Where: Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 5, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Nimae/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions, Korek/Mentions, Pavrol/Mentions, Yuliye/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions |
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| Late evening hours at the Reaches would normally see Farideh winding down from her day: catching up with friends, enjoying her bubble bath time, or reading in the comfy confines of her cot. But on this foggy, damp day, she's curled up on Irianke's chaise, her knees drawn up and her feet - blessedly she's taken off her boots to save the goldrider the mess later - jutting out over the edge; her arms are wrapped tightly, protectively around them, and her chin is balanced on one of her kneecaps, her eyes focused on some indistinct point, her expression equally distant. It's not clear how long she's been there, but she's obviously waiting for the woman who occupies the space, and likely soaking in the familiarity and Igen-ness of it all. The hours Irianke keeps is later these days as the time spent on her duties suffers for the attention Niahvth requires. Business hours are no longer a strict dawn to before supper affair, when they're broken up by checking in on and tending to the sands boun queens' emotions and physical comfort. Eventually, Irianke does return home to seek the comforts of a bath, her bed, some spirits and the absolute aloneness of her home. Tonight is no different, with the exception of Farideh, a fact that isn't noticed by the goldrider who's measured stride slows as she crosses the threshold into her weyr. Her hair is unpinned, her pants shed, all while she steps towards her liquor cabinet with a lighthearted song hummed beneath her breath. Guilt washes over the laundress' face when she first sees - hears? - the goldrider's return, and her arms slip from around her legs. Irianke's undressing amuses her slightly, but Farideh doesn't speak up until the woman's made it to her liquor cabinet undisturbed. "Sorry," she says preemptively, "I wanted to talk to you, and I didn't know when you'd be--" Her words fall flat as she grimaces and sets her feet on the floor, scooting to the edge of the chaise, her fingers curling around the side. "I missed-- you. I miss Igen. And I just-- I wanted someone to talk to who understands. I can leave if you're busy." But her eyes say otherwise, filled with unspoken anxieties and a touch of that guilt. The first word is enough to have a pantsless Irianke whirling to stare at the intruder. It's lucky she wasn't mid-pour, or holding an empty glass. "Shells!" is followed by other, very choice expletives, concluding when the goldrider exhales a shudered, audible breath. "You scared me," is possibly the understatement of the turn, "I..., wait," she holds up a finger to stay Farideh and disappeaers with alacrity through the beaded curtain and returns in a robe. "I didn't think this is a conversation to be had pantsless. Now," the goldrider returns to the liquor cabinet and selects another glass, "Get comfy and tell me what's wrong." "If you want to be pantsless, I can't hold it against you. This is your weyr," Farideh surmises, glancing around quickly and then back to Irianke. "I don't know." She, technically, has already gotten comfy, but she slumps forward a little, pressing her toes into the stone floor and staring down at them. "I was fine until recently. Sometimes, I just want to be there. Sometimes. I can almost feel the sand between my toes and the sun on my face. It's not the same, here." There's a rueful smile and, as swiftly, a frown replaces it. "I've been rude. I haven't asked how you have been. It must be even harder for you. I've been here longer and I've adjusted, but with everything, and the clutch, and I hear the rumors," getting quieter the more the talks, until it's barely above a whisper at the end. The shaker is shook, and a ruby liquid pours into the two glasses and capped with two sweetener-soaked cherries. "The muggy heat ruining your hair. The dryness causing nosebleeds," quips Irianke, the dry humor of the goldrider's voice not lacking sympathy for Farideh. Not entirely at least. It's her eyes that betray her, the look that flicks from Farideh, her destination with those two glasses, to the ledge and whatever is beyond them. Home. "Go visit," is said more gently, when the woman sinks herself on the end of that chaise and holds out one of the glasses. It doesn't taste like alcohol other than the faint bitter kick at the very beginning. The drink is a good mixture of the sweet of berries and crisp sour of citrus. "What's stopping you?" There's fondness in Farideh's smile as she listens to Irianke describe their once-home. "I don't know. I think I'm scared I'll want to stay and then--" They both know where that would end, so instead, she accepts the glass and sniffs at the liquid within; it must rate, because she takes a tentative sip. "I feel silly still wanting it, when I've made a new place for myself here." She's struggling with the explanation, and slants the goldrider a look, complete with a pursed lip. "You didn't answer my question. How are you? I want to know that someone else is dealing with all of this worse than me. Make me feel better for being a bird-brained, homesick, lovesick fool of a girl," she says, her self-deprecation not entirely humorous. It's an opening for Irianke to pour her soul out, if she had one. A soul. Or something to pour out. Trouble clouds her eyes, a shadow that isn't squelched and remains exposed and vulnerable. But this vulnerability doesn't reflect in her intonation, the carefully selected words remnants of her turns of training, "Would it really make you feel better to know that I, too, pine for home every night once I return to my weyr?" It's not quite the answer Farideh is likely looking for and Irianke must be well aware of that for she's taking a drawn out sip of her drink. "Yes," is a solemn word, with a solemn expression. "It's in my blood," literally though, "and I can't seem to shake it. No matter all the horrible things that happen, no matter how much I disapprove. It's needing it as much as I need-- food? Water? But I don't want it, at the same time. Does that make sense at all?" Farideh looks frustrated by her own inability to put the right words to the feeling, but it's mixed with her own rawness and sorrow. "And no one else here would understand." She rolls her glass between her hands, and glances at Irianke, probing the other woman's face with her eyes. "Don't you feel it, too?" "Once," shares Irianke, those shadowed eyes going distant and the creases on her face softening for the recollection that draws out both sorrow and fondness. "When I Impressed at Igen, I missed the freedom, the way the air smelled when you'd been traveling for days. I missed... my family, the different scenery daily, the nights around a fire. My old life. Every day, for months, and even Niahvth's touch couldn't quite take it away. Not completely." She exhales and refocuses her eyes on Farideh, a finger reaching out to curve against the younger woman's cheek and then down to claim her chin in its crook. "You can cry. Here. If you want. It's okay to mourn what we think we've lost." Those emotive verdigris eyes of hers lock on Irianke and her brow furrows. "I don't know if I can. What am I crying for? A life I never wanted to begin with? Parents who never understood? Places I've never seen and oceans I've never touched? A Hold I've never be able to claim as my own? A legacy I don't have the right too?" Farideh closes her eyes then on an exhale, and when she opens them again, they're definitely bright, though no tears yet fall. "I don't understand any of it. I don't understand myself. How do you do it? How do you stay so strong and resolute?" Earnestly, she wants to know, as yet not releasing her gaze from the goldrider's face. That, that, makes Irianke laugh. It's a short laugh and not very humored. "Some part of me is pleased to hear you think I am strong and resolute. And another part of me," the goldrider drains her glass in one very quick gulp. It's been one of those days. "Oh, child." The goldrider sets the glass down and slips across the chaise to snuggle next to Farideh, wrapping one arm about the other Igenite's shoulders and drawing the girl's head under her chin. "There's not much three turns of weyrling training with a hard taskmistress that can't be fixed. You learn to smile and find the silver lining in every forced or chosen opportunity that does not go the way you want it to. Otherwise, I'd be perpetually unhappy with my lot in life." Admiration shows on Farideh's face before she's taken in and under, and is content to just be there, snuggled up next to Irianke, like it's perfectly natural for laundresses to be in embraces with goldriders after cocktails. "Really?" she asks, quietly, and then after a moment's silence, "How did we get here? Playing parts." Inscrutable emotion lies in those words, but her arms reach out to wrap around the other woman, returning the hug; glass still in one hand. "Do you think it would be better? If we were-- different? What if you were just Irianke and I was just Farideh? Cotholders? Farmers? Laundresses?" Humor, finally. "I would have been miserable." Irianke states, her words quiet. "But wouldn't have known any better. I missed my old life, but not the potential it had for me. You met my family, traders who have capitalized on my rank and new privileges. Womenfolk are meant to sell," a pause, "And breed. I'm grateful, now, turns later, for the opportunity Standing at Igen Weyr gave me." She scrunches her face and presses a kiss into the teenager's forehead. "For one, you would never have given me a passing glance had I been Irianke, Bethari trader woman and wife with a litter of six kids." Is that a wince at the mention of children? Farideh listens attentively and makes a strangled, unhappy sound at the end. "Isn't that how it is everywhere? Traders, holders, and now--" Her mouth forms an uncomfortable moue and she flicks her eyes upwards, even if she can't quite see Irianke's face. "I thought Nimae a brilliant woman, but I don't quite appreciate her method of trading you away. Trading Niahvth away, to this place where they don't trust you. I wish it wasn't-- that way." Then, the distress gives way to a small smile, her arms tightening slightly. "Of course I would have. You would have been delightfully entertaining. Not the kids. And you know I love giving my mother the faints." "Farideh," Irianke's hand moves to soothe the young woman, running it in downstrokes down the young woman's arm. "I... this is something I share in confidence," but she must trust the girl to continue without waiting for affirmation, "But I speculate Nimae plans on retiring in the next few turns. Everything she's trained and taught me until now makes me wonder if... that's why it was me. Why here. Why I was sent away. A Weyrwoman in the Interval is useless when she is unable to reach out to all sorts of different people and make connections an bonds to help tie the Weyrs together." The elder brunette's mouth presses firm, a self-deprecating smile emerging, "I don't know if it's a position I necessarily want anymore. To fill her shoes. I would never be her and for some people at Igen, it would make me worthless." "Nimae? Retire?" The younger girl looks baffled by that statement, but at the same time, pulls back to look up at Irianke's face. "Isn't this a great opportunity? It is a great, great responsibility--" Her face is suddenly severe, showing no small amount of worry and yet, confidence, in the goldrider. "But isn't it a chance to do what you want? Be who you want to be? You could make the rules. Wouldn't you want that?" It's more of those mixed emotions after, and she settles her head back where it was, enjoying the closeness for however long it lasts. "You don't have to be her, you just have to be you. Everyone who meets you loves you, of course. Not-- here, necessarily. Back home," Farideh concludes. "Do you remember who was Weyrwoman after Lessa? Moreta?" Irianke begins, gently, her stroking ended by Farideh pulling away. "It's a terrible thing to follow in the footsteps of a woman considered a great Weyrwoman." There's no doubt in Irianke's mind her mentor is great. "If I do things in a way that differs from Nimae, I risk alienating half the Weyr. If..." Irianke doesn't have to continue further to recognize her own fears being voiced aloud and laughs, a self-chiding sound low in her throat. "Ever the optimist, in spite of how you think you are running away from home. Why not you? Why don't you return home, to Igen Hold, and demand your birth right, in its own right, of the new Lady Igen? I've read she spent her entire life trying to get recognized as heir apparent on her own merits. You may find a sympathetic mind in her." "No, but I barely know the Weyrwomen of now," Farideh admits. "Lessa and Moreta were--different. They both saved Pern, right? I don't think Nimae has saved anything. I know she is considered a great woman, a great leader, but it's not like anyone's fighting to write the Ballad of Nimae. That I am aware." She's trying to make Irianke feel better, even if her words don't make much sense. "The Holds already know you. I doubt you'd find interference there, and isn't it the way of things for people to make a fuss when someone new comes about? I've fussed a lot about Lord Joremy coming to term and I can't imagine what mother says--" with a rolling of her eyes. Seriousness comes in the form of a frown and a sigh. "Could I be Holder without all the trappings? Without having to be the picture-perfect woman? Without getting married and having kids to pass it onto? Without having to be responsible for all those people? Besides, a lot of what my uncle does has to do with those silly ships and the docks. I doubt a bunch of sailors would take me seriously." "Then Stand," says Irianke, her words as careless as the flip of her hair that both takes in and dismisses Farideh's attempts to make her feel better about following in Nimae's footsteps. "I need a refresher, do you?" The slender woman reaches for her glass and rises, waiting with a free hand extended should the young woman want to be topped off. Considering Farideh has only taken a couple sips of her drink, it's with a negative shake of her head that she refuses the offer. "I'm-- considering it. It's not an easy decision to make. It's a life changing one, everyone says. I know I've said I don't want to go back there, to be just another holder's daughter destined to marry some fuddy duddy, but--" She bites her lip. "Do I want to throw all of it away?" Her eyes follow the goldrider, but have that faraway quality of someone lost in their thoughts. "Someday," says Irianke, her voice muffled for her back to Farideh. A clink of the shaker, the pour of a few liquids. "You will look back at opportunities lost and regret some of them. I can, however," the goldrider flashes a smile back at the young woman, whilst shaking her drink, "Assure you, you will likely not regret Standing. If you don't Impress, at least you tried. If you do Impress, you will miss your old life desperately, but most of us cannot imagine life as it might've been quite the same as before." Slow steps bring her just short of the chaise, and instead of sitting there, she opts for a more elegant armchair. "You will never marry. But home, life, and love will be wherever your dragon is." Which means home, life, and love, for now, is High Reaches. "It's not throwing anything away," she adds over the rim of her glass, "But another door, another opportunity you are welcoming. You will always be your father's daughter. And your mother will eventually come around." Farideh's expression becomes once more earnest, as she watches, as she listens, from her spot on the chaise, with her glass cupped in her hands. "Do you think I'd make a good rider?" she asks, maybe unsurprisingly. She's watching Irianke mix a new drink, and her eyes follow the goldrider to the armchair, her eyebrows creased together. "Without a doubt," is Irianke's immediate response. She sets the still mostly full glass down and presses her palms together. "You have spirit and whether you think so or not, the social knowhow an capital to navigate even the murkiest of Weyr politics. Certainly," she adds, leaning back in her armchair sans drink, "You understand the concepts of respect and respectful disagreement. You would do well as a dragonrider, and it would allow you to go dig your feet in the hot Igen sands and watch your hair frizz before your eyes when duty allows." Not even a breath later, Irianke looks like she might say something more, her face tipping away from Farideh. Looks, but then her expression suddenly clears with a subtle shake of her head. The occasion allows her to retain some pride, her posture straightening, her feet curling underneath the edge of the chaise. "It would, either if I could fly or if I was--" there. That chance still looms over the whole idea, creating the shadow of doubt on her face. "Once wouldn't hurt, right? And it's not like mother would have to know. It's not like any of them will be there, if it doesn't work out, and if it does, they can't do anything at that point." Farideh obviously has a thought and she's running with it, even as she's sucking in a breath and saying, "But Nimae likely will, right?" "Nimae?" It's clear Irianke hasn't followed Farideh's reasoning to this end. It might be comical, then, when Farideh leans to the side, one hand bracing her weight on the chaise, and whispers loudly, "What if she recognizes me?" Followed by a twisted, unhappy face. "Nimae knows when to keep her tongue." If only to utilize the information later to hers and Igen's advantage. "Rest assured, Farideh, should she make out who you are on the sands midst the thirty-some-odd others, she won't tell your family. She might ask if I had anything to do with this, but..." Irianke's brow lifts and her hands spread before her in a picture of innocence, the implications of what's unsaid thick in the air. If she doesn't ask or get asked to Stand, Irianke had no part in it. Farideh follows, and nods her head in understanding, sitting back with renewed confidence in her ability to control this situation; teenagers, so foolish. "See, I knew I needed to talk to you," she says with a broadening smile that appears to wipe away all of her lingering doubts. "It's not so dreary, anymore. Not like--" Well. She stands then, and moves to set her drink, still mostly full, on the nearest table. "I've taken up enough of your time, I think. You probably want to rest or take off your pants." Through a smile, "Thank you, though. I always forget to tell you how much I appreciate-- you. As a friend. You know that, right? I'll always remember you," with an impish wrinkle of her nose. Irianke smiles a little at being called a friend. "I welcome your friendship and the turns we've known each other, Farideh, and am glad you feel comfortable enough to lurk in the dark while I get naked." She must be joking. She must! "But yes, it would be nice to shed my clothes, finish off our drinks," since wasted liquor would be such a waste, "And crawl into my mess of pillows in there. Good luck with your decisions and good night." A hand presses against her mouth to still the laughter that's trying to bubble out. Farideh only succeeds in launching the flow, not the shaking of her shoulders, before she gasps a breath and inclines her head just so. "Enjoy your-- night. I hope people stop treating you like the bad person. After all, it's not your fault High Reaches' Weyrwoman can't hold her own against Nimae." She grins, waves, and flounces back out the way she came in, much happier in general. At that, Irianke chokes. It's truly a good thing she's not drinking something. |
Comments
Edyis (01:44, 25 March 2015 (EDT)) said...
This was absolutely amazing to read. I loved seeing Farideh's vulnerabilities, and also Irianke's. The thing that I really love about Irianke's character though is that she pushes on, through whatever gets thrown her way. <3
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