Logs:Hopes, Wishes, and Threesomes
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| RL Date: 14 June, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Quinlys, Edyis, C'ris, R'hin, Irianke, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Happy Turnover from High Reaches! |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Cold. |
| Mentions: Z'kiel/Mentions, Rook/Mentions, Alieva/Mentions, Jounine/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions, Lia/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Itsy/Mentions, Drex/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: I might be missing something. |
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| The day dawns clear - a good omen for the upcoming turn some say - and stays blessedly cloudless throughout the day, even if the snow from days previous refuses to budge. It stays cool until evening, and then the temperature plummets. By the time the bonfires are lit, it's downright freezing, but no one seems to mind when they are aptly distracted by good food, good wine, and endless music. In the living caverns, there are tables laden with all varities to tempt the palate, and a warmer atmosphere, and outside, tall poles have been strung with the fabric garland to create a ceiling of dancing strings that dance in the errant breeze. Everything is illuminated by the orange-y glow from the twin fires, enough to allow people to see where and with whom they are dancing, in the spaced cleared away beneath the garland. Just to the side, Farideh is standing, already with a half-finished glass of wine that's not likely her first, if the flush on her cheeks and bright glaze of her eyes are telling. She's dressed in a deep red dress with long sleeves and a high neckline, with black beading on the front, with a little gold pin that holds back on side of her short curls. For a while, she's been watching the dancers, saying niceties to passing weyrfolk, but otherwise standing on the outskirts, observing. Quinlys generally makes a habit of staying away from social events that don't require her presence, when there are weyrlings about; it's a good idea not to get drunk with (or around) one's students, after all. Her own gown-- a deep, rich blue-- is llama wool, finely woven and tailored to her figure, probably with extensive boning underneath given how unusually smooth her silhouette is. "You're allowed to have fun, you know," she says, as she draws up alongside Farideh, lifting her glass in acknowledgement. "Everything seems to be going smoothly." Farideh takes Quinlys' presence in stride; something akin to a comfortable silence that melds into a small smile and a sideways glance. "I keep hearing that, but neither would it do for me to get drunk and dance on a table naked or getting into a fist-fight with someone who calls me out on my party planning skills, so--" Her shoulders lift in a delicate shrug, her glass meeting lips for a tiny sip. "Are you enjoying it? Or wishing you were somewhere else? With someone else?" There's amusement, not reproach, in the weyrling's curious-eyed gaze. "We'll have to be good and sensible together, then," says Quinlys, with a wry smile. "I usually go elsewhere for my revelries. Apparently, some of my weyrlings can't imagine me drinking at all," the idea of which seems to horrify and amuse the bluerider, "and for the most part, it's easy to just enjoy yourself when you're not... at home." It's not a direct answer to Farideh's question, and hangs between them for a few moments before she adds, "But I'm glad to be here, tonight. Someone needs to represent High Reaches' leadership, while our weyrleaders venture elsewhere. With luck, I'll drag someone home with me tonight-- Lia, maybe-- and I'll call that success." "Good and sensible," Farideh says, tipping her glass towards Quinlys, "are not words anyone has ever used to describe me in my whole life." She seems as equally amused as Quinlys, though her eyes easily slide back to the dancers as they move in time with the jaunty tune the harpers are playing. "Who would that be? One of the ones not from here? Z'kiel? Rook? Anyone who has been at the Reaches for longer than Niahvth's clutch would know that you drink." Her face is kept deceptively neutral, except for that small smile still curving her mouth. "Do you mean you actually have sex too, Quinlys? My, how scandalous you are," just before glass lifts to lips again, but not before the tiniest bubble of laughter escapes them. The corners of Quinlys' mouth turn upwards. "Welcome to adulthood, then," she says, before taking a sip from her own glass. "Edyis, if you'll believe it. I get the impression she thinks I... I don't know, exist in the classroom, to dislike her, and that's about it." As for sex? "A lady never discloses what goes on in her boudoir. Or her office. Her training cavern. Her..." Now she's laughing, apparently entirely unable to control herself. "I don't want to ever grow up?" is asked innocently of the bluerider, her own eyes reflective her mixed dubiousness and amusement. "Edyis?" Farideh definitely sounds as dubious as her furrowed brow and frown would indicate. "Edyis is having a hard time of it, it would seem. We aren't as-- close as we used to be, but she-- does she dislike you still?" A fortifying drink is needed, one that drains the last of her glass, which she then dangles from her fingers. "Aren't you a lucky lady." No, she doesn't sound bitter at all! "Edyis and I..." Quinlys hesitates. "I believe we've come to an understanding, sort of. I don't know that we'll ever care for each other, but it's a start." Glancing sidelong at the other woman, she's more amused for the rest... and then, after a moment, more hesitant. "All not well in private-weyr land?" "I'm still not sure why she dislikes you so much." Farideh pauses long enough to smile and shake her head at a gesture from afar to dance. "You're supposed to be the big, bad weyrlingmaster, and you've had your moments-- still, you're likeable." She frowns again, though whether it's for the former or latter points, it's hard to tell. "It would be much easier if I just did-- like you. Bringing random men home, getting them undressed, and then kicking them out by sunrise. Right?" "She doesn't like me," says Quinlys, with a shrug, her nose wrinkling, "because she expects to know everything already, and doesn't like being reminded that she is the student." Beat. "But she's trying, now, so we'll see. Anyway, I'm so glad you think I'm likeable." Her sarcasm is, at least, cheerful, and punctuated at the end by another raised glass. "Anyway, if you want to be like me, it'd be women, most of the time, and-- but it's a lonely life. Simpler, but also not, sometimes. I don't know." She and Farideh are standing off to one side, both well-dressed and no doubt braced against the cold with the alcohol they've imbibed. Yes, C'ris is probably well aware that Quinlys already has a glass. And yes, C'ris could probably bring her something else, but that is what he comes approaching the women with. Not for Farideh, because she's a weyrling, but he does have a glass that he offers out to the Weyrlingmaster in greeting. "Happy Turnover," he greets brightly, happily! (Not drunkly. Yet.) What he does offer to Farideh is a warm, "This is all wonderful. The food's great." Cold though the night is, it is cloudless and filled with music and laughter. Underneath a canopy of fabric strands, weyrfolk dance gaily to the tunes the harpers play; others crowd around the twin bonfires. Farideh half turns to Quinlys, mindful of her skirt not dragging into the snow and dampening. "But that's the definition of a weyrling," Farideh says, bemused. "You don't look lonely, and besides, at least you don't have to deal with getting the cold shoulder for no reason." She looks momentarily sad and sullen, but C'ris is there with his cheer and drink, and she gives him a smile. "Is it? Which is your favorite? I'm particularly fond of the candied fruit, but I'm biased." Warm laughter precedes a tangle of weyrlings as they make their way to the festivities from the direction of the Weyr entrance. One of them telling a story quite animatedly, gesturing wildly about before the entire group erupts in laughter. Edyis is to one side of the group, dressed warmly with her dark curls pinned up prettily. The group is moving like a glacier in the direction of Quinlys, Farideh, and C'ris. "Men suck," is Quinlys' affirmation, and perhaps she'd have more to say on the subject, but there's C'ris-- and pink-cheeked although she already is, glass in hand though she already has, she seems genuinely delighted by the offering, reaching out to claim the glass with a brilliant smile. "You're a delight," she declares, despite that oh-so-recent remark. Maybe he just doesn't count. "Happy turnover, C'ris." That may be a flush for Quinlys' affectionate declaration, or perhaps it's just cold out here, but C'ris is happy enough to accept being a delight. But then there's the subject of food to comment on, and that seems to be easier. "They were delicious," he agrees with a quick, boyish grin as he meets that smile. "There was a burnt sugar thing, though--. Somewhere over there." He even turns to try to find the place where he found it, to point it out to Farideh in case she missed it. In doing so, he catches sight of Edyis and her group, waving lightly. The weyrling glances between Quinlys and C'ris, but she doesn't go as far as to call him a delight, even if the smile remains on her face. "I think one of the cook's assistants takes particular pride in desserts, which if fine by me, as long as they are mostly flour free," Farideh adds, rotating her glass between her fingers, back and forth in idle manner. His wave pulls her focus towards the objects of his attention, and her smile becomes a bit more neutral. Ink-dark eyes crinkle at the edges in recognition as Edyis catches C'ris's wave and returns it, breaking off from her group and making her way over as she tucks a small item back into her jacket. "C'ris! Happy turnover. " Edyis chirps cheerily, before her attention shifts to the two women with him, without missing a beat or any change in her expression, "Good day Weyrlingmaster, and weyrwoman." Her lips are curling, upward at the edges, "Lovely party. Seems to have gone off without a hitch." Though the lack of doubt in her tone suggests this was to be expected. With a glass of wine in each hand, Quinlys seems happier than ever... even if she is on best behaviour, representing the weyr leadership, and also in the company of some of her students. "Farideh's done a fine job," confirms the weyrlingmaster, who only notices the attention given towards Edyis and her group as the brownriding weyrling approaches. "There are no weyrwomen here," she points out, still cheerful but with a slightly heavier note, after inclining her head towards the younger woman. "Just a bluerider, a weyrlingmaster, and a weyrling. Now two weyrlings. But yes; all has gone well." "Happy turnover, Edyis," replies C'ris with a smile directed specifically to the weyrling, though he rocks back on his heels and looks towards Quinlys as she offers that correction. He shoves his hands, now empty, into his riding jacket as he observes that interaction, as if he might be taking mental notes of how the Weyrlingmaster handles it. But when he speaks up, he inquires, "Any resolutions or hopes or, you know, wishes for the new turn?" The harpers start up a new set, slightly slower, and dancers weave both off and onto the makeshift dance floor. It's where Farideh chooses to look while Quinlys greets her fellow weyrling. "Thank you--so far. It's early yet. I think I heard one of Icicle riders -- he was very drunk, it sounded like -- talking about pranking the Weyrleader's weyr. Not that I encouraged him to do so while the Weyrleader is away. Certainly not." She only has a chance to look innocent briefly, before curiosity takes over and her eyes flick to Edyis, waiting for her answer to C'ris' question. Edyis sighs ruefully at the error itself more than Quinlys's correction. "One day I will remember all the finer points of titles and who is supposed to be addressed as what." Just not today it would seem. Still observing the group there's something smug in her smile, faint but there. "Mm, plenty of them, but I'd have to be far drunker for that conversation, which I'm sure our Weyrlingmaster here would not approve of." She answers breezily. Edyis adds to C'ris, "You?" Most of Savannah is here, or has been here, for a while, occupying a space not far from one of the drinks tables. They're starting off the night with a loud celebration, it seems, some sort of toasting-round going on that requires each member to make a speech, filled with jeering and laughter, and everyone drinking whatever they have to hand. It's taken quite a while, though may be nearing the end, as R'hin is giving some sort of speech about honor and duty -- to the guffawing of his wingmembers, who are tossing bits of food, or whatever they have to hand, really, in his direction. Once things settle down more marginally he continues, the final toast apparently relatively well received if the "To drinks!" cheer that soon follows is anything to go by. Quinlys' brow raises, ever so slightly dubious, in response to Edyis' sigh, but she's in too good a mood to pursue the thought, and turns, instead, back to Farideh. "Pranking the Weyrleader's weyr, seriously? What are we... five? It's not even as though he and I are best of friends, but..." She shrugs, focusing her attention back on one of her wine glasses in order to take a good long sip. The raucousness of Savannah's celebrations earns only a cursory glance. "Anyway," she says, more generally, "No classes in the morning, so as long as you can still take care of your dragons, I really don't give a flying fuck what you do. It's your hangover." "The usual, I guess. Be a better person, do well with the weyrlings, you know--." C'ris stops his lame resolutions, though, to shrug a shoulder upwards. He'll tease, instead, to Quinlys as he suggests, "Are you sure no classes? Tomorrow morning while they're all hungover might be the perfect time to do-- that lecture." But he also picks at lint in his pocket at the topic, quick to move on to ask, "Do you want me to go do something about the prank?" "I think he kept saying something about powder-- I just hope he doesn't try to get into the stores." That brings a frown to Farideh's face, but she merely gives the redheaded bluerider a nonchalant shrug and slants the other bluerider a mildly amused look. "Be a better person? Really? That's all that you can think of to hope for the new turn? Whatever happened to wishing for a promotion, true love, or a fortune?" She looks like she needs another drink, or several, passing a pointing finger between the three. "Does anyone need anything?" But instead of waiting for their answers, she's already moving off towards the drink table. Edyis tilts her head and blinks at the assistant in training. Farideh's statement earns a shrug, "It's your resolution, if that is the thing you want out of the turn more than anything else, all the more power to you." She replies to C'ris. "I think you'd be hard pressed to be a better person though." The last with a small chuckle. For Quinlys, there's a curt nod, "Well in that case, Happy turnover, and if you will excuse me." She heads off in the direction of Savannah's table to strike up a conversation with Nita. It takes a little longer for Savannah wing to break off after their toasting, people heading off in small groups or pairs, presumably on their way to other Turnover events. Not everyone leaves though -- R'hin, for his part, is heading towards where the harpers play, drawn perhaps by the music, pale eyes noting the various other weyrfolk -- and others -- as he goes. "Ah, what a terrible time to be a weyrling," he's saying as he approaches Farideh, from the opposite direction. His gaze tracks Edyis, though doesn't interrupt her beeline for the greenrider. "Oh no," says Quinlys, to C'ris, although her gaze is sliding after Edyis and Farideh in turn. "I want everyone alert and aware for that particular lecture. I hope you're eager to participate; it's an important part of their training, after all." Beat. "If that blue of yours wants to go sit on Cadejoth's ledge and keep an eye? It'd be a good service. Olly would rather stay up on the heights; says the sky is too clear tonight to be anywhere else, go figure." C'ris seems a little befuddled to lose both the weyrlings so quickly; was it something he said? Fingers lift to scrub at his fluffy hair, but he only swings his attention easily to Quinlys, offering a, "Yes, ma'am. Of course. Whatever you need me to do--. And I'll get Mivength to take over the ledge. It'll seem like fun to him, pretend he's Weyrleader or something." A pause, before he offers, "So, what are you looking for in the new turn?" You'd think he'd have learned his lesson already with this question. "Is it?" Farideh ducks around a pair of crafters gesturing wildly with their hands, coming to a halt with her hands on her waist. "I do believe we are allowed to drink and dance to our hearts' content, and Quinlys even said she doesn't care if any of us has a hangover. Not that I plan to get drunk and become a disgrace, but it isn't the worst situation I can think of," she replies, both hazel eyes and brows lifted. "It's been a while since we've talked. How are you getting along?" It's neutral, at best, interspersed with little glances between the drinks table and R'hin. A few minutes of conversation and the Edyis and greenrider are heading away from the party deep in a discussion, taking their glasses with them. "Does Mivength... enjoy doing such things?" Quinlys seems bemused by this, mouth twitching faintly, but hastily occupies herself with another sip from the emptier of her two wineglasses, which is rapidly heading towards outright empty. "In the new turn? Shells, I don't know." The question seems to leave the bluerider at a loss, for all that surely she must have anticipated being asked it at some point. "I want to get all the weyrlings safely to graduation. I want to spend a decent amount of time on a beach somewhere, and then regret it horribly when I burn to a crisp." "And yet you are stuck here," R'hin counters to that, coming to a halt as he regards Farideh. "While everyone flits off to better, more exciting places." The neutral tone is noted, as is her glance towards the drinks table, and that is possibly why he blithely ignores her polite question, moving on towards Quinlys and C'ris. "Ahh, my third-favorite bluerider," comes his breezy greeting, presumably of Quinlys, though he's, after a moment, regarding C'ris, "And yet-to-be-placed. How's the dancing looking? Only the game and trend setters tackling the harper's tunes so far?" Two dragons appear from between up in the skies and alight onto their own ledges near the ground. Shortly thereafter, Irianke, looking radiant in some silver and fur-trimmed confection of a gown descends the stairs on K'del's arm, much practiced after their evening of rounds about Pern doing the whole meeting, greeting, and a bit of drinking thing. The conversation between the pair as they step beneath the 'ceiling' of dancing strings is light, speaking of this Weyr or that Hold and how Irianke, in particular, loved the little sugar globes filled with alcoholic cream at Tillek. What a united front they present, greeting people as they pass then returning to their pleasant exchange. That is until a little girl comes up to K'del and boldly asks him for a dance on his feet, leaving the goldrider with a glass of bubbly by one of those fires. "He generally enjoys anything he doesn't think he's supposed to do--," starts C'ris, catching himself with a self-deprecating smile for all that he's talking about his dragon and not himself. "Those will be easy. You're already doing a good job, with them." A pause, before he offers, "Though, you know, you should get something to protect you from burning. I could make you something so that you can put it up on the beach and still enjoy the sand and all that--." Caught rambling, he stops, tipping a nod to the bronzerider and introducing himself with an easy, "C'ris." "Third," says Quinlys, abruptly turning from C'ris in order to eye R'hin, at once amused and at least a little offended. "C'ris, I've changed my mind; my ambition, now, is to make it to the top of R'hin's list. Who's my competition?" She waggles her wineglasses in the bronzerider's attention, then says, "I've yet to make any inroads into the dancing, but... I've faith. It'll come-- oh, there're the Weyrleaders. Better pull Mivength back, mm?" "Yes," translates poorly, with disdain, "I'm here. It's where I should be." Still, Farideh's attention is a fleeting thing, blatantly stolen by the stately arrival of Irianke and K'del. She regards them with a blank expression for a short space, and then offers R'hin a tight smile. "Excuse me," and she's sliding past, making her way towards the drink table again. An easy grin greets the bluerider. "I know," R'hin replies to C'ris, with a nod. Quinlys' reaction gets a low-throated laugh, pleased, as he holds up a finger. "Riahla, of course, number one. Because she's my daughter. And Jo, because, well -- Jo. You've some tough competition there, Weyrlingmaster." His second finger is held up, before his gaze flickers towards C'ris, brow quirking upwards at the mention of his dragon's location. C'ris nods simply as Quinlys changes her turn's resolution, but since he doesn't seem to be writing them down, that is all he does. The comment about Mivength, though, earns a hint of a wince, before he agrees, "Yeah, I, uh, should make sure he does that. Before--. Nice to meet you, R'hin." But then the bluerider is retreating as well, but across the Bowl towards where his dragon is (and probably shouldn't be, now). Mostly, K'del and the little girl capture her attention, a small smile playing on her mouth at the exchange. It's interrupted, however, by the approach of an assistant headwoman who murmurs some low words to the acting Weyrwoman, whose smile shifts, then deepens as her gaze skips through the crowds in that way that's searching for someone in particular. C'ris, Quinlys, R'hin, and then some other weyrfolk are glanced over. "I don't see her anywhere," is said to the assistant who is also now blatantly looking, and after some other words, the headwoman departs, presumably to find Farideh. Quinlys' mouth opens, and then shuts again with a snap as C'ris takes off so quickly. "I had him send his blue to watch for alleged prankers on the weyrleader's ledge," she explains to R'hin. "But that's plainly not necessary, now." More importantly, however, is, "Well, I guess I can't beat your daughter, but Jo... a girl can try, anyway. It's the best I can do. Though... it does depend on how you're judging the competition." Over by the drink table, there are plenty of people to blend in with, and Farideh is hardly the tallest amongst the crowd. It only take a couple of minutes to procure a new glass of wine, after wedging herself in between two broad-shouldered riders. She's only taken the first sip when she turns, to face outward, and sees the headwoman heading her way; immediately, she looks alert and steeled for the worst. "What? What happened?" she asks, lowering her voice, and then her head, but the woman simply relays that Irianke is looking for her. Some relief, and tension, floods her expression. "I'll go to her," Farideh confirms, before doing just that, weaving in and out of the crowd, angling for the other goldrider. "Haven't people got something better to do?" is R'hin's opinion on the matter of pranksters, especially tonight of all nights. His gaze follows C'ris' departure for a moment, before travelling amongst the crowd. With a brief grin: "I'm fickle; who can say what sways my opinion at any given moment?" His gaze goes skyward. "Alcohol helps. Badassness. You know, you might just be a match for her. Though," with a twitch of lips, as he regards her now, "All the ways I can think for you two to determine who is the better would, I think, leave you two very satisfied and myself very disgruntled, so perhaps I'll settle for a second place tie." Farideh headed her way makes it easy enough for Irianke to spot the weyrling hostess. She sips her champagne, waiting, her backside to that fire, and glances about, apparently having lost K'del now. Such is life at a party. It's not until the other woman is close, she warmly compliments with, "Lovely. You did a lovely job with all," she gestures with her bubbly-glass hand to the expanse of everything, "Of this. Far better than I'm capable of, that's for sure." "That was my thought, too," says Quinlys, making a face. "It's childish. And when I am saying that..." She drains the last of her wine glass, then glances at the second glass, still full. "You are fickle, but... I'll take that conclusion for as long as it lasts. Anyway, you make it sound as though we wouldn't include you, if the opportunity came up. Don't you think we know how to share?" It's probably a good thing none of her weyrlings are in the vicinity. "Do you really think so?" is Farideh's quiet question when she comes to a stopping point beside Irianke, her wine glass in one hand and a smile pinned on her face. "I thought, earlier, it might be a disaster. The extra glasses got misplaced. How anyone misplaces hundreds of glasses, I have no idea-but they suddenly appeared at the last minute." She sighs and inclines her head towards the people dancing underneath the fabric canopy. "How has your night been?" R'hin gives Quinlys a long look, coupled with a low-throated laugh after a beat. "You're really bucking for number two. But I know better. Don't tease me, not tonight." The words are spoken easily enough, and he starts to move even as he's adding: "If you're not babysitting all night, you should come south later, do Turnover all over again." What Farideh deems a disaster and what Irianke might are two very different things, but in this moment, for this event, the older woman's smile is genine rather than indulgent as is the shake of her head in sympathy. "Things will always work out in the end," is the goldrider's optimistic view. "I'm afraid my fake smile needs some work after the stress I've put it through this night. I always forget just how little I like politicking at social events which makes me rethink my entire desire to be Weyrwoman. Have you danced yet? Is your...?" Blue-gray eyes don't hide the fact she glances about the crowds once more, searching again. "Your loss," is Quinlys' answer to the accusation of teasing, though it's said with an easy smile before she downs the rest of her glass. "I'm not babysitting at all. So-- we'll see how my night pans out. Have a good one, R'hin." She is now in need of more alcohol. "It is, indeed," is R'hin's reply, grinning at the Weyrlingmaster's words, as he continues his original path, towards the dance floor, soon getting lost within the crowd there. "Why do you say that? Did someone see through your fake smile?" Farideh's words are light, but she has a sympathetic smile for the other woman. "Remember, I've never been exactly good at it. I'm positive you did much better than I ever could dream of-- or want to." She turns to look at the dance floor again, on the verge of commenting, but suddenly freezes, her smile turning too brittle. "My--? No. I just-- I don't-- no." And her smile falls altogether, her face nonetheless neutral, for all that her mouth thins considerably. "Did you make it to Igen?" "I... did." Kindly, Irianke does not press about Farideh's 'something'. "It was surreal," admits the woman, requiring a drink to continue. "Everything was polite and everyone was polite. No bloodshed," is added in a jocular fashion, though something ruminates in the weyrwoman's eyes. "I heard your parents caught a ride on an Igen blue to Igen Hold for Turnover." "I can't imagine that it was--" Farideh hesitates, but eventually continues, her voice cast a little lower. "They loaned a goldrider, hoping to get repaid in riders, and now-- you're here and they're without. Do you think Nimae is very mad?" Doubtless, and still she asks, searching the other woman's face; her own uncertainty shows on hers. "Perhaps they're coming around," is wry. "Or mother didn't want to waste time going by ground. She is a creature of whim." Irianke's 'politic' face freezes, spying the departure of someone in particular but it's dismissed with a brief closure of her eyes and toss of her hair. "They could view it as having a goldrider at another Weyr, but Nimae also trained me too well to be someone else's pawn." She slants Farideh a smile. "Don't worry, should you be Weyrwoman, I promise I will stay long enough to make sure Igen Weyr doesn't hate us in the long run. I don't," the goldrider places her glass on a passing drudge's tray and plucks a fresh one, "I don't think Nimae hates us. Or me. I kind of hope she's proud." "I would be," Farideh replies. "You managed to come here, against it all, and serve your time without letting it get to your head, and then when High Reaches needed you, you stepped into that role like you were stepping into a pair of old boots." She shrugs her shoulders a bit. "You did what I don't think I could do, or that any of the Reaches' latest Weyrwomen could do-- if Nimae isn't proud, she's a fool, and I've never taken her for a fool." On the tail end, she smiles a little wider and waves to a passing weyrling. "We'll be alright. I think." "One would think but people's emotions are funny things." Irianke shrugs off the subject of Nimae and that whole escapade. "K'del and I spoke and we've decided to lift your restrictions as of tonight. Walking away from an injustice against yourself or someone else is sometimes the hardest act to follow through on. Sometimes, it's for the best." The abrupt change in conversation takes Farideh by surprise and she goes impossibly still. "I-- you're-- okay," is acceptance. She can't seem to decide where to look, though it's definitely not at Irianke, even if her eyes touch the other women in their wild search of the nearby faces. "I'm--" She takes a shuddering breath and presses one hand to her forehead. "Sorry. For everything. I don't-- I'm not sure how to-- are we supposed to let them-- how do I react? Or do I not react? How do you keep your--" In the end, she gives up fumbling and stares at her wine glass. "I don't know exactly what happened or what was said." Irianke reminds Farideh. Second and third hand information isn't always reliable except in certain inescapable details. "It's... hard," admits the older woman. "Hard even with age. But your reactions, first and foremost, will reflect on High Reaches Weyr from now on, much as my actions reflect on two Weyrs, though, with time and some minor luck, may it become just one. Can you think of how you might have diffused the situation rather than get your buttons pushed or push buttons in return?" Farideh's face becomes a severe mask. "I could have ignore her instead of talked to her." That would be the simple solution. "I don't-- she was-- is-- so mad at me and I don't understand why. I don't think anything could have worked. I don't think she's-- like normal people. In the end, she would have still-- I shouldn't have called her over, knowing how she is," comes out quieter and quieter, her eyes finally lifting to Irianke's face, full of regret. "You considered her a friend." Irianke smiles pleasantly at a cook who passes by, but in such a way that doesn't invite the man to interrupt. "I did," Farideh says softly, "until recently. I don't know what changed." Her eyes track the cook, but her smile is short-lived. "Funny that. I had the same experience recently," confides Irianke, though not with the details that might accompany the confession. "You did. She did. Both of you changed and you're not the same people you were before. Maybe you were never friends in the first place and merely novelties to each other. Maybe you were and... change scares both of you. Thank you for throwing such a lovely Turnover party, I've promised a few people dances and want to enjoy the party and wake up hungover with something pretty in bed with me." The scrunching of Farideh's forhead precedes a frown, but she quickly pins another, less enchanted, smile on her face and nods to Irianke. "It could be any number of things, you're right." A pause. "Thank you for giving me the opportunity and for-- everything. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night. Happy Turnover, Irianke," she answers, and lifts her hand in a small wave. There are a number of people who wants her attention and a number of things to micromanage, so she's off to have at them all, leaving the other goldrider to her dancing and sport. |
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