Logs:Ideation
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| RL Date: 18 June, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Vienne |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia's thoughts are jumbled, and she asks Vienne to help straighten them out. The bluerider's reputation precedes her. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy rain in the middle of winter only means that the temperature is only a few degrees above freezing; it's more miserable for the soaking torrents. |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, C'wlin/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, N'hax/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backdated and set before Aishani sent the 'Reachian tithe back. Also, Azaylia apparently lives in the nighthearth now. xD |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. Steady, rhythmic whitenoise suddenly swells beyond the mind's peripheral, drums thundering with Hraedhyth's usual intensity. « Oswinth. » Not quite a bellow, husky contralto breaks through the noise and heat that her touch brings. « Mine would like to speak with Yours. She has warm things. » The gold's fire is temporarily housed in the nighthearth, a flash of where to find her rider should Vienne be available. (To Oswinth from Hraedhyth) There's a stuttering of static as Oswinth passes on the message, unhurried moments of private conference before he replies with a quiet, polite, « She comes. » Which is what Vienne does. It takes a little while, since she wasn't exactly on hand, and when she arrives at the nighthearth, her hair and shoulders are wet from the rain, cheeks rosy from the cold and now the warmth. Her eyes search out the goldrider, expecting to find her in one of the comfortable armchairs, probably with knitting in her lap. Hraedhyth, unlike many at the Weyr, is enjoying the torrential downpoor. The joy of flying in such chaos is shared in a lick of tongue's flame for Oswinth, the gold's thanks. Azaylia is in a chair near the hearth, a stack of papers and a clipboard taking place of that expected knitting. She finishes a thought and turns to Vienne with a soft smile, "I hope I didn't interrupt anything important? Hraedhyth has a habit of making things sound urgent." The weyrwoman's seat near the fire, but also close to the small table where a pot of klah and mugs are waiting. Next to the pot is a small bottle filled with amber liquid. She looks fairly dry, a hint to how long she's been sitting, working and thinking. Oswinth might jump a little at that lick, a momentary hitch in the spinning of orbits, but it all settles back into it's atomic dance again without delay as he returns to whatever quiet solitude he was enjoying before the gold bespoke him. And now Vienne, spying Azaylia right where she was expected, wears an easy smile, her little hands pulling from her pockets to test the rain's destruction of her presently-limp hair. "Oh no. Not at all. I'm sorry if it took me a while; I was visiting at the other end of the bowl." She moves to help herself to some nice warm klah. "Do you...?" she asks with a lift of the pot to offer a warm-up or top-off or refill or whatever is appropriate. If Hraedhyth's flames leap and dance after Oswinth's flinch, her mimicry and amusement is all in good fun. The blue is left alone soon after, the queen's focus fading back into the constant din of drums and the sea. "No need to be sorry." Azaylia counters, soft voice easily heard in the comfortable quiet of the cavern. Another line is jotted down before she places the paperwork aside, pleasantly surprised by the offer, "Oh, please. I wanted to wait for you before having another cup." She leans forward and uncorks the miniature bottle, pouring a bit of that liquid into her mug once Vienne fills it. "How've you been?" Asked, even as she offers the bottle the bluerider's way, "Whiskey?" "Oh, no thank you," Vienne replies with a shakes of her head for the whiskey. "Klah is warming enough for me." It brightens her smile a little wider, too. And once the pot is away and her mug is in hand, she can move to find herself a seat, wiggling her small shoulders out of her damp coat. "I've been well, I guess? I've given up all pretense of having a moderately-sized fire. I just let the thing blaze and... Maybe someday when I get used to winter, I'll be able to scale back." But even so, she covers her face with her hand, ashamed. "It's terrible, isn't it. Wasteful." As casual as her offering, Azaylia takes her time in corking the bottle and setting it back down onto the table. "Honestly, I think I'm beginning to like the taste." She admits, the sheepish twist to her lips growing into a soft smile. It would explain the spoonful or so she's added to her klah, picking up the mug and blowing across the top of it. "It's taken me turns and turns, and I still don't like the snow." Vienne's guilt leaves the goldrider blinking, hands guiding the mug down into her lap even as her brows inch upwards. "I... well, it could be." Considering the tithes, but, "What I would do is bring back plenty of wood from your sweeps. I think we're going to have to do a lot of that, these days." Fending for themselves. "I'm not home very often. Does that... make it better?" Vienne asks with a wince behind curled fingers. "And Crom hasn't fallen apart yet, right? So we should still be getting at least some coal, I suppose? But..." She settles back in her chair with a sigh. "You were supposed to give me leave to turn my weyr into an oven so I could stop feeling guilty about it." A self-effacing little laugh follows, one that might not promise she won't just go right on over-building her fire and feeling guilty as ever. "Do you think it will come to that? Begging firewood from the cotholds?" Her lips purse tightly. "Oh." Azaylia's surprise softens, looking a touch guilty herself, "I'm sorry. No, of course you should stay as warm as you need. I was just... Sorry." A huff at her own worries creeping into their conversation, "I was thinking about the state of things, and they weren't... happy thoughts." The weyrwoman gives a little shake of her head, "I don't think so. I hope not. I'm sure there are some wild trees growing by now..." Likely what she meant earlier, by Vienne finding her own firewood. Rescued from the spiral of her own thoughts with a careful sip, she peeks at the other woman from over her mug, "I don't mean to worry you. Actually, maybe I do-- I just mean, I wanted to talk to you. Get your perspective on... things." As for wild trees, Vienne's eyebrows give a playful little bounce, her smile curving into something that looks like it might want to shine more brightly but is being held back. "Well, you know me and my lumber skills." A chuckle slips out. But after that, she finally does take a long drink of her klah, the amusement waning as the conversation turns toward Azaylia's original intentions and leaves her blue eyes attentive. "My perspective on... Something in particular?" she wonders, her head canting to the side as she tucks a damp strand of hair behind her hear. With a soft laugh, "I'm sure Oswinth could..." Azaylia bites back her own smile, just going by what little she knows of the blue, "You could try talking him into helping?" Her amusement is short lived, steadily fading until she's looking at Vienne with quiet curiosity. "Z'ian told me about how well you did with the tithe from Tillek. We-- he swears that you're the reason it was released to the Weyr." Even before Lady Edeline had given the orders. "And you're Harper trained? So you might be able to help me..." Airy voice remains light, drifting on the uncertain air about her, "We can't go on like this. First Tillek, and now Lord Devaki cutting back on the tithes? I hate that they see as nothing but a burden." The grip on her mug tightens some, knuckles flashing pale yellow until her hands relax once more. "It's not a matter of his willingness," Vienne tacks on a bit more quietly, with a little less humor. But once Azaylia starts about the tithe from Tillek, the ready bob of the bluerider's head becomes a demurely tucked chin. "It really wasn't... You're both too kind." But yes, she nods, she's Harper trained, and the mention of the newly appointed Lord has her pressing her lips into a firm line. "Do you know anything about that? About why he'd choose that course of action. I'm afraid I really don't understand the motivation." Maybe she catches sight of those paling knuckles, but she doesn't remark on them. She just draws in a deep, pensive breath. "Still," Despite Vienne's modesty, "I'm glad you were there. In case things... didn't go well with the Lady." Though the tithe is no longer a concern, Azaylia doesn't seem overly fond of the memory. Stifling a subtle grimace, her mug is placed back in her lap as she considers the bluerider's question, as well as her own answer. "The weyrlings sneaking into the Hold gave him a reason, but... I don't know." Leaning back in her seat, it does little to hide the defeated sag of her shoulders, "If it wasn't the weyrlings, it could have been anything else but-- It's the same problem we've been having. With no Thread to fight, they don't think we're worth the supplies." Saying it out loud, even quietly, has her back stiffening and lips pursing in suppressed frustration. "I'm still a little surprised. Lord Devaki never seemed like a cruel man." And yet, there's an inkling of doubt. "If misbehaving weyrlings were reason enough to deny a tithe, no tithe would have ever been delivered anywhere." Vienne doesn't quite roll her eyes, but she does glance to the side in a pointed fashion. "Even a full rider, behaving this way, hardly seems worth punishing the whole Weyr. But, I suppose, I didn't see the extent of the injuries inflicted..." she will admit with another dip of her head. "It's certainly a delicate line to walk, keeping the allegiance of the Holds while not relinquishing so much authority that allegiance becomes optional. It's not a position I envy. But I'm not sure it's any less difficult to watch." She takes another breath and lets it out rather heavily, then drinks from her mug again. The reminder of injured prisoners has Azaylia flinching, closing her eyes against the guilt and disgust that lingers a moment longer. "I can't... I hate that they did that. I thought those were just rumors, when I first heard." Obviously not. A long sip from her mug is needed before she can go on, "It's not a good reason. Putting people in jeopardy never is, but..." The truth of the matter is, the weyrwoman doesn't understand Devaki's motivation any better than Vienne. It's the bluerider's last sigh that brings Azaylia to her feet, mug placed carefully on the table despite how restless she is. "It's hard. I don't know what to... I want to make things right with the Holds. I want to be useful." She doesn't pace, there's not enough room, but there are aimless steps taken. "Aren't you tired of watching? I just... I would never wish for Threadfall, but-- something." Even her intensity is quiet, voice not heard beyond the cavern's entrance. Vienne shakes her head. "I haven't heard anything but rumors. I just... find it hard to believe there would be so much talk over a pair of guys who were just caught sneaking around. Particularly if the Hold has nothing to hide." Though that the goldrider seems to believe it's just rumors has her pausing to eye Azaylia more carefully. "You would know better than I would." She's sipping again when the weyrwoman stands, a readiness coming to her posture as if she half expect that their meeting is coming to a close. But the fruitless steps prove to be some abbreviated version of pacing and so Vienne settled back again, legs crossed primly at the ankles. "Have you considered asking what you could do? I doubt the Holders would be unhappy to hear that the Weyr is willing to be of some use during the Interval. Though I'm sure it would take a good deal of negotiating to determine what might be reasonable." "No one was... seriously injured." Azaylia confirms, just as the official documents crushed her hope of the violence being exaggerated. "Even if the Hold is hiding something, the weyrlings had no right." The weyrwoman catches herself, frustration worn in her fidgeting fingers and inability to sit, let alone stand still. "I'm sorry," Embarrassment has her turning her head, "I know I look a little crazy. I... that's why I thought maybe you could help?" Vienne's question at least has her slowing, hands brought up to lightly wring her fingers, "I could. I've thought about it, but... What's more important? Presenting a united front or... doing what you think is right?" The hypothetical is one she's toiled over for days, sevens, and it takes a moment to realize the other woman might need more to go on. "The Acting... Aishani and I have very different ideas of how to handle the Holders." A dilemma in itself. There's a quick shake of Vienne's head again, and this time with a frown that assure there's nothing for Azaylia to be sorry about. "Most people are trying to do what they think is right. I'm not... a fan of that word myself. 'Right' means different things to different people. 'Right' can be... blinding." She pauses there, gaze drifting aside toward the cozy light of the fire, inward toward all the people who has asserted their will in the name of 'right'. And then she snaps out of it. "You've talked to her about it and she's not interested?" Vienne sounds a little dubious about it, or perhaps just thoughtful. "Do you not think it's appropriate to be concerned, if the Weyr did agree to do some sort of work for the Holds, that it would only be a matter of time before they held their tithes again and asked for more?" Azaylia stops then, to reconsider what she's trying to say, "I don't mean... I've made a lot of mistakes, I'm not always right." Even less than always, judging from her wavering confidence. The steps begin again, "During our talk with Lady Edeline I... tried what I thought was r-- for the best, in the moment. She, or Iesaryth, said something about not groveling, or looking weak..?" It's been months, and while she doesn't remember the exact words the sentiment is clear. Her gaze flicks back over to Vienne, arms loosely crossed as she worries her lower lip. "That's the problem. Every idea, or... everything I want to try seems like it won't work, or will make things worse. I don't know if I could take it, hurting the Weyr like that." Hence why she's reached out to the Harper trained bluerider. Vienne lifts a hand to free her hair from behind her ear while she listen, fingers idly toying with the drying strand. "It's a delicate line," she says again. "It would be nice, though, if there was some way we could move past all of these... tithe threats. One way or another." She starts to muse again, gaze distant, and then with a final sigh she smiles. "I don't have any answers for you. They don't teach us the magic song to make Holds pay their tithes in full." Her teeth catch her lip over a tiny, soundless laugh. "Perhaps..." Only here, she starts to wander off again, caught up in her thoughts. "Maybe there's support to be won in the smaller holds, the cotholds. Particularly those that don't tithe to us directly, but through Tillek or High Reaches or Crom. Perhaps they could apply the pressure we can't." She glances back at Azaylia, checking. "A magic song would be amazing." Azaylia's voice is too quiet, too serious for the humor of her words to be heard. There's improvement in a weak smile, "Shouldn't you be working on one?" Clearly it's all Vienne's fault. "I... hm." Not an optimistic hum, but certainly thoughtful when the suggestion is made. "If... we paid more attention to the smaller holds? Maybe help them..." They've managed well, considering both are women with the ability to become lost in their own thoughts while speaking." Still unsure, there's at least a trace of something hopeful as she lifts her chin from it's pensive tilt, "It sounds... Even if it doesn't solve our issue with the tithe, we should be seeing to the smaller Holds, anyway." Vienne gives a nod, still thinking a bit. "After all, they are probably paying their own tithes. It's not they who are quarreling with the Weyr. And I don't think there's reason to believe that lending some aid to a holding here or there would do any damage to our united front." She chances a smile, hopeful around the edges, at least on Azaylia's behalf. Mindlessly, she lifts her mug again, only to find she's taken her last sip already, and so it goes back down uselessly to be wrapped in her fingers. "I don't know that I can be of any more assistance," she says apologetically. Vienne's smile helps Azaylia to hold onto hers for that much longer, "It was sudden of me, I know. But... honestly? You helped a lot." Gratitude makes it even easier, flashing the bluerider a relieved glance before she turns to retrieve her klah. "Though, maybe you could suggest it to your wing? I'll be doing the same, maybe talk to Z'ian." A hitch in her breath, something like a laugh, "Your Wingleader, right?" Whatever conclusion they've come to, either together or individually, it's helped shed some of the weyrwoman's gloom. Then again, the prospect of being productive usually does. "Thank you, Vienne. And, if you come up with any other ideas..? Or, just want to talk." She insists. "I can speak with him, if you like. Of course." Vienne grins more brightly to see Azaylia smile, her posture perking up as she sits more on the edge of her seat. "I'm not sure I've been all that much help but... I'm glad if I have been," she laughs lightly. "Just.." She turns her head to give Azaylia a sidelong look that is clearly in play. "Don't tell anyone about my fireplace." Then they'll be even. There's another wide, toothy smile and she gets up from her seat to discard mug, jacket draped over her arm as she sighs. "I suppose it's time to brave the rain again." And just when she was nearly dry! "It helps to hear my thoughts out loud." Or in this case, to have Vienne critique them. "Well..." She drawls, tired but playful. "Seems fair. Wouldn't want Oswinth to get too cold, either." Once the bluerider begins to rise, the rest of her lukewarm klah is quickly swallowed and the miniature bottle is pocketed. "Mind if I walk with you? Hraedhyth doesn't mind." The meaning of those words is eventually made clear, the large gold waiting outside the caverns with one wing outstretched. Azaylia has to keep dry somehow. |
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