Logs:Indestructible
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| RL Date: 16 November, 2012 |
| Who: Azaylia, Hattie |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia turns to Hattie for advice. It's not pretty, but it's what the junior needs to hear. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions |
| Council Room, Fort Weyr The Weyr's meeting space is a long, oval space with a large stone table placed in the middle. There's seating enough for twelve around the table: plenty of room to welcome most of the Weyrleaders and a good portion of the Lords Holder from the north, though additional seating might be needed if a Pern-wide meeting were to be held here. A sideboard stands ready to serve, regardless of the occasion and is kept well-stocked with carafes of wine, water and several fine liquors. Fresh flowers, appropriate to the season are changed out regularly in the vase atop the sideboard. Tapestries depicting Fort's illustrious history from founding, to Moreta's role in the Plague to Lessa's arrival to bring the Weyrs forward in time bedeck the walls, leavening the omnipresence of cool, gray stone. Well-lit, the chamber boasts glows in niches around the room, as well as oil lamps hanging from the ceiling. 'Tomorrow' has come much later than one would expect, rescheduled several days after Hraedhyth had first contacted the Elaruth. The Reachian gold appears, a tawny smudge in the clear spring sky above Fort Weyr. She doesn't roar upon arrival, instead announcing herself by drums that sound so far away. « Hraedhyth. I carry Azaylia. » A habit from the heightened security of her weyr, no doubt. The junior pokes her head into the Council room first, before entering with a bit more grace. Dress is a bit warm for spring, not that she seems to mind, the young woman dressed in the deep blue of her weyr. Her eyes are drawn to the wall at first, soon taking the time to look over the familiar yet foreign chamber. In contrast, the neckline of Hattie's dress is more suited to summer, Weyrwoman willing to brave the slight chill in the air with her plunging neckline meant to show off the string of malachite around her neck, softened, polished stones falling into a V-shape just past her collarbone. She glances up from the hidework at hand when Azaylia appears in the doorway, yet she doesn't hurry to stand and in-fact remains seated, pen set down before her. "Azaylia." None of the usual, standard (expected?) pleasantries; no intention to stand on ceremony. On the substantial ledge outside, Elaruth tracks Hraedhyth more out of habit than because of who she is, her presence somehow slotted into the ever-present 'sound' of the rest of the Weyr. « Welcome, Hraedhyth. » Azaylia gives a start, distracted by the tapestries on the walls. Similar, but different than the ones she's used to. The same can be said about Fort Weyr as a whole, "O-oh. Weyrwoman Hattie. Hello. Duties to you and your queen." She is still one for pleasantries, walking a few seats past the edge of that long stone table. The distance is polite, fingertip gripping the back of a chair. Now her polite small talk fails her, young woman suddenly self concious for intruding on Hattie's time. Hraedhyth doesn't go snooping about, finding somewhere in the bowl that is out of the way, and yet still allows her to watch the weyrlings and dragonets. « Thank you. » "Take a seat?" Hattie encourages with what might be a smile, not specific in just which seat to occupy, there being so many. "Would you like a drink? There's tea or klah or something stronger." Intending only to rise should she need to if and when she receives a response, she sits back a little in her own chair, regarding the junior weyrwoman with a blatantly curious expression, head tilted slightly. "Elaruth tells me that Hraedhyth didn't specify what you wish to speak about." Azaylia gives a nod, shadow of a smile at least attempted. She moves one seat up, closer to Hattie, before claiming it and folding her hands atop the table. "No. Thank you, though." Not wanting to be even more of a bother, she makes an attempt to be concise, "The reason I needed to talk to you was so clear in my mind a few days ago..." But now, it sounds as if she hasn't the slightest idea. A hand lifts to her head, thumb finding the temple as her palm rests across her brow, "But... I think I just need, or want, to talk to someone who... might understand. I know that Fort has had problems, that riders and folk have felt unsafe." Her hand drops, and she looks towards Hattie with a tired expression, the bones in her face just a touch more prominent. "How did you do it? As a, the, Weyrwoman. How do you..?" She falters, rather than voice the chaos that has gripped her home. It's not an answer to any definite question that Hattie can piece together from Azaylia's words that is offered in response, merely further study a large measure less intense than a demanding stare. Moments later, words finally follow, an enquiry posed in turn. "Are you expecting it to be Hraedhyth that rises next? Being that bit older than Iesaryth." Soft-voiced, her words are no more a demand than her gaze. "You don't show anyone that you're afraid," she states flatly. "You don't abandon them. I sent my children away out of necessity - should have sent the youngest too, given that they went after her - but you don't leave anyone to face what you won't. People look to you. If you're afraid: they're afraid." Her lips twist a little and it's with distaste that she declares, "People have a tendency to believe goldriders are indestructible. So you pretend that you are." Judging from the wide-eyed stare, Azaylia hasn't even thought of the next flight, or who might rise first. "I... Oh, Faranth." It's a whimper, both hands rising to grip her head, staring down at the table. "I was just- it's getting harder for Brieli and I to work together and I... wanted to talk." Not be reminded that she's a candidate for Weyrwoman, capital W. Fingers slide down to press into her cheeks next, looking to Hattie with open fear, despite what the older woman has just said. "I would never abandon my weyr, but- I think it's a little late for some of that." She nearly groans, the sound of someone who has made so many mistakes and is just now realizing it. "I keep doing, or saying the wrong thing." The junior doesn't want to sit there and wallow, straightening up in her seat, "I know it's... it's not Fort's problem. And I'd never ask you to do anything, but... what would you do, Hattie? If this happened?" She's left most formality behind as it is, so when Hattie rises to pour a quarter glass of something the right amber shade for whiskey from one of the decanters on the sideboard and goes to claim the seat next to Azaylia without asking, the rest of it pretty much falls over the edge of the ledge. The Weyrwoman sets the glass down before the younger goldrider for her to take or leave and sits twisted in her chair to face her as best she can, like she might reach for her hands or literally offer her a shoulder to cry on. "I can't tell you exactly what I would do, because I can't be objective," she says gently. "I cannot risk influencing you that way." And her feelings about certain people have been made plain enough in Elaruth's communication. "You need to be prepared to do things you won't like. If bad things need to be done, then they need to be done. Stop rumour and hurt spreading - do some damage control. Don't let people see any sign that you can be hurt or manipulated or they will try it." Azaylia glances at the glass, gaze lingering before she decides to accept. Rather than sip, the junior downs it with experience, though the shudder afterwards is still dramatic. She's quiet as Hattie speaks, glancing up from the empty glance every now and again. Even after Hattie's done, it's as if the whiskey has burned her tongue out of her mouth. Finally, "E... even if they're my friends?" Arms cross over her chest, hugging herself rather than anything defiant. "I've never felt like... like I was alone before. Not like this." She doesn't talk of Hattie's bias, too grateful to want to say anything that might upset the Weyrwoman. "I'm sorry." This time her gaze is steady, "I don't mean to come running to you with my problems. I appreciate your talking to me. So very much." "Even if they're your friends," Hattie answers not without due weight, voice all but devoid of emotion. "There are some people you can trust and lots that you can't, but you have to work out... who you can afford to turn to. Who won't use anything against you, if they might ever need to. You don't ever want to be under anyone's thumb." Dark eyes that had found the empty glass have lost their focus and gone distant, yet Hattie manages to tune back in and look up at Azaylia, shaking her head to dismiss her apology. "Don't be," she murmurs. "/I'm/ sorry that I can't say anything more positive, but I can't lie to you and tell you that everything will be fine. I know I'm making it sound awful, but I would do you more harm by painting a pretty picture." Azaylia lets out a slow breath at Hattie's answer. "Okay." Such a simple word that tells nothing of how hard it is to absorb what the older woman has said. She manages a frail smile, lips struggling to keep it, "That's alright. I wasn't expecting you to coddle me." Which may be the reason she has sought the Weyrwoman out. "It's something I need to hear. Things are awful." She reaches out, hand touching Hattie's shoulder, "I know our Weyrs aren't close, but if you ever need something from me, you just need to say." It's an offer similar to the one made all those months ago in the galleries, goldrider to goldrider. "I thought... I got the /impression/ that you and Brieli were reasonably close," Hattie hazards, gaze seeking out the younger woman's again. "Has this all changed that?" The enquiry is as careful as she can make it without putting it in a kinder, more fanciful way. "I'm not suggesting that you should be telling each other absolutely everything, but given..." everything, unmentioned, "you might find it easier on a professional level to close ranks against any who would divide you." She lifts a hand to cover Azaylia's, fingers curling gently to the curve of her own shoulder. "Thank you." Simple, but sincere. Azaylia closes her eyes, not quite a grimace but certainly in pain. "Hraedhyth and Iesaryth are so very different... but it's never been a problem before." Sounds like it is now. "I don't know if it's the dragons, or if Brieli honestly thinks I'm an idiot. Or at least, a bad weyrwoman." It's far more difficult to speak of her rocky friendship than it is anything else. One wound is much more raw, it seems. "Not that I've given her any reason to think otherwise..." Self deprecating murmur trails off at her touch, gaze lifting back to Hattie. "I'll remember that. To try." She is only one half, after all. With a smile that comes a bit easier, she pulls away. "I should let you get back to work..." "It doesn't matter whether she believes you're an idiot or an /anything/ or not," the Weyrwoman insists without a trace of doubt. "You do what you need to do, how you need to do it. Whether it's the bad things or otherwise. Just try... not to hurt each other too much," Hattie advises more softly. "Goldriders will often be together longer than any others - even Weyrwoman and Weyrleader." As Azaylia draws back and Hattie herself makes to stand, she says very steadily and very certainly: "You are /not/ a bad weyrwoman, Azaylia." Azaylia stands when Hattie does, carefully sliding her chair back in place. "It's hard." Not that she's complaining, simply saying the words because it's the truth. "I... never thought of it that way." Goldriders outlasting the Weyrleader, despite how obvious it is. The junior lowers her head, lips pressed tight so as not to argue with the Weyrwoman. Instead, "Thank you, Hattie. That means a lot." She'll press her luck, stepping forward for a hug that's careful, delicate but heartfelt. "Keep in touch?" Hopeful request is quickly followed by her many thanks and well wishes to Hattie and hers. When the Reachian weyrwoman leaves, with Hraedhyth's mindful farewell, it's with a touch more confidence than when she arrived. "I know." That it's difficult, not that that acknowledgement makes anything better, says Hattie's rueful little shake of her head. She doesn't hesitate to return Azaylia's hug, arms lifting to wrap fiercely around her for just a few moments in the manner of one used to having to convey feelings through impulsive action rather than careful or appropriate words. Releasing her, she nods her confirmation of intent to keep in touch and follows her as far as the ledge, to stand there with Elaruth and watch the Reachian pair's departure, a silent burst of pale sunshine shared to see them on their way. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Sat, 17 Nov 2012 01:07:05 GMT.
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Sure, when /Hattie/ says it, no yelling. ;)
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