Logs:Life Doesn't Discriminate
| |
|---|
| It takes and it takes and it takes |
| RL Date: 21 November, 2015 |
| Who: Mirinda |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, Monaco Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| When: Day 26, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Kyouri/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Olivya/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions |
 |
| Mirinda personally escorted her father to Ierne and Summer's care. It felt appropriate... not to mention there was the fact that she needed to not be at Monaco while Torith glowed. It could be days; it didn't matter. She didn't look at M'kris. She didn't answer his stern words. For the first time in her life, she felt free. Almost free. Almost... and also not at all. She ought to. Torith would rise and take the Weyrleadership. Her father would never be permitted to let his bronze chase Zaisavyth again. (Zaisavyth, who fumed and furied at losing 'her' Weyr.) He'd never chase Torith. He'd never have power over her, except if she let him. You'd be safe, now, I'kris, she imagined herself saying to her brother. You'd be safe, Kris. But I'kris was all those turns dead. And Mirinda... She still felt trapped. Sometimes, after I'kris' death, and in the days leading up to it too, she'd wondered if things would have been different, had she not Impressed Zaisavyth. Had she made it impossible for her little brother to live up to expectations? Had Zaisavyth been green (her queen scoffed at the very idea, in the back of her mind) would Svissath's very brownness been less of an issue? At least, then, they would have had each other to lean on. Now... now she was safe. Indalys had never minded what she did, and was not inclined to disappointment to know that her daughter would not, after all, be Monaco's Weyrwoman. And the rest of the family? None of them had ever cared half so much as M'kris, a man who'd been raised as the son of the Weyrwoman, destined for greatness. He had been great, Mirinda supposed, in his way. But whatever had happened in that gather tent, that was over, now. She felt C'lar's eyes on her. She didn't imagine he was judging her constantly, but he was High Reachian, and he'd known Iolene. Mirinda never had. It bothered her both more and less than she'd expected it to. She'd always been M'kris' daughter. She'd always been I'kris' sister. Now, as always, she kept her head low and did her job. It didn't matter what he thought. ... mostly. She expected it to be Dosanyth or Sunfialth or perhaps Bodeventh, after that Weyr Council meeting; that was where the smart marks were. When Kyouri returned to tell her, she dismissed the possibility immediately: Zaisavyth, infrequent riser that she had always been, was not so far from rising, but far enough. The southern Weyrs were isolated from the northern, but that had never meant she didn't see, and in this case, she knew: Igen, most likely, would claim another Weyr. "How long is it until Zaisavyth is due?" Kyouri wondered. "I hadn't kept up, before coming here." "You want to get rid of me?" "Hardly. I just like to know what's likely. But Igen; that would make sense." "It would." She wasn't disappointed. Truly, honestly, she'd never wanted the Weyrwoman's knot. She'd known for turns that Oriane did not intend to stay in the position forever, and that the knot was hers, would be hers. But it had been a relief to step aside, even so; follower, not leader, that had always been Mirinda's preference. Still, she'd been trained for it. From birth, in a sense, if you considered the way she'd sat at Corisa's knee and listened - told, always, that this would be hers one day, that she should learn. Corisa hadn't lived to see her granddaughter Impress, but the makings of a weyrwoman were already there. Between Corisa and Oriane, when the time came, she would be ready. It was hard not to be, after sixteen turns. After a lifetime. Still. She wasn't disappointed. But then Zaisavyth... Zaisavyth. True, the queen had risen only a handful of times before-- she'd never been an over-enthusiastic riser, as dramatic as she could be in other ways-- but Mirinda knew the signs, knew them well. She told Kyouri, shame-faced and apologetic. "You said--" "I thought." "And here we are." "Yes." "I'll send to Fort immediately. It would be best," and there was that rueful smile, "if you had a Fortian Weyrleader at your side. How long until she goes up?" "No more than a day. Based on past experience, anyway." "Good to know. And-- Mirinda." "Mm?" "Good luck." They sent her to Fort. She didn't even have time to pack. ... or was it that she didn't make time? Her brain was fuzzy. After that, it stopped being easy to concentrate. Mirinda lost herself to it; she let Zaisavyth's passions consume her the way she never otherwise did. She didn't even spend a night at Fort before the time came; when it did, there were only Fortian dragons in pursuit. Mirinda rejected them all, refused-- until the moment her queen was caught, and that was that. Weyrwoman of Fort. Weyrleader, beside her. Letters. Aside from Olivya, and messages passed dragon to dragon, they are the only link to home Mirinda can hope for, for as long as this quarantine must stay. She has none of her things, none of those things that remind her of home-- but at least she can receive (if not send) letters. She doesn't know what she would put in a letter, were she to try and write one. Her fear of the plague? Her sense of being overwhelmed and subsumed? Zaisavyth's glee? Oriane's letter is simple: You've got what you wanted. But not where you belong. ('Stupid girl' is the unspoken message there, one that Mirinda ignores). At least you managed a local, unlike that bitch wearing my knot. (Not her actual words, granted, but here, too, Mirinda can read between the lines.) And the rest? Don't die of the plague. You'll be fine. Until: He didn't do it. Hate him if you need to, but he didn't do it. R'hin, it concludes. left a note. Her mother offers to come to Fort, but Mirinda can feel the reluctance there. She's trying not to judge her mother, though it is plain that Indalys has gone back to M'kris-- Mirinda doesn't want to hear the excuses, and in a way, that makes it easier that she can't, won't, write back. This is a fresh start. She might as well do as Oriane had, that woman who taught her so much. Who needs familial baggage? Who needs family? It's not what she wanted. It's never been what she wanted. Fort is a broken Weyr; and even if it weren't. Were Mirinda inclined to resentment, she'd feel it now. Why her? Why this? Why now, after everything? |
Comments
Kaleidoscope (17:35, 21 November 2015 (PST)) said...
I really enjoyed this insight into where Mirinda is coming from going into all of this! I can't wait to see what her journey is like. :D
Squishy (22:49, 21 November 2015 (PST)) said...
I Think Kaleidoscope beat me to it, but this insight was fascinating. I loved seeing all the little controversial facets of her history, but more than that this glimpse really made her breathe and come alive for me.
Leave A Comment