Logs:Of Great Plans Gone Awry
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| RL Date: 24 September, 2006 |
| Who: Josilina, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 26, Month 3, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 19:51 on day 26, month 3, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a spring evening. Ground Level Guest Weyr(#480RJs) The ledge at the front of the guest weyr commands an imposing view over the bowl to the north. A flight of stone steps links the ledge to the floor of the bowl. The ledge catches the evening light. The weyr is lit by a few glows. You can make out a couch, big enough for most dragons to rest comfortably on, and next to it an alcove containing a cot and press for the accompanying rider. Although this weyr is not permanently occupied, it is kept tidy by the women of the lower caverns, and a pitcher of water and a bowl of fruit bear witness to its constant state of ready welcoming. Contents: Josilina Obvious exits: Sky STairs It's early the next morning; early enough that the crisp coldness of High Reaches makes it a difficult thing to rouse from a warm bed. Tangled in the sheets of the bed, R'hin stirs with obvious reluctance, turning in the bed to find a spot of greater warmth, and pauses. He's not shocked at the presence of another, but as pale eyes focus, and he sees exactly -who- it is: "Oh, Faranth." Leiventh> To you, Leiventh's radiating sleepy, smug warmth. Josilina's on the edge between sleep and waking, but not tipped enough to one side versus the other to register that the warm other beside her isn't the /usual/ warm other. It's that oh-so-eloquent statement that jars her to wakefulness, and while she doesn't turn to face him, she goes particularly still. "You're not-" no completion of who he's not, just a hesitent - reluctant, really, "R'hin?" "That's not usually the morning welcome I get, but given the circumstances..." R'hin trails off, hint of humor not quite enough to conceal the uneasiness of the situation. "I'm sure this is just a mix up. Dzurath," he pauses a beat, recalling, "He fell out early. He should've won." There's an odd determination in that tone, hand reaching out as if to soothe the other's reluctance, pausing as the odd differentiation between flight-induced closeness and the morning after realization pervades. Josilina makes that hand's decision easier, by pulling away so she's right at the edge of the bed, covers drawn up to preserve what modesty she may have left. "But he didn't," she asserts, tone leaving no doubt that she nevertheless agrees with the younger rider's assessment of 'should've'. "He - oh, Faranth. I hope he's okay," worry etches a thin line between her 'brows. "Lhiannonth's asleep, but I think there was something - his wing, or something." She shakes her head, focusing back on the current situation. "Anyway." She doesn't seem entirely sure what to add after that, however. The faint exhale that follows might be inaudible, but the slight shifting of weight on the bed indicates that R'hin withdraws physically enough to let Josilina have her space. "Anyway." A beat, or two. "What do we do to fix this?" There's an odd weight to that word, 'fix'. Josilina's mouth twists in a wry, crooked sort of smile. "We get you a new knot." She shifts to face R'hin more comfortably, covers still drawn up. "There's no fixing it, not like you mean. Trust me," she chuckles, and it's a little self-depracating, somehow, "you're not the first to want to. But it's how it is. Leiventh won, because apparently Lhiannonth hasn't - well, anyway, he won. And you're Weyrleader. And," again, the crooked smile, "you're going to have to learn to be more diplomatic real fast." R'hin has positioned himself on his side, elbow against the bed, hand propping his head up. "This wasn't how it was supposed to be," he growls, low, almost absently. The self-deprecating tone draws his attention back to Josilina, studying her silently. "It can be fixed. Believe me, I know I have faults. What harm in stepping down, S'rist can be your acting Weyrleader until your next flight confirms him again." He seems... sober, intent, deadly serious. Josilina's brows lift in silent question - how /was/ it supposed to be? - but she doesn't vocalize it, at least not now, when there are more important matters on the table. "No. It wouldn't be - right." Josi's brow furrows, as if even she's not sure how it wouldn't be. "Weyrs - I mean, they're not like Holds. But they put a lot into tradition, especially with dragons. And... well, I don't think it'd go over well. And, well. S'rist's been Weyrleader for /Turns/. And he's good at it. But, maybe. Maybe it'll be nice for him. To spend time with Math, and his kids. And. Well, if what they say is true, you won for a /reason/." She seems to struggle a little with her own logic, frowning and equally serious. A long, studied pause from High Reaches' new Weyrleader, R'hin's eyes guarded. "Then you think," he says, slowly, "That Lhiannonth deliberately chose Leiventh? Rather than, a twist of chance that put him in the right time at that right moment? I don't believe that," and his voice is hard, abruptly. "You don't want me as Weyrleader anymore than I do. Anymore than they--" a hand is flung out to indicate the Weyr at large, "--do." "Actually," and enter Josilina's scholarly voice, not that R'hin knows her well enough to recognize it - just, perhaps, mark the change of tone into something more professional, and more assured. This is the Jos who has spent Turns up to her elbows in records. "The general thought - and there is /some/ information that backs it up - is that Weyrleaders /are/ chosen deliberately. Certainly more than Weyrwomen. It's said that the gold will pick who the Weyr wants, or needs." She shrugs, "Maybe some folk want someone younger, or newer. I don't actually think you'll do as bad as some could. And unfortunately, *we* don't get to pick these things on ourselves." "Is there, indeed?" A mixture of interest and disbelief in R'hin's expression, considering for a beat. "I'd like to see some of that... information." He shifts, sitting up, the sheet still pooled across his lap, fingers rubbing against his chin. "Who the Weyr needs?" he echoes, half in an undertone, sidelong, evaluative look given, curl of lips bespeaking abrupt amusement, "Thank you for the vote of confidence... Weyrwoman." Josilina shrugs, reaching back with one hand to work the tie out of her half-fallen-out bun. "It's in the records room, you can always go read up on it. Harpers have a fair share to say about it, too. Probably good for you to get to know the records better now, anyway." Tie freed, she winds it around one finger, pulling a face at his use of her title. "Really, I think you're much better off using my name at this point. I prefer it, and if we go around using titles all the time it'll make meetings a real pain." "As you like, Josilina." R'hin seems undaunted by the correction, as deliberate as it was. "I suppose," and his tone is dry this time, "That a young, inexperienced Weyrleader isn't much of a bother, in an interval. We won't see Thread again in our lifetime." His gaze, still slanted towards the goldrider, seems to shift towards her hair, following the movements of her fingers through it, distractedly. Josilina thins her lips, apparently giving the assertion some real thought. "Ma-aybe," she draws the word out, taffy-slow. "At least. You're less likely to, you know, die. And you won't have to deal with leading a wing, as much." She winds and unwinds the tie around her fingers, adding, "Except in drills and stuff. But," she shrugs, "there's Holds. You might have to deal with Lords and stuff more. Crafters. And restless riders. There's sort of, you know, less to do during the Interval. So, it's just different." "Dying," R'hin responds, "Is one of my least worries. It's the Lords and the Craftmasters that concern me. Believe me, I'm all too aware of what a poor diplomat can do." With a flick of his wrist, he sweeps the sheet off his legs, swings them over the bed, and stands. A little searching finds his trousers, and he pulls them on, before seeking out the pitcher of water, pouring two glasses and walking back towards the bed to offer one to Josilina. "Different," he echoes, a tad doubtfully. "It could be -more-, so much more. What purpose do riders serve in an Interval?" Josilina uses the time he spends searching to do some of her own, and when he turns back she's recovered her blouse and has buttoned it enough to cover what needs covering. "Thanks," she accepts the water, taking a sip before lowering the glass to her blanket-covered lap. "I'll help you, if I can. I mean, I'm no great hand at it myself, Lords and Craftmasters. But I've managed, and you can too." Horray for inspirational speeches! To his last, she hesitates before shrugging. "We keep tabs on the Holds. Help with problems, we still do sweeps, and watchriding, and errands. I don't think folks like you, and your group have as much trouble with it as, you know, those of us that used to fight and then stopped." "Perhaps not. Wouldn't you, and those like you, though, feel better with a purpose?" And the way R'hin says that almost places a capital on the word, a -Purpose-. He sips at the water, setting it aside before retrieving the fruit bowl, settling on the edge of the bed, cross legged, the bowl between himself and Josilina. A wry sort of smile, "I appreciate the help," he says, though the way he says it, almost with a hint of flippancy, almost seems to suggest he doesn't think it will do much good. "We still have a purpose," Josilina says, a trifle irritated. "We, you know. Protect the Holds, help them, keep Pern safe - /surely/ you've heard the Harper songs?" More seriously, she concedes, "Some might, though. Rather have something more to do." As if something occurs to her she looks at him slow, and sidelong, "And you've a great plan for our new purpose, hm?" She reaches out to snag a fruit, and in the action looks over towards the main floor of the weyr, spotting the remains of the smushed redfruit. She grimaces, just a bit, before turning back to the conversation. "It's not quite so bad as you'd think. Just, you know, use real polite words and agree a lot, without actually agreeing." "I've heard them." R'hin, if he's ruffled by the irritation of the Weyrwoman, doesn't let it show, reaches for one of the redfruits, deliberately it might seem, since the choice is made shortly after Josilina's look across the weyr and the grimace that follows. Fingers still against the soft surface of the fruit, pale eyes lifting to study Josilina anew, a faint curl of lips elicited by the goldrider's guess. "I have some ideas. But I recognize that I am not the one to bring them to light. And that many of... your group... would resist such changes." To the latter, the bronzerider smiles ruefully. "Not as easy as it sounds, for one like me." "Oh, but you're exactly the one to bring them to light, as you put it," Josilina states. "At least, you are now. That's why you're Weyrleader, for Faranth's sake. I mean, to keep order, to organize the wings, and everything, but also to help head the Weyr. Just, overall." She chooses, with a deliberate sort of air, some of the berries scattered in the bowl. "Not easy for a lot of people. You really aren't the only one to ever have trouble with it, you know. But, you learn." A slight narrowing of eyes and a frown bespeaks R'hin's disagreement with her statement, biting into the soft fruit and concentrating on it for a moment to give him some time to respond. "Keep order?" he echoes, half bemused. "I think, Josilina, my becoming Weyrleader is going to create more chaos than not, for you. I imagine you'll have a long list of waiting people at your weyr." Josilina counters his pessemistic prediction with a bright grin, "Good! I love visitors!" She glances at him and then laughs - a gentle chuckle, not unkind. "/Any/ change in leadership gets people's drawers in a knot. Or, some people, anyway. There were people in a fuss when I stepped up, and I bet even S'rist and Matheny had people who didn't like 'em. And, you know, when they come to complain, just smile real nice, and have your son drop some sticky candies in their carrysack before they leave." She pauses and hastily adds, "That only happened once." Pausing in the midst of another bite, R'hin chuckles low, appreciatively. "I'm not particularly worried about being disliked personally. And, I don't have the advantage of having offspring to obtain subtle revenge for me, but I'll take it under advisement." He seems a little more at ease, now, free hand running through his hair. "In any case, I should, I suppose, begin packing my things. And, I imagine, talk to some people." "You can borrow mine," Josilina says in a perfectly audiable mutter, for 'offspring'. "You should," she agrees, suddenly brisk. "I should too. I hope R - " she stops, grimacing, and shakes her head a little. "Well. In any case, there's probably things I need to tend to. And pick Jorel up from Tillek," the last is a muttered to-do list narration to herself, as she reaches for her skirt and does her best to slip into it discreetly. "Stop by, I don't know, later I suppose? Or tomorrow. We will have things to work on, and go over." She shakes her hair out, reaching to tie it back again, but hesitates, "You're - going to be okay, right?" "I think I'll pass. L'sen and Harley's offspring has overdosed me on the cute factor for some time to come." R'hin's voice is full of good humor here, finishing off the last of the redfruit, wiping the remnants uncerimoniously against his trousers before standing to hunt out, and pull on his shirt. Buttoning it halfway up, he nods agreeably, "Tomorrow might be better, I think. And," he pauses a beat, to consider. "I will be. I need to talk to the wise man." The title has an air of flippancy, though his expression seems to indicate anything but. Quietly, he says, "I'm sorry, Josilina." He turns towards the exit. A frown - a surprisingly sad frown, in fact - crosses Josilina's face at his last, and she looks ready to interject something, but in the end stays quiet, watching him go before turning back to tidying the room a little before she goes on her way as well. |
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