Logs:Of Respect and Opportunities
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| RL Date: 23 October, 2006 |
| Who: Imariel, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| When: Day 28, Month 7, Turn 9 (Interval 10) |
| Your location's current time: 14:29 on day 28, month 7, Turn 59, of the Tenth Pass. It is a summer afternoon. Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr The kitchens of High Reaches Weyr are contemporary, spare and simple in design, free of clutter. The sleek surfaces are a hallmark of the current Pernese style - polished marble and granite, metalwork, and woods. The background colors of the kitchen are light and neutral, allowing for bold tone accessories to take center stage. The lighting and entryway opening treatments are low-profile and minimalist. The hearths have been fitted with modern equipment and simple, sleek metalwork to add an up-to-date touch to the heavily used areas. The polished granite counters are long and wide, allowing for ample work space. The woodwork is lightly stained, bringing out the natural hues in the grain. A simple cording, in the same bold color as the accessories, borders each cabinet door, accenting the room. Two large islands break up the kitchen into work areas: baking center, butchery, vegetable and side center, and the serving organization center. The floor is tiled with large marble squares, each section carrying a different, yet complimentary color to direct the flow of traffic. The entryway into the Living Cavern has been expanded to fit two doors - in and out - each marked with its own identifying color that matches the tiles just inside the doors, to keep collisions from occurring. The cavern itself has been expanded to include breakfast nooks, where residents can sit to eat, while leaving the main kitchen free from tables and the traffic that accompanies a busy Weyr. Obvious exits: LIving Cavern Lower Caverns Imariel comes into the kitchen from the living cavern. Imariel has arrived. It's not at all uncommon to find the Weyrleader eating a meal in the kitchens rather than the living caverns, and this balmy summer afternoon is no exception. R'hin's seated in one of the breakfast nooks, a cooling bowl of chowder close to hand, apparently having a late lunch. He's not paying much attention to the food at present, head bent over a sheaf of hides, his forehead resting on a curled fist. Scurrying by with an armload of dishes, Imariel hardly seems to slow the fast pace to clear the living cavern of cutlery and plates in order to begin set up for the dinner rush. She and three other girls are a blur as they continue to move in and out of the kitchen, dumping the baskets of dirty napkins in a bin for same, while the dishes go to the drudges who are set to washing them. Finally, though, she manages to find a few minutes to take a break, moving into the same alcove as the Weyrleader, coming to a halt when she sees R'hin. "Afternoon, sir," she says, adding, "Mind company for a few minutes?" The inquiry is accompanied by a wide smile, as she pauses, not sitting until she's assured it's all right. There's a tall glass of something cool to drink in her hands, which she sips gratefully. She does look a little warm, and wipes her forehead with a cloth tucked into the belt at her waist. R'hin's oblivious to the movements in the kitchens; he's long grown adjusted to the hectic pace. "Mm?" Distracted, he glances up, a finger marking his position on the hide, before pale eyes settle on Imariel. "Oh. Yes, certainly," he invites, his other hand waving at the bench across from him. "I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to try some of that dessert last night," he says, apologetically. "People get excited after clutchings-- hatchings, too, and tend to drink more than they ought. Did you enjoy the feast?" "Oh, yes, sir," Immie assures the Weyrleader, a grin on her face. "There's still some left in the cooler, by the way. I tucked some away for you and the Weyrwoman, since she likes cherries," she adds, sliding onto the bench and setting her glass of juice on the table. "If you'd like, I'll fetch some for you when you finish lunch." There's a pause, then she remarks, "On the whole, it was fairly quiet last night. Other than the one disruption, everything else was pretty peaceful. I rather expected it to be louder." She takes a long, cool drink from her glass, wrapping her hands around it when she sets it down. "I imagine the Hatching feast will be even more boisterous." "Ah, you did?" R'hin's surprised, pleased too, though a grimace follows shortly afterwards. "You oughtn't do that, you know. It makes people resentful of privileges. Especially in regards to me." A low exhale, and the mention of lunch seems to belatedly remind him of the cooling bowl of chowder at his elbow. Piling the hides carefully to one side, he pulls the bowl closer, tearing off a chunk of bread and soaking it in the liquid. "Quite boisterous. We fly in some of the Holders and Crafters from our sweep area, parents, and of course there's plenty of visitors from other Weyrs. Lots of dignitaries to try not to offend," he observes with a wry twist of lips, attention on his bowl. Leiventh> In the galleries, Charis walks down a short flight of steps and heads out through the entrance to the bowl. Imariel nods, but hastily adds, "There was little enough left, and it would have gone bad if it weren't put away, so I thought saving it for the two of you would be all right. I did ask first, if it was permissible, and was told it was." Another drink, and she swipes at her forehead once more. "Ah. Well, that is quite a crowd, but it's good the people are made part of the celebration. That's kind of what I meant the other night when I was saying to bring the weyrs, crafts and holds together, so there's a bit of camaraderie between the three." She glances at the hide. "But I'm keeping you from your reading, sir. I /can/ sit quietly," she says with a grin. "Sometimes." The Weyrleader's head tips briefly, but he says no more on the topic of dessert, picking the soaked bread out of the chowder and chewing on it for a moment. Pale eyes flicker up at Imariel's words, evenly settling on the woman for a beat. "That always happens," R'hin's dismissive of her idea, and it may come across as abrupt indeed. "They come together for the Hatching, and everything's good for a while. But Hatchings happen rarely during an Interval; it's not enough. I need something that will last." His voice softens as he glance slides to the hides, and there's a twitch of shoulders, almost a shrug. "There's always reading to be done. Besides, sitting quiet is... dull." There's a nod from Immie, and then a few minutes of silence. "Well, I'm sure there are other things the weyr can do for the holds and halls," she ventures. "Not that I'm liable to provide an answer, but sometimes bouncing ideas off of someone is a good way to come up with ideas. People may forget how important the weyr is when there's no immediate threat of Thread," she says, stating the obvious, "but, there were extenuating circumstances during Lessa's time. Now all the weyrs are active, and there's less likely a chance of the same thing happening, I'm sure. Perhaps continuing contact with the holds and halls will keep the traditions viable, as well as maybe start new ones." She gives a shrug. "Dassah and I were talking about that after you left the other night." "And what did you two come up with?" R'hin queries, glancing up from his chowder. The gesture may be casual, but the interest he shows in the answer is anything but. "Well, we discussed the fact that inevitably, some people will come to resent the weyr, and that feeling will increase the longer Interval lasts. We both agree the weyr shouldn't have to support itself, and the Holds and Halls should continue their tithing. However, it's the tithing that's likeliest to foster resentment, since some holds -- especially the smaller ones -- will be strapped to continue as large a tithe as during Threadfall." She pauses, sipping her drink. "It was my contention that, perhaps, the weyrs might figure some way of being useful to the holds in order to foster better relations. We didn't quite agree on ideas how to facilitate the latter, though. My thought was to offer services such as delivery of goods, or maybe help from those who could be spared during harvest time, something like that. Wagons are all well and good, but take days to transport food to the larger holds, and sometimes the food will go bad in transit. Dragons travel much faster, but I can see how that might be ... well, demeaning for the riders." R'hin is attentive throughout Imariel's words, his food cooling as pale eyes study her. "It is a harsh reality that some might find themselves reluctant to undertake," he says, unusually diplomatic, almost like he's practiced such words on exactly this subject. "A far cry from the Tradition songs we were all reared on, no?" He spoons up some of the chowder, eating silently a moment. "Dragonriders can only become self-sustaining to a point. But... there are possibilities. Goodwill is still needed for what we cannot produce ourselves, even during an Interval." "Sometimes traditions needs must be stretched a little, given new life. And, yes, the weyrs can only provide so much for themselves. Diplomacy, too, can only go so far to foster good will. People want to see something in return for their tithes. When Thread's falling, the dragons are seen often, and everyone is grateful. During Interval, they won't be seen as often, and that's when the people will forget." Her voice has a thoughtful ring to it, as if she's given these ideas some consideration. "Like I said, I'm not likely to come up with a solution for this, but I'm willing to provide what insight I may have, sir. My father is a traditionalist, but he's also a crafter. I've listened to him talk with other crafters regarding the up-coming Interval, and he's concerned about the same things you are. How to prevent people from growing resentful during these idle turns. A good many people are wondering the same things, I think. What will the weyrs do now there's no Thread to fight." "People not of the Weyr are concerned with what the Weyrs will do to prevent resentfulness?" R'hin's surprised, and dubious, too. "You must be discussing such issues with many different people than I, Imariel." Despite her oft-repeated desire to be called Immie, he uses her full name, perhaps deliberately. "Diplomacy," he disagrees, "Will be paramount. The currency of the Interval, you might say." "Well, no, but I've listened to my father talk to some of his fellow crafters, and the topic does come up from time to time," Imariel says, looking down at her glass. "Diplomacy will be one of the major means, yes, but diplomacy only works when people are willing to communicate, sir. It only takes a few people to stop listening for negotiations to fall apart. One or two angry people who refuse to compromise, or even just a few discontent people can throw everything off. Diplomacy's currency is give and take. Rather like haggling with a vendor at a gather. When the bottom line is reached, and one party digs in and won't give anymore, well, there's a stalemate. One or the other must give, and if they won't..." She shrugs. "I've seen that happen when mother goes to the cotholds to purchase food. Some holders will bargain, others won't. And when they won't, negotiations bog down and anger ensues. Then nothing gets accomplished, and both sides suffer." R'hin's tone is dry, "I have been privvy to negotiations before," he says, the reproach mild enough that it might seem more observation. "A talented diplomat can work to prevent such things for the most part." His hands spread, "That is one ability I am very much aware I lack." He uses the bread to sop up some more of the chowder. "What craft did you say your father was in?" "He's a Journeyman Woodcrafter, sir," Immie replies, taking the quiet route now. "I'm not denigrating anyone's ability to negotiate, but as you say, not everyone is good at it. I'd think Harpers could be of immense value during the Interval, not only by keeping alive the traditions, but by their skill at diplomacy. Perhaps consulting Harper Hall would provide better answers for you, sir? I'm sure the Master Harper would have good ideas on how to maintain good relations with crafts and holds." She takes another sip of her juice, cocking her head to the side. "And, honestly, sir, your answers to me are very diplomatic. I mean, you haven't told me to go away or be quiet, or called me silly. I'm sure other people would have by now." "I'm usually a tad more subtle than that," R'hin remarks dryly, a low chuckle emanating from him, amused all of a sudden. He tears up the rest of the bread, pushing it into the remaining chowder to let it soften. "As for Harper Hall-- well, they are Harpers. They have their own agenda. Can the Weyr trust them with ours?" Lips twist, as he adds, "After all, they have to look to all of Pern. I am only interested in High Reaches Weyr." "I admit I don't know much about Harpers, but aren't the weyrs an integral part of Pern?" Imariel queries, studying the man. "It would seem to me if they're concerned with /all/ of Pern, then they'd be concerned about the weyrs, as well. And, consulting High Reaches' Harper might be a first step. The Harper assigned here would be more inclined to be concerned with this weyr, and may have insights valuable to both Harper Hall and High Reaches Weyr." She shrugs one shoulder. "It's sort of like cooking. The first thing you have to do is decide on a recipe, then gather all your ingredients. Once that's done, you have to blend them all together to wind up with a finished product that's palatable for all. Too much of one thing or another, and the food is ruined, and no one can eat it." Another shrug. "Even then, there's no guarantee it will come out right, and sometimes you have to call for assistance." "You think I haven't tried? Getting an audience with High Reaches' harper is like trying to pluck feathers from a live wherry. You have grand ideas, Imariel, but the reality is full of frustrations." R'hin's tone bespeaks ire, but it doesn't seem to be directed at the woman across from him for the moment. Of course, that doesn't last long; her talk of recipes earns a long, even look from the Weyrleader. "You're just full of lessons, aren't you? Are you sure you're not Harper inclined yourself?" Something in his tone suggests he doesn't mean that in a positive way, either. "You talk as they do; like a teacher to a child." There's a blush that creeps over her face, and she lowers her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir," she says softly. "I don't mean to sound like I'm lecturing, but you did ask for my thoughts." Her demeanor is now quite chastised, and she finishes the glass of juice in one swallow. "Nor did I mean to suggest you haven't tried or considered everything I've mentioned. I should not have bothered you." She takes a deep breath. "If you would like some of last night's dessert, I'll fetch it for you and leave you in peace." "So I did," is all R'hin says, bland. He pushes aside the bowl of chowder, unfinished. "And it wasn't your thoughts that concerned me, but the manner in which you delivered them. Not a diplomat yourself, I think." He shakes his head to the suggestion of dessert, "Thank you, but no. Perhaps for a late dinner, instead." "No, sir, I suppose I'm too bold or outspoken to ever be considered diplomatic," Imariel replies. "I should, I think, stick to things I know instead of expounding upon ideas or suggestions. I apologize, sir, and won't do so again." She nods, then, at his mention of the dessert for a late dinner. "It should still be good, I imagine. If you ask one of the servers, I'm sure they will fetch it for you." She takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry if I offended. It was not my intent." She keeps her head lowered, but doesn't immediately rise. R'hin bestows a sharp look on Imariel, but it's for completely different reasons. "It wasn't your boldness, nor your ideas I objected to. Ideas should not be shut away, they should be welcomed. Don't let me or anyone else convince you otherwise." The words have a touch of the acerbic to them, studying the woman with a twist of lips. "Yes, sir," Imariel replies, lifting her head, now. "It's not all that simple, though, sir. People don't often take you seriously when you're young, and are more apt to dismiss what you think." She toys with the glass for a moment. "A lot of times, it's not only just that, but the position you hold in life. I mean, you're a Weyrleader and I'm a kitchen girl. Who do /you/ think someone will take more seriously?" "Look at me." R'hin says, tone pointed. "I've twenty-five Turns. -I'm- still young. You think I don't face the same problems you speak of? That, before I was Weyrleader, I didn't? It never stopped me from speaking out- ask around." His hands spread as if to indicate the Weyr at large. "People will take you seriously if you have serious ideas. Not everyone will, but someone will listen," a faint curl of lips, "And one is a start." Imariel nods, obeying by looking up at R'hin. Her eyes are a little wary, now, likely indicative that she'll be more guarded in what she says and the way it's presented. "Those five years can make a big difference, sir," Immie says softly. "I'm sure everyone faces the same things regarding age, but some seem to be born to a role. There are times when it's possible to overcome the stigma of age or inexperience, but it depends on whether the opportunity presents itself to /be/ taken seriously, even by one person." She moistens her lips. "Despite your age, /you/ are now in a position to be heard, to be taken seriously. That alone makes a big difference." "That's what people who are inclined to sit back say. In ten Turns, you'll still say you're too young to be heard, to make a difference. If you say that all your life, you'll be nothing." R'hin's tone is even, but he gives the impression it's deliberate, in an attempt not to scare her away. "If you wait for an opportunity to present itself, for things to be handed to you, you -will- be nothing. A Turn ago I was a weyrling. If you think I meekly accepted my lot in life then, you're wrong. And you should not make that mistake, Imariel, or yours will be a life wasted." There's understanding in her gaze, and perhaps a hint of determination in her eyes. "I don't plan to sit back all my life and accept what's handed to me, sir," Imariel says, and there is some spirit in the words. "If that were the case, I'd have never come here. I'd've been content to stay in the kitchens with Mother and not wanted to see more of the world. I'm not afraid to speak out, but it does get a little tiresome to be constantly told I'm too young to know what I'm talking about, /or/ to want something more than to /just/ be a kitchen helper." She takes a deep breath. "A turn ago I wasn't sure what I wanted, but I knew it wasn't that. I'm not craft-trained, but that doesn't mean I'm doomed to be a nothing. I don't know what life has in store for me, but I won't be a kitchen helper forever." "So, then, Imariel of the kitchens, what do you wish to -be-?" R'hin asks, simply, as if it should be a question she can answer on the spot. Given the expectant way in which he regards her, that's exactly what he seems to be doing. Imariel's brow knits at the question. "I want to be respected," she answers. "Whether it's a cook or nanny or ... or if one of those dragons out there decides I should be a rider, whatever I do, I want to be respected for it." She takes a deep breath. "No matter what a person does in life, if they're deserving of respect, then they should get that respect. I'd like to be taken seriously, and listened to by others." Her shoulder shrugs again. "There are opportunities out there, and I'll find the right one for me. When I do, well, I won't be afraid to reach out and grab it." There's a pause. "I don't know what that opportunity is, yet, but it's out there. I'll know it when I see it, and I won't hesitate." "Respected?" R'hin echoes, if that's the last thing he expects to hear, briefly taken aback by it. "Mm. And if you're respected, as a kitchen worker, you'd feel that was enough for you?" A hand waves towards the kitchens, with head tilted queryingly. "As for opportunities, well. They aren't always easy to spot, and it isn't always easy to know they are opportunities lost." There's a faint smile from the Weyrleader. Imariel has to think on this for a moment. "No, I don't want to be a kitchen worker for the rest of my life, but --" She lifts her chin almost defiantly. "--if that's what I'm destined to be, well, I'll be the best sharding kitchen worker on Pern." There's a faint lift of her lips, a wry smile that seems born of some inner confidence. "I'm young, but I'm not without a certain amount of ambition. I didn't get a chance to apprentice to a craft like my older brother, and father didn't want me to apprentice to the Woodcrafters. But, there's something out there for me, and I'll find it. I watch for opportunities, sir. This ... well, coming here was an opportunity for me. It got me out of the hold where there /was/ no other options for me, save eventual marriage to someone my parents chose for me." "--Your father didn't want you to apprentice," R'hin echoes, with deliberate intonation reflecting hers. "But he won't live your life for you. If you wish to join a craft, we've representatives from the Weyr you could talk to. Though I wouldn't encourage joining the Harpers," he remarks, dryly, though he's possibly being facetious as he says as much. There's a soft chuckle now. "And risk starting a war between holds, crafts and weyrs?" Imariel counters? "I think I'd make a horrible Harper, as evidenced by my earlier behavior." She actually laughs a little now. "Now, /you/ sound like my Aunt Sarie, who pointed out the very thing you just did to me the other night. And, I've given it some consideration, yes. Being in the hold, one is rather restricted in what you can and cannot do. I've long been of age to do as I wished, but I was saddled with two younger sisters to care for when they aren't with the nannies. It wasn't easy to --" She stops. "That's neither here nor there, now. I've pretty much made up my mind I'm not going back. I may not stay here, I may go to a crafthall. But I'm not going back. That much I know." "Did she now? Your Aunt Sarie sounds like a wise woman," and the amusement is obvious now, the Weyrleader's lips curved. "I lived in a Hold. I understand the restrictions. And I understand the bid for freedom. I only hope you take advantage of it, now you have it." "I plan to, sir," Immie replies with a lift of her chin. "She's very wise, my Aunt Sarie. She got out as soon as she could," she adds. "She came here when she was younger than I am because she knew it was where she wanted to be. Mother is where /she/ wants to be, and so's Father. I /wasn't/ where I wanted to be, so I took the first opportunity I got to make that bid for freedom." She nods at the Weyrleader. "So, like I said, there's something out here for me, and I'll know it when I see it. And I'll not waste the opportunity, whatever it is." A brief nod is all the answer R'hin gives, one might say approving. He gathers up the hides, tucking them under his arm. "I'll let you get back to work," he says, sliding across the bench and standing. He tips his head towards the head cook, before striding for the lower caverns without a backward glance. You brush the hides aside and step into the lower caverns. |
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