Logs:Perspectives
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 26 May, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, T'mic |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'mic finds Irianke in the council chambers when dropping off some paperwork. They compare perspectives. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A layer of gray clouds covers the sky. The air feels cool and damp, but there is no rainfall today. |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions |
    |
Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest. Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention. A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind. The usual colours of sunset were blocked by a cloud; the failing daylight that follows, likewise. It's relatively dark, relatively damp, when T'mic makes his way up the stairs to the weyrleaders' landing, a few hides held up against his belly to keep them more or less flat, that silver-threaded not present, though not particularly flashy in the low lighting conditions. The same long stride that took steps two at a time carries him in a loping fashion across the ledge, into the council chamber. "Oh," comes tired, above all, a bit disoriented, also, finally, a little surprised. "Ma'am. I was looking - is the weyrleader here?" Seated within, Irianke is writing when T'mic approaches, lost in the outline she's working on. Too often, her rules of work ends before dinner is blurring as the immense workload competes for her time and freetime loses in the end. So when T'mic comes and interrupts, her blurred eyes look up, blink a few times to refocus, and finds the blueriding weyrling with marked relief. "Oh bless you, have you brought me tea? Or just a good shot of whisky." Two hands lift, surrender, and then shove the work further down the table. "K'del is at Southern at the moment, what can I help you with, T'mic?" The evening has Niahvth pleasantly somnolent, but when his rider interrupts hers, marigold brightness reaches out like a cuddly, cashmere fuzzy blanket to drape over her blue baby's mental space. (To Jorrth from Niahvth) "Huh," is a bit of a laugh, although T'mic shakes his head. "If I'd known you were here, ma'am, I would've, though." The hides up against his belly are lifted, a little flap to properly profess their presence. "Just had minutes to leave for him again. Got them all done up just now, so." He shrugs those big shoulders, and takes a few notably smaller steps (than his original stride) to the table, though doesn't settle the hides just yet. To Niahvth, Jorrth isn't sleepy, not now. He had a bit of a nap while T'mic was in a meeting, and he's since been tracking the process of a canine through the bowl. His watching isn't so intense, though, that he can't answer Niahvth with a happy press of sun-warm-fur smell. Hi mom! "The silver thread program." Such a new fangled thing for her, and that sentiment seeps into her intonation and the way she regards T'mic with interest. "It's interesting to me how High Reaches tries to discern and train up those viewed with leadership potential. How are you enjoying it thus far?" The question is inquired with the air of a smile about it, a memory of a dance lesson or two so far. "Yeah," agrees T'mic, agreeing, it seems, to the name of the program, or its identification, or maybe its role in the hides he still hasn't deposited. "It's, um... well, we're not bored. I don't know. It's okay, getting to know why things go some ways. Makes it all make sense, but some of it..." T'mic shakes his head "Honestly, don't know what it was that got 'discerned'." Those hides wave again. "Should I just leave them on the table?" Sleep sheds from Niahvth quickly enough as she settles into Jorrth's mental space, tracking his fixation to that canine and observing it from her ledge. The fuzzy warmth of mom doesn't move, no matter how sleepy he is not, though it's far from suffocating. It's just present, there, maternal and caring and above all, now interested in what he is seeing and thinking. (To Jorrth from Niahvth) Strictly speaking, Irianke is not the Weyrleader, but she is a weyrleader and she reaches out. "I can take them," is said in the voice of someone who is actually interested in what he might have written. "I'll be sure K'del gets them. We're scheduled to have a drink later tonight unless I've inadvertently mixed my dates up again. It is," she confesses with a chagrinned note in both expression and voice, "Happening far too often of late than I'd like. It will be nice when the weyrlings graduate." Months and ages from now! To Niahvth, Jorrth knows interest instantly, recognising it the way one recognises a sibling or long-time friend. It's something that's part of him, after all. « She's looking for grass, » he informs the gold. « To eat. Even though she should eat meat, shouldn't she? » More amused, and settling into that comfy-warm, « I think she likes the taste. » So T'mic hands those hides over, stepping back a bit once they've been passed off, though he's hardly making to leave. He does shift back onto his heels, and there's elements of fatigue in how he stands, through the angle of his hips and core, in the hang of his shoulders. "I might've should've known he was gone tonight and forgotten," is sympathetic. "It's so busy." Irianke's comment on weyrlings brings a bit of a wrinkle to the bluerider's nose. "But you don't train us mu- oh." Those eyes close tightly, open again, and he nods. "You mean because of Farideh?" "Because," because yes, Farideh is the simple answer, but Irianke is never one with simple answers or simple questions. It's whether she opts to share them or not and in this instance, she looks to T'mic, reflecting some version of his fatigue back at him with a suddenly tired face. "It would close one chapter on my life and open a new one. But yes, also Farideh. Uncertainty," adds the goldrider with far too much carelessness to actually be unthinking, "Is quite the bitch. You look tired," she says quickly, covering up or trying to move past her overshare, "Are you getting enough sleep?" T'mic's little frown looks almost a little sad, though he nods - not with certainty, though not at a total loss. "It's night time now, ma'am," comes gently, almost as if Irianke herself might not know it. T'mic nods his head a little toward the ledge, the outside, as if proof were needed. (He's been around Jorrth far too much.) "Always tired at night. Always better off in the morning. Just had to finish things up." Now, a big finger is pointed lightly to those hides he's only just handed off. There's a hesitation before he settles on asking, "Can I ask what it is you're uncertain about?" Clearly, he feels he should. "Is it?" She must have known, but the air of general distraction about Irianke, the way her glance slips to the outline she had been working on and then back to the hides she now holds, tells another story. "I really need a new assistant to remind me what time it is and when to eat." The murmur is more for her benefit than T'mic's and so it's a louder voice that answers the blueriding weyrling, "My general place in life now. Caretaker or leave my, temporary, mark on High Reaches. Stay or go. As if," she adds with the slightest, self-deprecating smile, "I have a choice in any of it." She rifles through the top most sheets of the reports and nods, approvingly. Do they? Niahvth most certainly has never considered the dietary needs of a canine, and with more interest, this from her own reserves of interest rather than just piggy backing off of Jorrth's, she studies the canine from afar. « Where have you learned this, my darling? Could they not eat grass as well as meat like many of our riders do? » (To Jorrth from Niahvth) T'mic reaches, slowly, for the back of the nearest chair at the table. When he pulls it out, the semblance of quiet contemplativeness loses its 'quiet' pretty quickly, though he doesn't seem so bothered by that. He eases into the chair, sitting sideways in it, perched more than settled. "I don't know, ma'am, but seems to me like you can't just... create a bunch of baby dragons and then say you haven't left a mark on a Weyr." His shrug is simple, as is, "If you weren't here, there wouldn't be Jorrth." « T'mic! » The name is warm and happy and content. « They're like dragons. They like meat best. But grass isn't awful, it's just not like herdbeasts. » A beat. « T'mic doesn't eat grass! » is silly and laughing, and then - silent. The canine has found something, and is pawing at the ground. Jorrth needs to see this. (To Niahvth from Jorrth) The simplicity of cutting the issue of legacy down to that has Irianke laughing. "Too true, T'mic. I don't know if I even recognize myself anymore and this odd ambition that's taken hold. What need is there to be remembered other than by those we care about?" The goldrider skims the rest and then places his hides on the table just above her work. "Thank you," she adds after a little while, "It's too easy to lose sight of... everything sometimes." T'mic smiles a little for that laugh, tilting his head a little to one side, and shrugging again with only, "Sure," to acknowledge her thanks. He seems otherwise at a loss for words, but not overly concerned to sit and smile and, eventually, lean his shoulder up against the back of that chair. T'mic indeed. Niahvth laughs, a sonorous vibration in the minds between them rather than a tangible sound itself. « They eat green things. It is close enough to grass. » Even if it might not be grass itself. « Does she have a name? » (To Jorrth from Niahvth) To Niahvth, Jorrth watches as that canine paws again, sniffs deeply, paws once more, lifts something in her mouth, drops it (a rock), and then carries on her way. There's the slightest bit of disappointment to be felt in that mental space, but Jorrth is far from dismayed. « I don't know. I tried to ask her, but it didn't work. » Content with the momentary silence, Irianke inadvertently mimics the weyrling's actions by leaning back into her own chair and releasing a sigh to the ceiling above. Then she sings in a voice not unpleasant, though no harper by far. It's a slowed, acoustic version of a more merry song favored by traders in the middle continent. T'mic is happy to listen to that song he doesn't know for a time, letting his eyes drift to being almost closed, perhaps even following Jorrth's progress in the bowl for a while. Irianke will have time to finish it - or at least get to a break in which T'mic thinks she's finished - before he asks, "So does it change you? What you do? Wanting to be remembered?" "I..." The song concluded, conversation resumes and Irianke looks at a loss. "I don't know. I would like to think it doesn't. I'd like that confidence. But, I don't know. Would you like to be remembered?" T'mic pushes out another sigh for that answer, and shakes his head to the question. "Don't really mind. I just wanted like... a family, before this. That's not about that. I mean, maybe you get some part of you to go forward, but..." Now, he wrinkles his nose up a little, and, more softly, says, "But whenever people say I could quit the silver threads? I really don't want to. And I don't know how come that is. I don't know if before it would have mattered. Maybe it's different, but..." He shrugs, and pushes himself up from the chair. "I have faith in you," shares Irianke, saying nothing further on the matter of whether he should quit or not, or why he hasn't. "Enjoy the rest of your night and," the weyrwoman adds, with the slightest smile, "Get some good sleep tonight." Another smile, this one more personal, and on T'mic, all the more at home on his face for it. "Don't forget it's night time, ma'am," is his farewell to her, before he makes his way out. He might be seen stopping to scritch a canine before he and Jorrth retire to the barracks proper (with a « Good night! » for Niahvth, of course). |
Comments
Alida (00:28, 28 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
Jorrth-Jorrth-Jorrth! :D
Leave A Comment