Logs:Planning the Future
| |
|---|
| RL Date: 8 July, 2012 |
| Who: Iolene, Brieli |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Brieli and Iolene have girl talk and more serious world and future-talk as Io starts to recover. |
| Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 3, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Sleet |
| Mentions: K'del/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
  |
| On such a nasty, miserable, sleety day, is it any wonder that a weyrling with extra duties that involve a lot of writing should find herself a spot inside and away from gross and cold weather? Amidst the usual scribes and Harpers, Brieli's red hat and dark hair are beginning to become a common sight - red hat worn even inside to hide the results of that battle lost. Despite gloom and work and short hair, the weyrling seems in decent spirits, her trials not weighting her down; there's a faint smile on her lips as she's bent over work that likely doesn't deserve it. Or maybe storerooms inventory is actually that entertaining. Anything is possible. A set of barely audible steps brings Iolene down the stairs from the council chambers into the records room. For a woman who hasn't been seen much and gossip's talked of just how low she's gotten, Io is immaculately dressed (notwithstanding the lack of shoes, but that's entirely normal) and looks decently groomed, with her long blonde hair looped and pinned up in a crown of braids. It is, however, her expression that's lackluster, the worn signs of an age she's far from, scoring her features and there's a distinct lack of brightness to her visage, even after spotting a familiar face in the sea of scribes and harpers. At least when she spots Brieli, she attempts a smile in her approach, before sinking, uninvited, into the seat opposite of the gold weyrling. Speaking clearly; "Is it a romance novel, or do you just find numbers that interesting?" A few of the other workers in the room might look up in Iolene's wake; might murmur to their partners after she passes, but they certainly don't while the goldrider can hear them. For Brieli's part, she doesn't quite notice any of this until Iolene's taken the seat across from her; with a blink and an immediate shift in her features - from widened smile to fading one as fine brows draw together in concern, "Io!" She'll slide out of her chair by contrast, using the excuse of an awkward squeeze of the blonde's shoulders to put her discarded and ugly black coat over them. "I've been worried. But I wasn't sure... I didn't know if I should come see you or not." As she straightens, returns to her seat, she'll try to lighten things with a little laugh. "Oh, it's not a novel, no - it's Iesaryth, she just goes on. How are you? It's good to see you." But she won't say that Io looks good. It's at the mention of Iesaryth that Iolene's expression and frame beneath the awkward squeeze goes from stilled and tense, particularly during Brieli's concern, to relaxed. That smile might even deepen and a one word explanation must suffice, at least on her end, "Ysavaeth," that's really no explanation at all. "I'll be fine," implying she isn't really right now, "I'm getting better," is a bit more positive. "But there's only so much of stone walls you can stare at before even the quiet might drive you mad. And Ysavaeth-," the smile twitches, a bit self-mocking, "Well, I take back anything I said about being uncertain about having Impressed. Like the healer said. I'm alive. K'del is alive, so there's always-..." But whatever that might end up in lapsees out and the blonde shakes her head abruptly. "Are you studying for fun, or is this part of your training?" "Is it all Ysavaeth?" Brieli is still concerned, but it's difficult for her not to be, even as she sits and draws in her chair, readjusts her hat. "Is Ysavaeth really...?" Both uncertain and awed, perhaps with queens in or that particular one, she won't finish the sentence. On more steady ground, "I'm glad you're out. And sorry I didn't come visit if the quiet was driving you mad. I should have." There's an apologetic thread to her tone as she glances across the table to Iolene. Something about the Weyrleader's name sets her jaw, but it passes as she notes, "He mentioned it's your turnday soon? We should do something. Are you up for a party? A small one, maybe?" As for her notes, looking down at them wryly, "It's part of our training. The extra part -- It just started actually. You could work with us, when you're feeling better. I don't think it's much different from what you learned before you came here. So far, anyway." Reflective consideration mellows out some more of those wrinkles on Iolene's face as Brieli brings up the subject of her dragon, which then smooths out into an odd neutral set on the young woman's features. Those are subjects she's not going to offer any information on voluntarily, it would seem, her lean forward to glance at the weyrling's work turning to, "My grandmother was pretty much the headwoman out there, keeping tabs of how much food and stores and supplies we had and trying to make sure they were distributed equally. I feel like it must be easier here, with tithes, and abundance. I know a weyrwoman's job is some of that, but then I wonder what the headwomen are for then. Too many cooks, not enough pots?" A hand reaches across to press against the top of one of those hides to try and read all the better upside down. "I turn twenty in a few days. Maybe... afterwards? I'd hoped to steal K'del away to some southern beach to just get away for a little while. I don't kn- I don't know if he has the time right now though with everything going on." Her face lifts and the flat smile turns quizzical: 'what do you think?' Not one to offer much voluntarily, Brieli can understand that; she sits back in her chair to regard the neutral set of Iolene's features, then nods once. All right. All she'll offer to close the subject, with a rueful little smile, is: "We've the worst odds." Technically, all four of them do - maybe that's what the weyrling means. Reaching out to push forward the hides - just inventory after all - she agrees, "They do have so much here - enough for a siege, it seems at times. If we had to make do - and if people were willing to properly sacrifice--" A significant glance up to the blonde - not likely. "We could survive for some time. And it seems to me that the headwomen manage people more than goods. And the more there are the more that tasks can be divided. But it's possible that we could all get in each other's way if not." Quirking her own smile, "Maybe he'll make time. He should. It's your turnday - you should definitely celebrate it. I think whenever you're ready would be fine." Wryly, "All this isn't going anywhere." "No." At that, Iolene has to smile more, some measure of genuineness brightening those dark blue eyes briefly. "The Weyr really isn't going anywhere is it? The same today as it was yesterday and the day before and turns before that. It's an institution." With the hides pushed forward, Io turns them around a little to read them all the better, or at the very least glance at them like she's taking something meaningful in, but her thoughts and conversation are far from the subject of numbers and how to get by on the minimum. "How old are you again?" Perhaps a little surprised to hear the other goldrider speak of static continuity so positively, Brieli arches fine brows a touch, but doesn't question it overmuch. "Not the Weyr and not the work. I doubt it will be difficult for you to catch up - or learn any of it in the first place." She's not concerned enough with her work that she can't give it over to Iolene's inspection, nor is she desperate to condemn the decadence of their fellow weyrfolk - it's just one of her favorite topics. Crossing long legs as she leans back again, "Eighteen. I won't be nineteen for a few more months yet." "K'del was seventeen when he became Weyrleader. Seventeen turn olds don't know enough about the world to make good decisions even if they're really smart." Iolene, again reflective, says aloud though in a voice pitched just for Brieli's sake. Or her own pensive musings. "Sometimes, institutions could use some shaking up." Then, a self-deprecating shrug and the words, "But I guess neither do twenty turn olds," dismisses that subject from her mind, for now. "You'll probably be able to travel once you turn nineteen. Is there anything you'd like to do with the entirety of Pern open before you? Go-," a light flickers in her blue eyes, "-Look at some cute boys on a far off beach somewhere?" Tone oddly conflicted, "I know." Brieli is drawn forward by Iolene's quieter words, leaning over the table, arms crossed atop it. Head canting to the side, she regards her friend with interest, dark gaze sharp. "We've had these conversations before. You're really considering it." There's no judgment there, but there is some admiration; the tall dark girl can't help but love determination - it might account for the odd fondness when mentioning Ysavaeth. Pursing her lips, careful, "Perhaps what we know depends less on age and what we've lived." She'll move on though, grinning at the last, noting, "Iesaryth would like to go to Monaco again, I know. To see her clutchmates, where she comes from. There's cute boys and a beach if you aren't busy sometime. And I'd like to see some of the other Weyrs." Casual. You know, not like there's anything there, even if she might be coloring slightly. "Monaco-," the place is exhaled with a little uncertainty, but trepidation doesn't jive with her attempts for a happier subject change so ultimately results in an affable nod. "Warm weather, cute boys, and a beach. What more could a young woman want?" Some bit of the old Iolene reappears with a winsome, brightly-touched smile. "When the weyrlings are able to travel, we should go visit. You, me, Azaylia, and the other girls? I'm not sure the boys would really want to join us, unless- well, unless they're the kind of boy that likes cute boys. But it's not the same." Speaking of what we've lived or understand. "And perhaps-," a sidelong glance looks to try and capture Brieli's gaze, pink and all. "Fort?" She's been grieving, not necessarily living under a rock. Reassuringly, "She just-- She misses them. Not there." It's a difficult distinction, but at least Brieli isn't hiding it; she's putting it right out there and admitting it. The old Iolene brings a brighter smile from the darker girl, and she nods agreeably. "Sounds like an excellent plan. I'm sure Riahla would like to see people from the Reaches as well? And they have fruity drinks, as I recall. Not that I got to drink any." Candidacy, such a drag. Perhaps still not used to being the subject of Weyr gossip, she's entirely awkward as she glances back Io's way, admitting, "I promised. We promised." She really seems kind of embarrassed about the whole thing. "Promised?" Iolene wants more information, eager now that the shift is off of her as she leans forward on her bent arms. "What kind of promise?" Trapped in girl talk. Brieli is so not used to this. Shifting in her seat, she shrugs a little, offering slowly, "Promised since I can't visit now and... he has to keep coming here?" And now pronouns must be defined. "N'rov." Iolene tests out that name, quietly, allowing the various consonants to roll off her tongue. "N'rov." The 'vee' at the end gets a particularly long elongation. "Bronze Vhaeryth's rider. His sire's from the Reaches. Monaco too." Somewhere in that pretty little blonde head of hers is a vault of squirreled away information that is recited on cue on occasion; this being one of those occasions. "He was with that Fortian goldrider who visited at our hatching." It's a momentary coolness to Io's tonal quality that rectifies itself in any successive words, almost - almost - as if it hadn't happened. "I love how kind K'del is and how safe I feel, most of the time, with him around. I feel that he doesn't think I'm a silly little girl mostly." Oh, a young girl's hero worship. "What is it you like about... him?" She'll revert back to undefined pronouns. Brieli hasn't gotten to the point where she's stuffing away facts about other Weyrs in her head yet, so Iolene warrants an impressed glance for that easy recitation of information. "You'll be fine," she notes, tapping the hides with one long finger. "And... he was." There's an acknowledgment to her tone there, like 'yes, that was awkward, and this could be.' To her credit, she doesn't twitch or reaction to Io's hero-worship, but can offer a smile for that last, insisting, "You're not." As for N'rov, simply, "He bet on me for Monaco. He came to give me half. He's smart, and so is Vhaeryth. He writes me." A small collection of things that widen her smile, despite attempts to stop. This is a far different kind of courtship than what Iolene's ever been used to and her surprise is blatant on her face. "Writing?" The imagine that part doesn't get voiced but is there nonetheless. Perhaps girlish chatter is the perfect antidote for the grief of a month, for Io's suddenly a lot more brighter and cheered as she considers this form of getting to know each other. "It sounds... awfully romantic somehow. Do you keep the letters? I mean... of course you do! You must, right? Does he have nice writing? Grams always said you could take a measure of a man by how well he writes and if it's slanted one way or the other. But I think she was mostly just crazy. N'rov." Imagine that. The weyrling is a strange girl in a lot of ways; one of these is apparent in Brieli's reaction to Iolene's surprise and suggestion of romance - look uncomfortable and diminish it, for all that it might be true. "Oh - Azaylia said that too. I don't know, most of the time, we just poke at one another." Most of the time. She's pleased enough to cheer the blonde, though - so despite being abashed by her sentimentality, she admits, "I keep them. I don't-- I try not to do that sort of thing, but it's hard to get rid of them. And... it's not terribly neat, but he does. Do you really think she was crazy? About the writing?" Purely out of curiosity. "What did she say?" Iolene expects the question and has an answer ready, something that might have been spoken to her many many times in lecture-filled tones given the way she spouts it off so rotely: "Something about if it's slanted to the right, the person is probably in a hurry all the time to really bother with you or details. If it's straight up and down, they might be too detail oriented and if it's sloped left, they're lazy and run away." The goldrider picks up a pencil from a bin in the center of the table and scribbles idly on a hide. Her neat and pretty handwriting, for the record, slopes ever so slightly to the right. "Where I grew up, we didn't court each other really that way, though there were always scandals where people married who they wanted or accidentally got pregnant and had to get married. But most of us-," she studies her writing and decorates the five colors of the dragons on the paper with little curliques, "-Well, they had to watch out for the blood thinning too much." With a wrinkle of her nose, "Then no one can win, really. Though - that might be accurate. Who's perfect?" Still Brieli had the look of someone filing away Iolene's little lecture for later, when she's back in the barracks, where she hides those letters away. "Did you ever have the opportunity to see if she was right?" she asks, peering over at the neat and pretty handwriting. The weyrling's own is neat, but more utilitarian, suited perfectly to columns of numbers. Perhaps protesting too much, "It's really not courting. And I think there's always scandals like that, aren't there?" She stacks some of the hides she hasn't handed over, fanning them idly. "At Holds, or anywhere concerned with inheritance, anyway. Is it easier to worry about what we have to worry over now? Better? I wonder." With a tilt of her head, a glance across the table, "Perhaps just different. Perhaps it's all perspective. We forget to try to maintain it, I think." So much to say that Iolene doesn't say or question. Her pencil continues to doodle idly, as a distracted extension of her brain and thoughts jumbling in them. The circles become all the more spiraled and tightly wound before expanding again into looser curves. "What was it like... growing up for you? I sometimes wonder how much of the hold life my ancestors tried to maintain actually ended up being the same." Perspective. "I," she admits with a less than easy smile that hovers about the corners of her lips, uncertain of whether to blossom or retreat, "Don't think I would have fit in well at a hold either if I think about it quite hard." "Some of it... I don't remember very well. When my father died-- anything around then, just before or after is all a little... unfocused." Brieli's brows draw together in thought as she looks down at the hides, trying to recall and choose her words all at once. "I learned fairly regularly with the Hold Harpers, and my mother taught me my trade. There were always lots of children to play with, but my family... my mother was a bit different. I never felt entirely right there, never entirely liked how restrictive things felt. Life is... very staid. Proper. You don't do what you want unless you're powerful enough to do what you want. And even then, you don't get caught." With her own easy smile for Iolene, "I had little left to keep me, and pretty girls in Holds find themselves in awkward positions. Better here where no one minds if you slap someone." Iolene's lower lip falls slack at the end, a flicker of some memory recalled flaring through her eyes. "There were boys on the island who tried, but with our community so small, they quickly got found out and... Depending on who their father was, it was covered up, they were married, or... nothing happened." The thin girl sinks backwards in her chair, dropping the pencil with a clatter to the table and pushes the doodled on paper away. "In some ways, the Weyr seems so much better for women than anywhere else on Pern," island included apparently. "But, I don't know if Ysavaeth let Cadejoth catch," let with nothing accidental about it at all, "Because she favored him, or because of my-," those cheeks finally color, "Crush." So all these disjointed thoughts? They sum up to: "Would you think N'rov would be a good Weyrleader here?" If so many unspoken steps along the way came to be. Wryly, "At a Hold, it depends who tries, or succeeds." Brieli shrugs Iolene's way, for all dark eyes might go flinty at that; the weyrling has no issue with slapping anyone, or anything she has to do, from the looks of things. "That will let someone get away with all sorts of things. Girls, boys get sent away. Paid off." Swiping back the doodled-on paper for the top of her stack, she agrees, "I can't see too many other options that are all that attractive, though I do hear the Weavercraft might be reasonable. For a craft." So there's that. Let has her attention immediately, gaze meeting the other goldrider's blue one; after a long pause, slowly, "I've been asking if how we feel is connected to how they feel. And if that matters. If how they feel even matters." It takes her another few moments, her own tan skin flushing again before, "We've been thinking about it. If it comes to that. I won't leave something that important completely to chance." "It seems too important to leave to chance." There's immediate agreement there. "I guess- I guess we'll see what happens." Iolene's chair scraps the floor as she pushes back and stands. "I meant to come here to look for something, but... maybe next time. I did manage to stay out of my weyr for longer than five minutes this time. You're my witness for the healers if they ask, right?" Is she joking? Does it matter? "Good luck with learning how to be- a weyrwoman." Lightly, "Bitra says I'm a long shot. But I feel like... I need to know that I'm trying." Brieli sighs, shaking her head. "Even if I'd rather not think about it. And I think it's better you didn't work, maybe? I'll definitely bear witness that you were out and walking and all." Even if she's Io's not joking, she'll offer a smile. "Feel better, Iolene. We'll save some work for when you're up for it. And say hello to Ysavaeth? She's been so lovely to Iesaryth." At that, Iolene's smile blooms, bringing further color to her cheeks: "She's been lovely to me too. She'll appreciate the greetings. And if I decide to have a party, I'll let you know." And then, those same light patter of steps that brought her in, carry Io back up those stairs and to her weyr. |
Leave A Comment