Logs:Political Encounters 101
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 10 July, 2015 |
| Who: Edeline, Eustan, Farideh, Irianke, Isla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: High Reaches' goldriders make a visit. |
| Where: Tillek Hold |
| When: Day 22, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drehfti/Mentions, K'del/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
   |
| Preparing for this visit isn't something Irianke of all people takes lightly and Farideh was summoned hours before so that the acting Weyrwoman can brush up on the younger woman's appearance, selecting and ornamenting her leathers with considerable care and making sure every part of her from hairstyle (coiffed to retain itself beneath a riding helmet), make up, and jewelry are not only neat, but belying in its effortless appearance. Her own appearance is just as neat, but stands out less in colors, the elder woman taking a more sedate, withdrawn position. Throughout, she says little of Tillek itself, but discusses the weather, whether this rouge or that is better, the benefits of dark kohl eyes. Then, "Ready?" Whether Farideh is or not, Irianke vaults atop Niahvth and leads the proverbially way between to Tillek Hold. The pre-diplomatic visit routine is something that Farideh seems to enjoy, from the primping, to the chatter and all the parts in between. She doesn't balk at any of the acting Weyrwoman's suggestions or try to undo any of the carefully planned arrangements, and when it's time to go, she's quick to follow in Irianke's footsteps with a soft, "yes, ma'am" before she, too, finds her dragon and swiftly mounts. It's still a relatively new experience, all of this betweening, but she's weathers it well and on the other side, looks to be enjoying the fresh air outside of the Weyr on their way down to Tillek Hold. Tillek's banners are out, flying high despite the drizzly late-winter rain that falls like a fine mist over the Hold, and as the two queens fly lower, they'll be able to see Edeline's guards, standing at attention and readiness in the courtyard, if without the Lady herself. It's her steward who steps forward, if still hovering beneath the shade of the great doors, offering a gracious bow. "Tillek's duties to High Reaches," he greets. "If you'll follow me?" He takes them straight up the grand staircase to the second floor, and down a finely carpeted corridor to a formal sitting room Irianke will be familiar with from earlier visits, the low table laid out with pastries. "The Lady will be with you shortly," promises the steward, before departing, closing the door firmly behind him. Once within the shelter of stone ceilings and walls, Irianke takes a moment to right her appearance; shedding her flight helmet and gloves and tucking them into a discreet hook along her belt and runs a careful set of fingers through her hair to loose them once more. Walking past a mirror, she glances to ascertain her appearance once more, brushing an invisible smudge at the corner of her eye, all without missing a step. It helps that she knows where they're heading so walking, even distracted, is by rote. The pastries are acknowledged but untouched and she stands, feigning interest in a painting hung over a lovely, carved hearth. From dismount to sitting room, Farideh is as much Irianke's shadow, staying close and looking to the older woman for cues. She takes her own riding gear off at the entrance and seems to trust the other goldrider's ministrations earlier in righting her appearance, though she watches Irianke keenly as she does adjust hers. Inside the sitting room, she's obviously caught between wanting to investigate the pastries on display and continue to follow in Irianke's footsteps; she chooses the latter, strolling indolently around the room, noting this trinket or that bauble, with her hands still clasping her helmet behind her back. It's only a few moments after the two goldriders arrive that the door opens again... but it isn't Edeline or her attendants who enters, but a girl of about eight or nine, and a boy several turns younger, both well-dressed. It's plain that neither anticipate people in the room, because the boy lets out a yelp of surprise, and the girl's mouth widens to an 'o'. Then, her chin lifts. "Who are you?" she demands. "What are you doing here?" Irianke glances down from her study of the portrait of a ship in a tempest with good weather just on the horizon and back to the arrival, her stance respectful, even when the newest arrivals arent Edeline or adults even. But her expression smooths to kind and amused at the imperious demands. "High Reaches Weyr's duties to your Holds," the plural distinct. "You may call me Irianke," no less respectful in tone for that she allows them to call her anything. Farideh turns as the door opens, her expression shifting from impassive to interested, with a smile that freezes in place when she actually realizes who just walked through. Her forehead twitches, her brows flicking together than apart; it's a rare sort of confusion, her eyes lifting to Irianke and then as swiftly back to the two children. But she doesn't offer her name, or any other words, and continues to stare in that bemused way, her smile slowly fading away. "I'll call you anything I like," announces Isla, imperiously, though surely she ought to recognise the name of High Reaches' acting senior. It looks as though Eustan does, because his dark eyes focus more keenly on Irianke, and then on Farideh, too, but neither child has the opportunity to say more: a strong arm tugs them into line as Edeline sails past them, scarcely giving either child so much as a glance. It's the lady-in-waiting, her grip tight, who chides, "Young lady Isla. You know you're not supposed--" "Take them," says Edeline, the lift of her chin so like her daughter's. "Please excuse the behaviour of my children. Tillek's duties to you both." Isla is no less truculent for the interruption, or for her mother's treatment of the guests; the glance she aims at her mother is both wistful and irritated, a tantrum that she's far too old for hinted in her demeanour. Irianke's eyes speak volumes more than her polite, Igen-drawl touched words do. While she says, "Spirit in a future leader is commendable," her eyes twinkle and ventures a wink at the tantrum-threatening child, but then, much liker her mother did before, Isla is no longer the center of Irianke's attention. "Lady Edeline, our duties to you. Was the issue along your border holds resolved by Hailstorm to your satisfaction?" A subtle hand just behind her hit beckons Farideh closer with one curl of a singular finger. A faint twitch of Farideh's mouth is her only reaction, beyond the intense staring, to the two children in response to their impudence, before Lady Edeline herself enters, and then, her lips splay in a bright smile. She moves forward when the other goldrider beckons, taking slow, deliberate steps until she's at the other woman's side and just behind. She waits politely for the Lady Holder and Irianke to finish their current line of conversation, or for the latter to give her some gesture to include herself in said conversation; some habits, bad or good, are hard to shake. Isla's not interested in Irianke's wink; instead, she keeps staring at her mother, even as the attendant bodily drags her away. Edeline doesn't even seem to notice; Edeline is busy, her political smile in place, her fine-boned hand gesturing towards the seating area. "It was, thank you," she says, as the door shuts, leaving them alone at last. "We appreciate the promptness of your response. Though, of course, it would be our preference to see such issues policed more thoroughly before they become a concern, in future. I trust you will convey that to your Weyrleader. And this, of course, is your future leader, is it not? Roszadyth's Farideh, no?" A very, almost stilted, of course, is not spoken, but is in the goldrider's nod. As for the subject of Farideh; "Future, near or far," Irianke's one-shouldered shrug is a resigned one to the oddities of Weyr leadership, the formalities of the initial pleasantries sliding off her expressively warm face and stance. "It seemed wise to make introductions now, rather than after the fact." Politeness, in this case, goes as far as not responding in expression or words, to the situation the two women are discussing; her smile stays immobile throughout. It's when they address her directly that her chin dips in acknowledgement. Steering clear of all leadership talk, Farideh's voice lilts a pleasant, "Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you finally, Lady Edeline." Edeline's own smile is all poker-faced politics; it's difficult to see what she thinks in the contours of her expression, so lacking in warmth. She sits, now, graciously arranging her skirts as she primly rests her hands atop her otherwise-hidden knee. "I understand it is a contest between you," she says. "Like a father selecting his heir, except, of course, without a father whose whims one might cater to. How very interesting. I was about your age when I claimed my hold, Farideh. High Reaches has long favoured young goldriders over old, it seems." Irianke's laugh isn't foreign to this room, the wryness of it not echoing in such bedecked chambers, but it is warm, infectious, and finds Edeline seating with the remnants of that warmth in a lovely smile. "High Reaches has also long favored goldriders dying quite suddenly." Much like fathers who pass before their time. But how to convey that in anything except those dry, lingering eyes that rest upon the Tillek woman. "I only hope I can manage to fail to live up to that standard. Mmm, your pastry chef always does wonders with butter and sugar," she suddenly says, taking a seat near Edeline and inspecting the low table. "It's something like that," Farideh agrees, not contesting the woman's words, and offering instead a broadening of her smile. "I've read quite a bit about Tillek's recent history, including your ascension to Lady of Tillek Hold. It's all very interesting," is completely without guile, and the bemused look she slants Irianke next conveys her apparent confusion with the other goldrider's commentary; but, pastries! She, too, sits down and leans forward, scanning the assortment presented on the table. "I would certainly prefer to see less death across these lands and seas," has a certain tightness and bite of its own, though Edeline's expression remains that mask of politeness and grace. Farideh's words, too, earn an arch of a fine-pointed brow. "Is it? Ah, one's past, a point of history. Such a fascinating conceit. It was a trying time in my life: the loss of a beloved father, the machinations of a maternal figure. A family cast adrift. Your Weyr provided a safe haven for me in those most difficult days, for which we are perpetually grateful." And yet sound... so dismissive. "It is a pity those bonds were allowed to falter, is it not?" "Have they?" asks the interloper, the non-Reachian, innocence in voice, a shrewd discernment in her eyes. Irianke refrains from the pastries, other than that initial, appreciative sniff. "Did you have any concerns you'd like me to address with the Weyrleader, Lady Tillek? Have you considered my thoughts on Aurora doing periodic checks and updated training for your agenothree sprayers?" All Farideh can do is continue that practiced, bright smile and nod when appropriate; she certainly doesn't have any thoughts on past, recent, or future, death. "I'm sure the historical records don't quite reflect all of the perspectives, and definitely not your-- personal trials and tribulations." Her smile falters for a second, as her eyes flick to the side, to Irianke, to gauge her reaction to whatever it is Lady Tillek's veiled comments infer; again, she has no real commentary on the issues, so out of the loop is she-- blessedly so? Carefully, she plucks up one of the pastries, and feigns interest in it, while lending an ear to the two other women. "We have no need of your training," says Edeline, dismissing that with a wave of her hand. "None of my people will live to see the fall of Thread; we will simply have to trust that your Weyr does as it should, and preserves that knowledge to pass on, when the time comes. That is your job, is it not? To protect us from Thread?" Answering that takes her attention away from Farideh's remarks, though she's not forgotten the younger of the two goldriders. Now, focusing upon her more directly, she says, "We wonder, of course, what kind of relationship will be forged between us, in future, should there be further changes in your leadership. One must, after all, always look to the future." "As always," Irianke says, opting to say this instead of any other number of choice words that line the muscles of taut held fingers obscured by Farideh's knee, "Sharing ideas with you and discussing the future of our two divergent and vested interests is a pleasure." Polite political nonsense, so unlike her usual frank nature. It's literally killing her says those, now flexing, fingers that brush against Farideh's leg accidentally before the woman rises, hands relaxed and held out to the lady holding court. "I'm afraid we've taken enough of your time away from your children today, Edeline. The lady Isla has grown into an absolutely lovely miniature of her mother. You've much to be proud of. Thank you for this audience." By the time Irianke brushes her leg, Farideh's already three bites into her pastry, and looks aghast, cheeks full, when the other goldrider rises. She's quick to chew and swallow what she has left, and then looks around for a napkin to dispose of her unfinished snack. "Yes," she piggybacks, speaking softly, on Irianke's farewell, fingers brushed off on said napkin, as she rises, "it was lovely to meet you and-- Lady Isla-- thank you for your time." Back to politeness, with that sunny smile, she waits at the acting weyrwoman's side. Edeline accepts Irianke's hand, most gracious, though her smile is nothing but politesse: there's no warmth, there. "Of course," she agrees. "Heschel will show you out." She won't even show them to the door; she won't even rise from her seat. But as they're escorted out by the aforementioned Heschel? There's Isla, looking glum and lonely, hanging through a bannister she's probably not supposed to be playing on, her skirts akimbo. She's without Eustan, this time, and watches the two goldriders with eyes that are somehow familiar, all the way out the great doors until they disappear from view. Irianke kepts the facade up throughout the walk back, polite, chin held up, relaxed and warmly chatting frivolous things with Farideh. Isla is noticed, smiled at, but there's no time to stop and chat with the little girl with Heschel hurrying the two goldriders out. It's only when they're at the dragons, tending to the straps and nominally alone that Irianke comments, "You did well. Thank you," she adds as a throwaway, not looking to Farideh when she expresses her gratitude. Frivolous things are what Farideh knows the most about, and she seems content to feed into Irianke's facade during their walk through the Hold. She also notices Isla, but there's no smile, just another confused flicker of expression, her eyebrows knitting at that familiarity. Once they're outside in the fresh air, back to their lifemates, she's obviously relieved. "I-- I just did what it's my job to do," she answers quietly, only just turning away from Roszadyth to look at Irianke (even if she isn't looking back). "For Impressing. I know it was outside your control, and I know, I know you never wanted to go back to the life you left behind but... please," Irianke adds, a more genuine version of her smile surfacing for Farideh as she tightens a strap and starts to climb up slowly, "Please, let me be present when Lady Tillek learns of your pedigree. Some day." "For Impressing? For-- oh." Farideh starts to mouth something else, but stops, her frown returning with the furrowing of her brow. "I hadn't planned on telling her, I-- but if you think--" Her hands pause in their diligence over Rosadyth's straps. "If that is what you want, I'll make sure of it," and her tone implies she doesn't understand the fervency, even if she's acquiesces. Then, she's making her way up the antiquated gold hide, strapping herself into place and resettling her riding helmet, her gloves. "You'll know the right time." Irianke glances over at Farideh, pausing halfway up Niahvth's side and considering the goldrider a long moment. "Get the next image from Niahvth. She's already informed Solith that we're held up at Tillek and not to expect you for afternoon drills." The acting Weyrwoman settles herself into place, buckles herself in and her dragon shares an image of the skies above seven hours ahead Bitra Hold. And when they emerge, the bright lights of a gather in full swing are below. |
Comments
Squishy (00:22, 11 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Ooooh. This was good. I have to commend Irianke for her patience.
Alida (02:46, 12 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Ahhhh....politics. *pukes* ;D Fun to see this! :)
Leave A Comment