Logs:Semantics
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| RL Date: 23 November, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, Taelityh, Olivya, Ivraeth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two dragonriders meet and make choices. |
| Where: Weyrleaders' Complex, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: N'rov/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, Ebeny/Mentions |
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Two sets of stairs curve up from the Bowl from opposing sides and convene on a broad outcropping of pale granite that has been worn smooth over several turns of use. It provides an excellent vantage to survey the Weyr, giving a pleasant overview of the activities going on below, including the junior ledges that are closer to the bowl. The ledge itself is large enough for several dragons to lounge upon or for a decently sized gathering of people to meet in relative privacy. The southward-facing Weyrleader and Senior Weyrwoman's weyrs are located here, as well as a few service caves with supplies and the like for the sake of convenience. As spring deepens in Fort, the evenings are becoming more tolerable for lingering outside. Lingering, however, isn't a luxury that busy, busy weyrwomen have when dealing with a plagued Weyr have, so Dahlia's movement onto the ledge is brisk, having taken the shortcut from the records room through the front part of the tunnel in Mirinda's weyr. Her arms are free of hides, for once, but the weariness of so much packed into a day is showing in her expression. It's obvious from the way she's walking that she doesn't really expect to encounter anyone coming this particular way. Where dragons might usually be coming and going, the coming of a dragon might be something to note because of the quarantine of the plagued Weyr. Ivraeth does not appear from Between, but rather over the heights of the Weyr, angling to settle with a surety of her welcome on Zaisavyth's ledge. The darkly honeyed green angles a look into the tunnel of Mirinda's weyr as she catches sight of Dahlia's movements, pinning her with a studious, intelligent gaze. And from Ivraeth's back, the woman in the bright, bold red jacket begins sliding down, reaching for her helmet and shaking out blonde curls once she's hit the ground. "Weyrwoman," greets the greenrider, though her movements keep her facing her dragon as she deals with her riding straps and gear. The arrival of a dragon draws the weyrwoman's gaze and brings her feet to a stop. "Greenrider," Dahlia greets with a slightly uplifted brow. She hesitates where she is, but not because of a lack of confidence, but rather perhaps to see if she's wanted. Taeliyth reaches for the green on the ledge, her head poking out from the weyr to Mirinda's left. She's there just at the fringes of the other's mind, a watchful Wood with overgrown trees and a mangle of branches, vines and roots that twist deeply into the heart of this Weyr. It's like a mental 'ahem'. Vines meet vines, though there is something off about the lushness of Ivraeth's mind. The flowers are too bright, the green just too green with too many leaves. Nevertheless, like meets like and the dragon greets the queen with a welcoming, « Taeliyth. » But her whirling gaze doesn't leave where it pins Dahlia. As Olivya stows her gear, she tosses a casual, "Don't mind Ivraeth," before she finishes and turns to the young woman. The greenrider offers a hint of a smile, introducing herself smoothly, "Olivya. Just dropping by for a quick visit to the Weyrwoman. And her-- Well, she's just nosy." She slaps an affectionate hand against the green's closest flank. It might be that offness that gives hint of the odd quality to the Wood of Taeliyth's mind. It's infectious. Some might say poisonous, but the sort of thing that will tap into your heart and bind you to the care and tending of this place in half a heartbeat if given so much as half the chance. Still, it seems to come from a place of love, of tending, of oneness with the Weyr. « You're not from here, » is her first observation; it's not unkind even if it is suspicious. Dahlia seems markedly less so, "Oh, I'm not," dragons don't bother her says her easy shrug. "I just didn't know if you had information for us from elsewhere." It might bode well for the burgeoning partnership that Dahlia and Mirinda are still feeling out that Dahlia doesn't hesitate to make them an 'us'. "Oh, you're Olivya," that warrants a warm smile. "Mirinda talked about you. A bit." And so it is that the younger woman is approaching the older one with hand extended, perhaps in more ways than one. "No, unfortunately. The Hall has no new information today than it did yesterday," answers Olivya, the slightest wrinkle of her nose for that even as she takes Dahlia's hand firmly. "Weyrwoman Dahlia. Mirinda has also talked about you, a bit." There is a softness to that statement, though, an implication that it is all good rather than anything else. Ivraeth's 'no' comes without words, the foreignness of her mind enough to mark that. And then she expands her answer, showing Taeliyth her own roots that grow not deep in Fort Weyr, which is clearly the queen's, but in Zaisavyth herself. « I hatched with her; I came with her, » she clarifies for the gold that wasn't there when she arrived. The 'no' earns a tightening of Dahlia's lips, a slight nod acknowledging the information. "Every day there's no news of a cure I feel a bit more a fool for hoping," she admits, an oddly wry and yet sad sentiment. "How are you finding Fort?" is almost overtaken by, "Oh, am I keeping you?" Just in case the visit was time sensitive. Taeliyth's watchfulness and suspicion don't seem to ebb any for that explanation. There's no hint about the homegrown gold's sentiments about Zaisavyth, the wood shrouds it all. « And you will stay? » Olivya shakes her head in a simple gesture, her soft blue eyes landing back on Dahlia with a firm look as she tells the younger woman, "No, we all hope for a cure. But, we'll manage even without." A pause as she studies Dahlia, considering her, before she continues, "You and your Weyr have gone through a lot. But I find it resilient, intriguing. Fort's a Weyr truly made of stone." « As long as you will have us, » is Ivraeth's smooth response, but there's a geniune sense of-- something there. As if the green were ready to leave at any moment with Taeliyth's command. "Manage," is repeated quietly, Dahlia's expression growing grim. She looks away from the greenrider and, briefly, the wealth of her personal experience with this illness is there, is saying without saying that 'managing' is a poor word to describe what is done. After a moment she manages to cast off whatever dark thoughts took hold and she clears her throat. "Fort Weyr is made of much more than just stone. Stone alone doesn't nurture, it's the people that make it what it is. I hear you'll be staying on," may not be from Taeliyth, "and that you might be joining our weyrlingmaster staff?" It's a polite sort of question that seeks to redirect the conversation away from things less pleasant. « It is no longer my choice, » Taeliyth's tone is sardonic, but it's nice of you to say so. » Her eyes go to the blonde. « Leggy, » she observes with a dry amusement. « Few will be sad to have her, or you, » her gaze comes back to the green. « We all have choices; even those of us not at the top, » replies Ivraeth, the silent thought there slipped past that Taeliyth is much close to that top than she. Yet the green meets the gold's gaze across the ledge with a surety of herself. "Manage. That is all we can do. Plan, manage, do our best. Not yield or give in or follow," Olivya repeats despite the offered direction, her chin lifted as her gaze remains settled firmly on the younger woman. "I will be staying--. As for the rest, Rin wanted to make sure that you and N'rov thought it best, first. You know what you need better than either of us, and who should take over in your Weyrlingmaster's absence." « Some more than others, » Taeliyth counters perhaps as much because she would have anyway or because of that unsubtle indicator. She doesn't, however, betray her own feelings about if she feels she's one with more or one with less. « How many riders really listen to their dragons? How many dragons have enough sense to be worth listening to? » The questions might be baiting, or simply curious. After all, that wheaten gold with her tiny frame is moving out onto the ledge looks just so sweet and innocent, full of wide-eyed curiosity, surely. Hazel gaze meets blue. "It's not something everyone can do, not now. Managing isn't all we can do, those of us strong enough to lend strength to others can and must do it. Call it a moral or social obligation, whatever you like, but simply managing isn't enough for those who can do more." It's polite but firm disagreement. Young though she may be, it seems she won't be pushed so easily into an idea that doesn't suit her. Luckily, "I can't speak for N'rov, but I'd imagine they'll need all the help they can get with the candidates and the weyrlings once there are some. If we can get candidates for them to begin with." Of the weyrlingmastership in particular, Dahlia (wisely) says nothing. "You are a weyrwoman; do you really consider managing to be a passive thing?" Olivya counters, not pushing yet still challenging. "Do you not manage the Weyr daily?" But her gaze flicks away, sliding towards that young gold and lingering there even as Ivraeth answers, « Our choices aren't our riders', either. Whether we align our choices with them is. » And only after her dragon has answered does the greenrider's attention return to Dahlia, willing to agree, "I've never known a clutch that couldn't use more helping hands." "I am," Dahlia owns the title fearlessly in this moment, possibly even a little fiercely (only a kitten's worth though). "Managing is a solo activity sometimes done in concert with others, but rarely is managing an act of selflessness. Managing the Weyr is markedly different than offering what I have to give to the people of Fort on a personal level." A pause for breath brings, "Managing is what I would do if I were in this only for myself." But she's not. « And yet, » Taeliyth is amused, her tone wry, « if we were to so separately stand against that which they wanted, in say, the running of the Weyr, could we alone revolt? » The gold might be a rebel. Hard to say. "You are never alone in managing, as much as you might wish to be, Dahlia. From the kitchen assistant to the Headwoman to yourself--." Olivya's brow curve upwards and this time she studies Dahlia intently, the hint of a frown caught briefly, subtly in the corner of red lips. "You need everyone, and everyone needs you. Is that not the case now, still?" « You could. As I said, you always have choices, » Ivraeth agrees, her own amusement distant, removed. "No," Dahlia disagrees, still polite, but still firm. "You are never alone in doing but managing is lonesome by nature. Sometimes you can find a good partner, but..." She shakes her head and sighs. "I think we're probably disagreeing on semantics more than anything, and honestly, I don't have energy to spend splitting hairs. If you'll excuse me, Olivya," Dahlia makes a gesture toward her own weyr and the dragon waiting just without. She isn't actually going to wait for Olivya's leave to go, though, but rather with a polite incline of her head, and an equally polite, "It was nice to put a face with a name," and presumably to meet her, but Dahlia won't say that explicitly, not now. Instead she'll turn to head on her way. « Some choices, » Taeliyth asserts, « are not choices at all. » That she'll leave the green with, choosing tonight to withdraw with her rider. Certainly Olivya doesn't have the rank to give Dahlia permission, so she only says what the younger woman will not, offering, "It was a pleasure to meet you, weyrwoman." She waits until the goldrider is far enough away that it couldn't possibly be considered rude to continue on her own way, towards the tunnel from which Dahlia came even as Ivraeth settles herself in to watch Fort from this ledge. |
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