Logs:Soothed
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| RL Date: 23 April, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, Taikrin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Taikrin brings bribery cookies, and asks for a favor. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 8, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions, Riorde/Mentions |
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| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the well-sized dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs, which circle the hearth and the blue rug set down in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr: the desk could in no way be described as tidy. Behind the desk, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows and comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. The hearth is brand new, too, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced. Rukbat has gone and set, the dwindling rays carried in warmed dragon hides of those that take to sunbathing. Azaylia's weyr is empty, a rarity akin to 'Reachian summers themselves. No weyrling visitors, no ex-con on the couch-- just the weyrwoman who owns it all. Working at her desk, she's curled up in the chair with one leg dangling as a brown quill dances over the hide in front of her. Hair has been let loose from whatever stylish twist Hana had decided on today, falling and adding dark tendrils to the powder blue puddle. Loose, silky robe is made for comfort, little care given to how unflattering it is when she's piled into the chair like she is. The weyr is well lit, glows fully open and making up for the lack of a roaring fire that isn't necessary with such pleasant weather. Enter Taikrin. Her face is flushed a perpetual shade of bright pink from an unholy combination of sun and windburn from all the incessant drilling of the last few weeks. "Hey, Azaylia," she calls from the stairs by common area between leadership weyrs. "Got a second?" By the time she finishes, she's poked her head into the weyr itself. She's got a toothy grin on, and a sack in one hand. "Was hoping you could give me a hand with a thing I got, here." "Taikrin?" All that light fabric doesn't really amount to much when Azaylia stands, hands unconsciously tugging the hem closer to the tops of her knees. "I..?" Curiosity and uncertainty go hand and hand when it comes to the Acting Weyrleader. Taikrin hasn't been invited over as often, but there haven't been any attempts made to stop her visits all together. Bare feet hop down the few steps to the main cavern, that toothy grin giving her some pause. It only takes a moment before she's smiling herself, "What is it?" Unable, or not willing to resist sharing in the other woman's good mood. "Well," Taikrin begins wryly as she brushes her free hand back through her hair-- and grimaces. "Augh. Well, a couple things." She edges into the cavern proper, seemingly at ease about invading the other woman's private space. "First, I brought you cookies." The bribe is fished out of the sack-- a sack within a sack, no less-- and proffered to Azaylia. "I was filching 'em, and thought you might maybe want some too. They're good." Rather than get into whatever the second thing is, she asks, "How you been, by the way? Watching the drills?" As the brownrider moves further in, Azaylia follows her to the living area complete with low table and ex-con indented couch. "What are they?" There's less of a suspicious drawl than one may expect, more of that honest curiosity. Her face brightens: cookies! "Thank you. That's sweet of..." She's making no move to return the sack, but there's a twist to her lips at, "Filching?" That means stealing, right? Even so, it doesn't stop the weyrwoman from fishing one out and biting into it. Judging from how quickly the cookie disappears, they are good. "Hraedhyth has. We've been... fine." Tense words relax after a moment, "You?" "Talking them off of the baker," she amends upon seeing Azaylia's hesitation. "She's been hooking me up for turns on the side." With a crooked grin like the one Taikrin's flashing at the goldrider, who wouldn't? "Glad to see she's been watching. If you do decide to join us, I'm sure a flamethrower and a proper hole in the formation could be arranged. I'm in good with the rider in charge." An aborted itch of the shoulder under her thin summer riding jacket sends her digging distractedly into the larger sack once more. "Been okay, but-- busy. You know. Reckon I ain't been spending enough time outside, since I got all--" she pulls her empty hand out briefly to gesture at her face. "--scorched first time I went up without full gear." Hearing that the cookies were willingly given has Azaylia putting away several more before she slows, "Hraedhyth would like that. I'll see if I can make time." Not that she sounds entirely enthused, but it's a thought. The crunchy bribes are set on the low table, the goldrider finding a perch on one of the couch's armrests. A bent leg and spilling fabric keep her modest, for the sake of Taikrin's attention span, "I noticed. I was wondering... Does it hurt?" Both concerned as well as unfamiliar with the woes of a sunburn. Her own complexion tends to darken, tipping towards brown than bright bronze in the last few weeks. Hands curl on the edge of the armrest, the weyrwoman leaning forward as she tries to peek into the sack. In the sack is a little pot that looks vaguely medicinal, which Taikrin fishes out to hold in the palm of her hand. "Like a flaming-- well, like a flame to the face," she says blithely. "I manage to do my face okay, but I'm having a time getting around the back, you know? Never going up without my helmet on again-- you'd thing I'd have learned by now, yeah? Reckon I never been inside so much before, though. Never quite got myself this bad." That smile looks a little painful. Sympathy prompts a wince, though it's a pain Azaylia herself has little chance of experiencing. It doesn't take long for realization to sink in, "Oh." A bright echo has her face smoothing, similar to when those cookies were first offered. It's gone by the time she makes her lazy vault, hands pushed down so that she can scoot off the armrest. "You want me to get your back?" She doesn't reach for the pot, just in case she's figured wrong. "You'd be my hero," Taikrin admits. She holds the pot out for Azaylia, and has the grace to look a little sheepish. "I set Riorde to long sweeps," is offered by way of explanation. There's another wince when she shrugs out of her light jacket-- she's just got a tank top underneath, and the entirety of her neck and upper back are an equally angry pink. "Faranth but what I wouldn't trade for tanning like you, you know?" As if Azaylia needs anymore encouragement, the thought of being Taikrin's hero has her gentle smile turning faintly smug. It doesn't last, taking the pot and unfastening it carefully, not looking up at mention of Riorde. "Could have gone one ledge over." To Aishani's. Said without petulance, though voice is perhaps guilty of too much of that unconcerned air. At the sight of Taikrin's baked shoulders she gives a light hiss, fingertips generous in applying the salve with a few gentle strokes. "It does come in handy..." None of that too-light tone now, gentle words weighed down with concern, "Do you want to sit?" She doesn't stop smoothing over bright pink flesh with two thickly coated digits. "Couldn't have," Taikrin corrects around a relieved sigh at the first touch of the salve. She does ease herself down onto the arm of the couch, though. "That's fantastic." Some of the tension slips out of the shoulders that have noticeably lost muscle mass over the intervening months. "Faranth help me when we fly the first round of drills this week. I'm already scorched, and Szad's going to want to be doing all those ridiculous maneuvers we've been practicing. Did you see, we've got a couple of the greens able to pick a sack of firestone right off the back of the stabler browns? They're getting really good at close flying... really good." Azaylia's lips purse some, but she doesn't argue over the other goldrider's hospitality... or lack thereof. Instead she rides on the brownrider's relief, easing into the task of delivering that cool salve with featherlight care. "You don't think you're pushing yourself too hard?" Concerned murmur is paired well with her soft caresses, hip leaning against the arm of the couch behind Taikrin. "I did see that. It's nice, seeing the wings work together." But. It hangs in the air until, "Bones mentioned some rider complaining about not having enough time after sweeps and all this flying." No doubt only added to strengthen her case when it comes to Taikrin pushing herself. "I ain't added but two hours to their days, those lazy sots. Ain't like it's forever, but I just had the impression that the Weyr maybe needed a little reminding about how to work together as a Weyr, you know? Remind everyone of what we're really for? Got to do what I got to do-- I wouldn't ask it of the riders if I wasn't going to do it myself. Who'd follow someone like that?" The heat has faded from her voice, though, and she slumps forward somewhat as the relief spreads down her back. "Got to make sure everything is put back together proper for you all-- bind the Weyr back into a proper whole." There's no challenge at Taikrin's heat, only quiet patience from the weyrwoman as she tends to burned shoulders and neck. Softly, "I don't know if that's possible." On binding the Weyr back together. As for the rest, "I don't think the exercises are a bad idea. Bones told me, and I'm telling you. You're in charge of the wings." It may be obvious now that the weyrwoman is careful to only deal in facts. To keep civil. The excess salve on her fingers are rubbed into her own palms before the pot is closed. She leans to hover close to the brownrider, reaching around to present the jar in front of the slouching rider, "All done." Another relieved sigh, though this one ends in a gusty, "Thank you." Taikrin leans forward further until she's folded herself in half in a long stretch. "And thanks for telling me. You know you can tell me anything, right? Same as ever?" She's wearing a disarming smile now as she straightens and twists around to take back the pot. "What you think is important to me, yeah? Different perspectives. You, and what Bones hears." Taikrin's smile still has too much of a hold. Rather than melt the younger woman, it has Azaylia's gaze dropping guiltily as she offers up a scrap, "I'll tell you if I hear anything else like that." Fingers brush over each other, checking to see that they've dried before her hands go tussling in her loose curls. Pushing off of the couch, she takes a few slow steps to the table, hands dropping and locks falling into her face. Since her opinion is of such importance, "I don't like that you're her Weyrleader." Still. Always. There's some accusation to that one brown eye, the other hidden by hair's regained length. "But I won't lie to you." Some consolation as she seeks her own in that bag of cookies. "I know," Taikrin offers softly, but it's not an apology. "It's not forever. Just... rather you weren't touched by all this. You know what they say about her-- last thing I want is people aiming at you instead. Hraedhyth will go first, I know it in my bones. And then you'll have something fresh. Whole." She gingerly shrugs the jacket back over her shoulders, but doesn't otherwise look to budge from her perch. "I'm sorry I ain't had a lot of time, lately. I didn't really think there was always so much to do. Reckon it'll be easier now the wings have stopped fighting me so much. Maybe." It may have become a regular complaint by now. Enough of one that Taikrin's simple acknowledgment eases the intensity of that half-hidden stare. That is, until it bothers Azaylia enough to say something. "They wouldn't." Faith in the 'folk or in her own innocence, "I'm not a liar." She drops into the cushion with the most severe dip, hair brushed behind her shoulders once more. The brownrider's apology is answered with a crunch and a nod, "It's okay. I do understand that part. I've been busy too." Her expression softens, shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch. "I'm sorry it's been hard on you. You're doing a good job." As far as she can tell, outside of the wings. "You're not. But people who're upset and angry and feel like they've been don't really use much logic when they go after whoever they want to blame. Whoever's on top. They'd come up with something, or else make shit up." Taikrin nearly swipes a hand across her face, and catches the gesture just as the tips of her fingers make contact with delicate skin. "Doing the best I can to let them vent it out. Give them something else to think about. Make them angry about drills and being tired, and maybe they'll forget about how they hate everyone and everything. You know? Like being hitched to runners going in different directions, but it's going. Slowly." She slips down from the arm of the couch to settle carefully onto the cushion. "Thank you," she finally adds in acknowledgement. "Can't keep people from thinking what they like." Night brings with it Azaylia's more somber thoughts, or it could just be fatigue from her own busy day. Her brows furrow, even as a finger pushes the lingering half of a cookie past her lips, "That's not good, Taikrin. I don't want people angry at you just 'cause..." Her earlier words on opinions and thought are still fresh enough to halt the rest, and instead the weyrwoman gives a resigned sigh. Once the brownrider has dropped onto the couch, her fate is sealed. Azaylia doesn't hesitate in crawling over, careful not to aggravate the older woman's burns as she tucks herself up against her. The sack is placed in her lap, an offer to share even as the goldrider's hunching to rest her brow near Taikrin's jaw. It's an embrace meant to comfort: they're both in need of a cuddle. Taikrin quite willingly brings her arms up to wrap loosely around Azaylia-- this time her sigh is faintly pleased. "People're always angry with me for one thing or another," she murmurs into the top of her hair. "No big deal, 'm used to it." Her faint smile is audible as she adds, "Don't you worry about me none. We're tough. Takes more'n people talking to really bring us down." Perhaps it's meant to be comforting to Azaylia: one hand is making slow, light circles on the other woman's back. "It'll be alright in the end." Azaylia is not unused to compensating for a shorter rider-- and sometimes the weyrwoman likes to act as small as she may sometimes feel. "At least you are who you say you are." It's enough to have her fingers tightening on Taikrin's jacket rather than risk her sore skin. "I know you're tough enough." Though she may have come to understand the arguments against Szadath's, "I still don't like it." The same can't be said for the brownrider's touch, those light circles helping to ease the tension from her body. In the comfortable quiet that follows, there's a soft whimper, "I hope so." |
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