Logs:To No Avail
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| RL Date: 28 January, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Azaylia has been avoiding H'kon. That can only last so long. Both are sick of talking about it, and some things get lost in the other stuff. |
| Where: Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 3, Month 12, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Steady, today's snowfall sticks, creating dunes on the bowl floor. |
| Mentions: Brieli/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather. The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure. The edge of the sands means H'kon's jacket is open; late in the afternoon, he stands in the relative quiet and reflected warmth, hands at his sides, fingers clasped around either corner of that same jacket, head tilted down so that he can peer across the cavern from under the protection of his eyebrows. There is more to winning a gold flight than completely ruining Weyr tradition. There are eggs to consider. And this, too, is a thing the short brownrider will have to get his head around. Azaylia is already shedding her warm cloak in anticipation of the heat, steps slowing so that she can soak it in, at it's source. It will grow to be too much soon but for now the goldrider is giving a sigh of pleasure, sticky first snow melted from her clothing and evaporating. It's too late to be quiet, eyes opening to find the familiar, short silhouette of H'kon in front of her. Avoiding him is one thing, but turning and running off at the sight of the brownrider is rude beyond her abilities. So she walks forward, folding her cloak over one arm, and continues to look out at the sands as she originally intended. Silently. If anything, in this moment, H'kon is aware of his surroundings. Deep thoughts refuse to come, the recesses of his brain exhausted, and so the more superficial things - wind noise, foot noise - are readily received. Still, he allows the goldrider alongside him, and himself as well, a few moments of quiet before turning, just enough he can view her askance. "Then this, too, will be shared." Azaylia is lulled into relaxing ever so slightly by the quiet between them. The sound of his voice doesn't inspire a squeak, but everything does tense in her figure when he speaks. "...I think so." Speaking even more softly than she usually does, the woman is looking at the sands away from the brownrider. "Hraedhyth wouldn't dream of fighting when they both have eggs. And Iesaryth..." Well, that's never been a problem with the calm, sunny gold. "Hm," is more of a grunt than any sort of actual communication. He lets his gaze drift back, forward. "Has she shown signs of fighting with Iesaryth before? Outside of flights," is an afterthought, as though this should certainly be taken for granted. "No, I imagine so long as both clutches are kept safe..." Sun, roses, green fields. Or, snow. H'kon gives a few moments for happier reflection before he dares to wonder, "I am not so certain for the browns. How their instincts will play." How Arekoth's will. Azaylia takes her time in answering to fidget. "Once." Another whisper, "Over... Svissath. Hraedhyth wasn't very... Iesaryth was protective." She explains, reluctant in the task that has little to do with the actual words. She doesn't want to be here. Not with him. "With two queens-- two sires. I think they will be." They'd better be, warn pounding drums at the back of their thoughts. It's now that she risks a glance towards the shorter rider, her expression a mix of frightened and scolded puppy. Her words hold a little more bark, "If they're anything like their riders... the golds will have to keep the peace." Svissath. That gets a glower out of H'kon, directed nowhere. Left to dissipate in the heat of the sands. "Arekoth wanted their blood," is offered almost sympathetically, though his forehead has those not-so-friendly lines to it. He shakes his head, for a moment showing some of the conflict on his face - though it's still turned mostly away from Azaylia. There is less response for that bit of bark; if anything, H'kon goes the more slow motion, turning his head to give the woman a careful inspection. "Do you truly see it as 'keeping the peace' to allow Taikrin to continue in her charade?" It's pensive. Almost gentle. Tired. "Hraedhyth wanted the truth." If that happened to involve Svissath and I'kris' blood, then so be it. Her expression is less severe, less pitiful by the time he finally turns to look at her. Discoloration beneath her gaze hints that sleep is regularly beyond her grasp, though it doesn't seem as she's suffered from a loss of appetite. Not like during the chaos in the wake of Iolene's murder. H'kon's words have her swallowing, "Do you really think I'm so terrible that you want to go to Council?" Brieli, too, but fear doesn't leave much room for fairness. Now that there's momentum, her whisper is harsh in its hurt, "How could you?" H'kon can't possibly be faking the puzzlement that hits his face when Azaylia speaks that first question. The second actually brings a certain firmness to his posture, shoulders squaring slowly, head lifting to look directly at the taller rider's face. "My wish to go to Council is nothing to do with seeing you removed." Still sounding, at least, bemused, to match the slight turn at the corners of his eyes. "The leadership is entirely the result of machinations, as it stands now." More metered, slower, "Now is not the time for a woman attempting to force her will, while underestimating the opposition to her. The Weyr has already been shown a means of dealing with such women, and to think everyone mourned Iolene's death would certainly be false." A problem in itself, and one that warrants a grimace. "And there would be a possibility that a Council decision could force you to act, as you would. And that," and he sounds some mix of apologetic and... encouraging? "might well improve matters." Azaylia is hardly put at ease, even with his denial. "I'm not going to take that chance. Neither is Brieli." So drop it. Even if she's the one to bring it up in the first place. When confronted with one of two people you mean to avoid, it's quite easy to lose your cool. Not that her display is explosive, but her face is edging towards a stare for the brownrider. "Browns, both browns caught the golds in Leadership Flights. No one could have planned that." And she's insulted by the insinuation. "If you'd just stop... You could be a decent Weyrleader, you know." Her voice softens at the quiet confession, though her expression remains steady. "...A good one." Perhaps, if he were the only one contesting the title, but since he isn't, "I'm not going to let people... Monaco, decide what's best for my-- our Weyr." The look H'kon gives her is almost petulant. If he were younger, and his older brother instead of himself, he might even roll his eyes. As it is, it's mostly a flat stare. He's indecisive a moment, and then lifts his chin, his chest pushing out just a bit. "No," is firm, for all it's agreement. "No one planned for a brown to catch. Except Taikrin." He doesn't keep the distaste, distrust, from his voice on her name. Azaylia's insistence gets a slight nod, almost deferent. "Then," tentative, and his chin drops, and his head turns a bit away from Azaylia, "please ensure that your actions are taken for your purposes. I do believe your interests are what is best for High Reaches. And I know you and Brieli are close, but... I would request you consider what might be behind that a woman from Monaco, who makes such effort to be aware of so much that is going on, should be isolated with only a Fortian bronze to chase when her dragon rose. But for my error." The weyrwoman has schooled her emotions enough to remain soft spoken, perhaps even gentle during the unpleasant discussion. It's beginning to falter, the more the brownrider speaks. "At least Taikrin and Szadath didn't abandon us." He's not the only one who can be almost-petulant, her words weighed by a sulk that doesn't make it to her lower lip. Speaking quickly, she shifts onto the subject of her own actions. "I am. I-I'm trying. It doesn't help me to have bronzeriders with hurt pride trying to make trouble." Whether or not she believes that is the cause, at least the goldrider is expecting trouble. Sand grains grind beneath her boots as the taller woman uses those several inches to her advantage, not unlike Arekoth, as she addresses H'kon. "Brieli is as Reachian as you or me, it doesn't matter if her dragon is from Monaco. If you don't think so, then maybe you also have a problem following someone from Keroon." There was no way this discussion was going to happen without hurt feelings. H'kon clamps his mouth shut throughout the weyrwoman's rebukes, nodding his head to each of them, just once. He looks fully back to her, head canting just a little once the flurry of those words has been given chance to pass. And lets out a slow sigh. "Your claim is the one I do not question, Azaylia. And I only took Arekoth because it was a leadership flight. And the Weyr did need a bronze - this is more proven by having browns win than anything else." As an afterthought, "At least the discontented bronzeriders are mostly from this Weyr." It's here H'kon raises a hand, scrubs it over his face, and lets his shoulders sag. "And we can, and surely will, continue discussing nothing but this for days upon days. But perhaps you and I should stop for now. I feel I've spoken nothing but these words since Arekoth caught, and to no avail." "And you still caught, anyway. Brieli." Azaylia rubs his nose in it without really meaning to, struggling with what he intended and what actually happened. "Well, Arekoth caught Iesaryth." Any sympathy she has for H'kon's lack of catching doesn't last long. Already she's replacing her cloak, drawing the heavy fabric around her though the heat makes it nearly unbearable to do so. She's not planning on staying long. "Good idea." She's likely just as sick of the topic as he, but there's more of that sulk to shove off onto the brownrider. "If you can think of anything else to say to me that aren't... wordy ways of telling me I'm a bad Weyrwoman, then maybe we can talk. Later." Maybe. Turning, she doesn't run out into the snowy bowl but her long legs make the escape a quick one. Memory of that flight, and his overall lack of involvement, gets another grimace out of H'kon, but it's Azaylia's leaving that actually seems to deflate the brownrider. His mouth twists off to one side at her words, though he makes no effort to clarify, to correct, to explain. And it's only once she's gone that a slightly disappointed look is sent to the empty space where she'd stood. He won't be long himself in fixing his jacket, and forcing himself back out of the returned quiet of the hatching cavern. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Mon, 28 Jan 2013 20:31:55 GMT.
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Interesting. How does one claim a the position without supporting his Weyrwoman? Hypocrite.
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