Logs:Waiting (Note-Taking, Whittling) Game
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| RL Date: 27 November, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Leova |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Neither weyrwoman nor guard get to move on. Yet. Spring's got to stop with the snow sometime. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 5, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A spring flurry brings in a little late snowfall, though there is no accumulation as the flakes spiral to the ground on a dizzying breeze. |
| Mentions: Taikrin/Mentions |
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| Snow. Snow after it's been pleasant enough to sit outside; likely predictable to anyone used to High Reaches' winters, but Brieli's not there yet. Instead, she is hunched over the council table where the chart has been rolled out again to stare at, take notes from. Her coat is abandoned in one of the chairs and there's a glass near the hand leaning on the table, but it's empty. Sliding it aside, she scratches down a couple sentences on the hides that replace it, looking dissatisfied. The movement catches Leova's glance, even from where she's seated across the table and over a couple seats' worth, a fine small stalagmite of wood shavings growing beneath her careful hands and the small chunk of wood she's whittling. Never a good maidservant, nor servingwoman, she doesn't move to refill the glass. She does, after a moment's afterthought, remember to check the exits: she can at least practice at being a guard. But they only have shadows, and the whisper of distant wind, and that hint of dust that escapes the most flawless drudges. So: "Any luck." It's nearly a question. The younger woman might look up now and then to check the progress of the whittling - as good a way to mark the time as any - but she doesn't ask even so, content to let it take shape in its time. Brieli doesn't seem to expect much in the way of serving or maidservice from anyone guarding her; in fact, she's rather on the opposite end, the side of 'stay-out-unless-you're-damn-sure-you-should-go-in'. In fact, it's not till Leova speaks that she even notices the glass is empty, though she doesn't go for any more. "No more than before, I suppose. There's nothing to point to definitively, aside from behavior. I hope that works." She's wry; she hopes something does. From the wood, small base-weighted figures have emerged over these sevendays since the greenrider first began: markers for the chart, some of them given ink-scribbles as impromptu stains, colors of Hold or Weyr. Or Hall. One might stand in for a human, but has no face. She avoids touching that one. "Something to be said for being done with, one way or another," Leova says eventually. "Planning for what's next. Are you tied to an outcome?" "I was," Brieli says meditatively, looking down at the notes, long hair briefly screening her features. "And I think there's one that's better for us... if perhaps not for my own peace of mind. So I suppose there are benefits and drawbacks to a few different scenarios." That doesn't seem to bring her much comfort or certainty, however. Tapping the notes idly before just pushing them aside as well, "Done is good. Done means what's next, yes. It means moving on, more importantly. Not easy to do with so much left hanging." Leova watches the other woman for a long moment, but that hair of Brieli's that her gaze lingers on before sliding away. Ordinarily she's quiet, taciturn, less inclined to ask. Tonight: "What do you want to make happen next? Afterward." The turn of her knife doesn't stop, pausing only to reassess, to switch direction or stay with what's worked thus far. There's a long quiet moment, where Brieli either considers the chart, or the question, or both. After that, she'll glance up again, lips pursing in thought. Before she speaks, she'll watch Leova back briefly, something wary about her. But; "That depends on a lot of things, I suppose. I didn't think Iolene was wrong, but I'm not about to go forcing anything, either. Mostly, I'd like to make things quiet for a time. Time to adjust. But I don't know if I can manage that, even with my considerable skills." There's a self-deprecating note there, to be sure. Which earns a chuckle, low as Leova's voice is low. Low, and tired. "I'd be for that," she says. "Not a squashed quiet, but for... beginning to remember how to relax." That much of it, at least. Quiet. She doesn't ask further, and her knife is very quiet indeed, this shaving a slow spiral that for once is more about what's removed than what's beneath. "Yes. Perhaps going back to routine, if not normal. I'm sure that guarding does get a bit old. Even for Taikrin, maybe." Brieli has a slight smile for that, before it fades a touch as her thoughts continue, even as her words don't. Picking up the glass to put it somewhere that's not the table, she echoes Leova's word. "Squashed. Like a lid on a pot. We don't like to do it. She always reminds me water runs where it will." Maybe just an observation; maybe drawing comparisons. "Possibly," the second syllable drawn out a hairsbreadth from the first, the third even longer, implication rather than specification. Humorous implication, at least, given the brief glint in Leova's eyes as she glances up. Then, mildly, "Know it can take effort not to." This time, when she pauses, it's to scrape the accumulated shavings in the small bag she always brings for the purpose. "But you know that. I'm thinking, hm. More mundane ways." She cleans her knife, slow strokes, as certain as when she'd worked with it. "Days are getting longer. It adds up." Her gaze inquires: about done with this one? Quirking a slight grin, "Probably." Brieli might mimic the intonation, if only because it entertains her; once the glass is dealt with, there's the notes to pick up with a sweep of her hand. "It can," she'll agree, for all that she doesn't seem to think much of it. "And I'd like to do something that's more entertaining and less fraught with... everything, but I don't know what's appropriate, even once it's done and over with. Though nothing needs to be that formal." For that inquiring gaze, the goldrider has a nod; "I like the light, but... it does. I'm giving up, for tonight." So Leova's off! Shortly, anyway. "There's always synchronized spring cleaning," Leova muses, deadpan as can be. "Everyone dons their Gather finest and... mostly avoids sweeping off onto the ledge below." With that happy thought, she slips into outward silence as only a dragonrider can, until that time when shortly becomes now. Another echo, now with a laugh: "Mostly." Brieli goes from 'shortly' to 'now' in short order - just a brief walk into the flurries before the night is done. One more day down. Less to go, one hopes. |
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