Logs:What Now
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| RL Date: 9 May, 2013 |
| Who: Z'ian, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A furious Z'ian seeks out a guilt-ridden Azaylia and voices his concerns. The weyrwoman listens. Decisions are made. |
| Where: Weyrleader Complex, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 9, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, F'manis/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Backscene, takes place a day after Things Are Not Okay |
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| Weyrleader Complex, High Reaches Weyr Only about a man's height from the ground, this low ledge is wide and flat, reached by a set of timeworn steps that hug the cliff face. As the ledge stretches back away from the head of the stairs, it simultaneously broadens out over the bowl and tunnels into the mountain to become a sort of antechamber, from which a passageway winds back to the Weyrwoman's weyr, the council room, the records room and the hatching sands. A small round table is set in a shallow alcove here, surrounded by four chairs that provide a waiting area for those seeking one of the weyrleaders. Another short flight of stairs leads upward from the tapering end of the ledge to the Weyrleader's quarters, while others lead to the further recessed junior queens' weyrs. While it's hard to get a good look at the lake from here, the view does encompass the majority of the bowl and the comings and goings across its span. Several days after the mock threadfall over Crom. The wings had been forced to leave the weyr by the golds, the riders and their respective dragons have not been pleased. To put it lightly. Really, a lot of them are pissed still. Most returned right after the drill. Boreal was one of the last. Despite possessing some of the more resistent pairs at High Reaches and having to experience more blunt 'persuasion' then others, they remained behind to help with clean up anyway. The extra time they'be had to process what happened as well has the few days inbetween has done nothing to abate Z'ian's temper. Which is rarely but seen, but once he's on a roll? Well. The sound of his boots are likely the first thing that Azaylia is going to hear on the way up there. Determined, loud. And anyone that's there having a meeting or trying to talk with her? They're going to want to leave. While the shallow alcove is typically used as a waiting area, Azaylia finds it a fair compromise between stuffy indoors and gray weather. Hidework set aside, next to a mug of decidedly strong klah as those stomps grow louder, nearer. There doesn't seem to be anyone else nearby, her focus settling on the corner in which the owner of those boots is expected to turn. The weyrwoman crosses her arms with the faintest hunch forward, bracing herself for what can't be the first complaint of the day. When he's recognized her shoulders drop, obvious surprise causing her to sit up straight, "Z'ian." "No one, not you or Aishani wants to get involved with Taikrin and stop her from doing things like this beforehand. But when the wings take matters into their own hands because no one wants to listen to the disgruntlement of more than a few riders, the two of you emerge from your cave and get involved." Z'ian shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest. "I've got a green with a banged up wing from going between too suddenly and smashing into a brown. Lord Crom would probably like to know why we're burning up all of his firestone on rope and paint. Lady Tillek is pissed. But don't worry. You two got the wings to go between to fight a fake threadfall in preparation for real threadfall that none of us will ever see." That earlier surprise is well placed, growing along with the widening of her eyes with each passing moment. By the time Z'ian has slowed, Azaylia's arms are crossed even tighter than before, hunching forward with her jaw tilted up towards him. She's braced, but not bowing, at least not physically. It's difficult to school her obvious guilt when she refuses to tear away from his gaze, swallowing several times until, "I thought it was like before. With Iolene. I didn't..." Attempt at a stony resolve crumbles too quickly, worn down over the day as her forehead drops into her palm. "Your Acting Weyrwoman would've been able to do it by herself." A bitter mumble, a possible glance aimed up from between her fingers. "Are you going to find her next?" "Really." Z'ian lifts his eyebrows, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he stares over at her. "I'm not talking to my Acting Weyrwoman right now, I'm talking to Azaylia." He misses or ignores that question about whether he'll see her next. "What or who was it that convinced you this was the ideal time to step up and get involved? Taikrin?" His voice is low but the frustration and borderline rage from having to deal with a confused, hysterical group of riders and dragons has taken their toll on him for the day and remains deep in his throat. "Woman. If you're going to get involved in this business now, I sure hope that you've got an idea to finish it. Because you are done sitting on your hands and saying you're not involved. Your queen threw her weight at these dragons and forced them. You don't get to pull back now and say 'It's all Taikrin' or 'It's all Aishani' after it's over." His stare doesn't waiver. "What. Now." He'll have his answer in a subtle flinch, in the more obvious clench of fingers around her upper arm at mention of Taikrin's name. Still, Azaylia answers, "Yes." Clipped, resigned to his barely bitten back fury. His accusation is what drives her palm down, the weight of it landing with a smack against the table. "I'm not." She insists, almost a plea if not for the force behind it. There's no rush to get to her feet, but this is not a conversation she's able to have sitting down. Not with Z'ian. "I know what I did. I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't. Taikrin was so... so angry. I'd never seen her... She's been trying so hard and it just felt like--" Quite voice is cut off, fingers curling faintly atop the table as she forces herself to focus on the now. The goldrider starts again, "I know what I did. I know I can't take it back. I'm supposed to know better. I should've realized how angry it would make the Holders." But she didn't. And now? Her dark gaze finds his once again, "I wish someone had told me what the wings were planning." His last goes unanswered, though her tired expression echoes it: What now? "No, Azaylia. She's been manipulating everyone so hard. Not working. Surrounding herself with yes-men that tell her what she wants to hear, then becoming baffled and angry at everyone else when it doesn't work. She's dividing the wings in half, those with her and those against." Z'ian unfolds his arms and waves one towards the Weyrleader's weyr that the brownrider has been occupying. "The two of you do not need her. You don't need her to protect you from scary things in the world. She needs you to control the wings, she can't do it herself. And she can't do it with just Aishani either or they would have never asked you. And now they're asking you to do things that are hurting us." Some of the rage has dialed down, but the dead serious look hasn't gone out of his eyes. He reaches out to try and put a hand on either shoulder. "As for the wings, "Give us a reason to trust you. Please." Azaylia grabs his arms when the bronzerider reaches for her shoulders, intent on keeping him there rather than push him away. It has little to do with balance, feet steady as she takes in what Z'ian says. "After Aishani I... she cared. Taikrin was there for me." Not an argument against manipulation, realizing as much as she closes her eyes in a slow wince. "I didn't want to abandon her." It has less to do with the brownrider's boasted protection, but everything to do with need. If her nails bite into his sleeves she's unaware, lips pressing into a thin line as she mirrors his stare. It's not for him, though her suspicion is obvious and unbecoming. "You could be doing the same thing." She lets go of him then, shoulders tensing beneath his palms, "I don't have any reason to trust you." The weyrwoman has no plans to be used again, and yet, "I made a mistake. A big one. I want to fix it." Already, Hraedhyth's smothering black plumes are dissipating, though not for Tsanth. Not just yet. The warrior queen is prepared to defend her rider, emotions adding fuel to those flames that are only just kept at bay. "You don't have any reason to trust me. But you don't have any reason to not trust me. Which is more than you can say for just about everyone else you've been dealing with." He's not a forceful man. At least not in this but he is being firm even as the rage dissipates, changing over more to frustration. She lets go of his arms and he doesn't visibly register that she's been squeezing them with her nails, but he does grasp her shoulders more firmly. "It has to start somewhere. Trust isn't going to happen between Taikrin and the wings, believe me that I've tried." It's a plea, not pleading, but a plea. He's still maintaining that steady eye contact, trying to look beyond the suspicion to see past it. "Support your riders. You flew with them as an active pair in the wings, not in the queen's wing. They'll respect you. You're one of us, take that. Take that faith and show them that Hraedhyth cares for her dragons. Don't let Taikrin and Szadath run all over everyone, curb them before this gets any worse. You can do that. Who's going to stop you?" Z'ian's words ring as true as her own, a fact that brings Azaylia's brows together for a pensive pinch. Her eyes drop from his to his chin, heavy with thought only until she realizes it and returns to the bronzerider's stern face. "Okay." An echo of determination, "Okay. We tried. We tried it this way, and people-- dragons, are getting hurt." Her dragons, her people. His last question prompts a jolt, possibly fear, more than likely an adrenaline spike of realization. She sets to unclenching her fists, forcing herself to relax, whispered mantra carried on that slow exhale, "We're still equal." There's no context offered, no explanation beyond, "Aishani might. She can try." Beyond her resolve is that guilt from earlier, not shaken but shifted. "Hraedhyth still likes Szada--." Another wince, sharper, though she shakes it off quickly, "I'll try. I'm trying. I'll... if you have any suggestions?" An offer to listen, as she has been. "I don't have any quarrel with Aishani other than this determined support of Taikrin at the cost of the rest of us." Z'ian shakes his head then, looking momentarily dismayed. He doesn't like this anymore than she does, clearly. He takes a breath and finds his gaze onto her again, the grip of his fingers loosening along her shoulders finally. "That's enough. Only one of you has to pull support from her. Because Iesaryth can't force the entire weyr all on her own. And then, in that chaos is when you should move. Put someone up to take charge of the wings in the meantime that's not objectionable, that can give you the chance to soothe things with the holds. Someone that's been around. Support them. The rest will fall into place because there won't be time to do anything else otherwise." He shrugs his shoulders. "At least that's what I would do. If I was a goldrider and I had all the opportunity and strength that you have." "Okay. I'll do it slowly." Azaylia decides, as firm as she can be to force out the lingering lilt of uncertainty. "I don't know if it'll help." Be it a steady drain of influence or quick like a bandage, no doubt Taikrin is not going to be pleased. It's now that she slips from beneath his relaxed grip, not that the weyrwoman puts any distance between them after she does. Standing on her own, there's an almost careless mumble at one possibility, "K'del." Passed over as casually as any wondering thought, not too quickly, though. "Someone like... you?" The mild accusation in her tone matches that earlier suspicion, still only considering what Z'ian would do if he was a goldrider. She's begun to shift her weight from one leg to the other, anxious energy coming to a sudden halt as she states, "I need to know about these sorts of things from now on." Not as bitter as before, "I'm doing my best, and I know it's not good enough. I'm not learning fast enough. I've made mistakes, but this one could have been avoided." Now it's she who wears the pointed stare, though it's obvious she sets the majority of blame squarely on her shoulders. With her out from under his hands, he stuffs them into the pockets of his jacket. "It'll help. Every bit that's away from her helps." That mild accusation is met with a lift of his eyebrows, then just an amused quirk tugging on the corners of his mouth. "Why does everyone think I want to steal this Weyr out from under them?" It's more or less rhetorical as he exhales a breath of air and tips his chin upwards. "Maybe someone like F'manis. Sisha. They're both solid, not radical. Respected." He drops his gaze back down to her again. "Are people going to lose their knots, have to fear for their future leading their wings? Because there's a lot of that. If they felt safe coming to you, then you'd likely hear about this sort of thing more often. But there's been fear of retribution." He lifts his shoulders, not from her specifically, but. Well. There's a tug at the corner of Azaylia's mouth at Z'ian's own faint amusement, not even worthy of being called a smirk. The ill-fitted expression is short lived, "I don't think that's it." The bronzerider is welcome to feel judged, however lightly, as she takes a moment to gather an opinion. "I think... well. You're already a very good Wingleader." All it takes is changing a few letters, not a far leap from Weyrleader. There's more to it, unable to explain as his nominations seem to startle her. "I... maybe." Still not willing to agree with him outright, still just wary enough. "No. Weyrwomen... don't handle the wings." In this, in tradition, she hesitates. "But I won't have riders losing their knots unless it's deserved. Weyrwomen look after the people of the weyr, wingriders included." She's unable to muster Hraedhyth's ferocity, finally beginning to feel the fatigue of the past few days. Z'ian is given another steady glance, "I'll think about what you've said." Ultimately, it's her decision. ...isn't it? Z'ian laughs, which would seem out of place if it were another man that had been seethingly angry with her not that long ago. But somehow it manages to look natural, it might be the short start that proceeds it. "At least Boreal has started to. We'll see." He can't comment further than that and as for his own nominations, well. He's not the sort to put himself up like that. So maybe it shouldn't be too shocking. "No? Weyrwomen don't handle the wings? You did it this seven." The bronzerider points out candidly as a reminder. There is a positive nod, when she follows up with the rest. His smile is small, but reassuring. "Thanks." It's then that he glances over his shoulder, mouth pursing. "I have to go. Tsanth wants me to look in on the rider of the dragon with the wrenched wing." He lifts his shoulders, non-verbally asking for an apology. There's pause where he'll wait for any pressing responses, then he'll take his leave. Guilt, fresh and deeply felt at the mention of the injured dragon, of Azaylia's own hand in it. "I... Tell them I'm sorry?" She can hope, but won't hold it against him if Z'ian decides not to. No more than that, and as the bronzerider turns to leave, her hand blindly grasps at her seat before she drops into it. Hraedhyth's rider has a lot to think about. |
Comments
Jolie (Jolie (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 10 May 2013 15:10:56 GMT.
< Z'ian /oozes/ 'leader' to me in this scene. It's a very short step from that to Weyrleader. ;D
A very interesting scene, putting the pressure on Azaylia~
Ceawlin (Ceawlin (talk)) left a comment on Fri, 10 May 2013 18:07:13 GMT.
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Ooooh the plot thickens! Good scene guys! Very intense, tense; I can't wait to see what happens next. :D
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