Logs:Where Are The Linens?
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| RL Date: 25 September, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Irianke have a moment amid the chaos of their day-to-day lives. |
| Where: Storerooms, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 12, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Drex/Mentions |
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| Mid-morning finds Irianke working in the storage caverns, running over inventory with several of her staff. There's a clipboard in her hand and a pair of spectacles low on her nose as she looks down at the list and at the shelves. "Well, where do you think twenty sets of linens walked off to then?" The goldrider's voice is tense, as she has been most of this morning, and her irritation is so thinly masked it's palpable. "Go. Go find the damn linens and don't come find me until you discovered who took them and where they are and that they're back on the shelves." Initially, the Weyrwoman's junior isn't there, but she's already making her way through the passageway, that links the kitchen to the stores, on the tail end of the other goldrider's spiel. A querulous brow lifts as she holds her silence, coming to a polite stopping point just beyond those personnel, if only until they move on. "Did something go missing?" Farideh asks, obviously only having caught the second half. She glances around, mildly perplexed, with her hands clasp in front of the utilitarian skirt she's chosen to wear today. The women around Farideh rustle and move, some looking near tears, and others looking decidedly pissed off. There are some inaudible mumbles about bitch or something or other, but certainly, that can't be about Irianke, right? An Irianke who, now that the minions are scattering to look for something lost is left alone in the proverbial linen closet with Farideh. "Some linens tithed from Nabol a turn ago. We probably need to revisit how people sign things out and how goods are distributed." The goldrider pinches her brow and sighs. "Fuck. Fifteen, Farideh. Fifteen." And thus, the source of all bad things today, a reference to the clutching two days ago. Those references to their dearly beloved Weyrwoman only earn a pursing of lips and equal raise of her eyebrows. It's once the other women have left, and left them alone, that Farideh takes a few steps forward, studying Irianke's face with apprehensive hazel eyes. "Linens," she murmurs, shaking her head slightly, and then, she cuts a look to the shelving. "Are you that worried about it? It's less than-last time, even if there was only one." When she glances back, she's sympathetic and anxious looking all at once. "Maybe Roszadyth won't clutch as many." Frazzled isn't a word normally attributed to Irianke. Warm. Friendly. Driven. Workaholic. Weyr bicycle (if Pern had such things). But frazzled? The goldrider looks at the ground with closed eyes. "It should have been smaller. We should have thirty candidates for fifteen eggs and however many your gold has... double that." And it's just too many people for the now, wide-eyed Irianke to fathom just at this moment. She takes in a breath and releases it and then another and releases it. Something in this ritual calms the Igen woman and when she looks at the younger woman again, it's with less irritation and more of a sly watchfulness permeating her look over the course of the last few weeks. "How are you two doing? Soon, you won't be able to fly out of here anymore." "What can we do?" Farideh still wears that sympathetic, anxious expression when she asks the simple, well-meant question, as if she's likely not started thinking of five hundred things -- horrible ideas. "Could we, would we, throw our search wider?" She's clearly deferring to whatever the woman with the experience, with countless searches under her belt, says on the subject. "Us? Oh. Roszadyth is delighted. Bored. Sometimes cranky. Lythronath has been parking himself on, or around, her, I'm sure you've noticed," has the vague lilt of amusement, but then there's a sigh and a look. "I've been meaning to-- I wanted to talk to you." There's a slight paling at the mention of Lythronath and an uneasiness slips in and off of Irianke's face, almost as if it were never there. "Here, can you carry this for me?" Irianke asks, reaching for a small box of thread spools. It's not heavy and surely the Weyrwoman can carry it herself. Until it's clear the goldrider is rearranging the entire linen closet, using Farideh's hands as an extra shelf in which to hold things until they find their final home. "What's up? I was thinking we should take over the kitchen tonight and I can bake you some cookies. We could have some tea, cookies, paint our nails?" All this is said as she moves items, small things, all around. A nod suffices for Farideh consent, as her arms are used as transition storage between arrangements. "Do you think the cooks would mind? I didn't know you knew how to bake, or did you mean--" She's on the verge of laughter, but, it's not quite the place and she quickly sobers with an nervous glance slanted towards Irianke. She could build it up-- then again, she's more into emotional outbursts, and this one is no different. "I'm pregnant," slips off her tongue as easily as a murder confession, strain evident in her features. "So you are," says Irianke immediately, not surprised and yet not unsurprised. She does stop her sudden activity and stands there, hand outstretched towards skeins of yarn. "Are you?" The words sound a little strained, but the eyes that turn to find Farideh are filled with delight. A pure, unadulterated delight. "Congratulations, my darling." Between the two comments, somehow Farideh's strain shifts to confusion, and it takes her a couple of beats to successfully construct a sentence. "I'm-- yes, I suppose I am. That's what the healers tell me. Not that I'm showing yet, or--" She's horribly, terribly bad at this part. "Thank you, Irianke. I'm-- you're not-- mad? I know the timing isn't right. It's--" Whatever it is, apparently; like or not. "You're pregnant, why would I be mad?" Bemused, if in a chiding fashion, Irianke sets the box of thread spools down and rocks back onto her heel before turning the rest of the way with open arms to envelope Farideh except, she realizes just in time the other woman is now holding the spiky ends of a spinning wheel. "Let me take that from you," those are plucked out and set aside, and those arms open again. "When is timing ever right for a child? But why not a child? Are you...," the older woman pauses, "Happy?" "I don't know," Farideh admits. "It seems like the wrong time and the wrong circumstances. Niahvth just rose. We're settling into our roles. You have plans. I'm supposed to help. How can I help when I get as big as a hold?" She's looking sullen by the end, which turns surprised by the embrace-stop-embrace; she's soon wrapped in the older goldrider's arms and returns to sullen. "I don't know," gets repeated again, "I'm worried, scared, nervous. I don't know how to be mother. I don't know if I can be a mother. I don't-- know." "Because," Irianke starts, with that note of absolute dryness, "What we do requires agility and endurance beyond compare." The dryness remains, but the embrace about the other goldrider stays warm and comforting, hands rubbing up and down along Farideh's arm and back. "Shhh." No other placating words other than that soothing sound. The gist of what Irianke says passes Farideh by, though her expression shifts by degrees, showing confusion before melting back into glumness. "It's fine," she sighs; taking the shushing to heart enough go completely quiet after. "I have plans," says Irianke into Farideh's hair. "But they can be done even while we are sands bound. Even when you are unable to between. Even if," she adds, gently, "You get as large as hold. I promise. But if you are worried about parenting, I am probably not the best person to talk to. Have you spoken with a rider who is also a parent? K'del? He seems to manage, Faranth even knows how. I keep expecting him to give up one or the other, but I swear, he continues out of sheer obstinance to prove me wrong." "Are you sure? I've come a long way now. I don't want to disappoint you, again." It's not that she's trying to be morose, exactly, but she sounds a bit dejected. "K'del? You want me to ask K'del? No." Farideh's answer is staunch, and relaxed by her following, "I don't want to be like him, not like that, trying to balance both. There's nannies, right? And fostering? Maybe she can go back to Igen, at least for a while. Igen is a nice place to grow up." "She?" Irianke latches onto this gender designation, pulling back so only her hands are on the other woman's shoulders. There's a small smile on her face. "I fostered my child. He barely knows me now, but I am also not Nimae. If you'd like your daughter," again another, very telltale little amused pause, "To be involved in your life more than my son was in mine, I will help you find a way to balance that. I promise." "It feels odd calling it an it, even if it probably is just an it right now." Reproduction and birth are clearly well beyond Farideh's expertise, and it doesn't take her confusion expression, complete with brow furrow, to notice. "I don't know. I've never-- wanted them. Children. It's always been something that was expected of me-- then, before, and I ran away from that. I have something now, something of my own, and I don't have, I just--" She stops herself, chewing on her lip and staring at Irianke anxiously. "Farideh," says Irianke, now releasing the goldrider from her touch and just lookinag at her with a mixture of mild fascination and kindness. "What?" Farideh almost squirms under the Weyrwoman's stare, linking and unlinking her fingers as her cheeks suddenly flush pink. "I'm happy for you and proud of you." Irianke steps back and looks away from Farideh for a fleeting second, allowing the other goldrider that moment to be flushed without eyes. When her gaze returns, she's warmth, if not smiles. The only adjective for her look is serene. "I'm glad you decided to keep your baby," as if there was any other option, "And I will be more than happy to work with you to make it work in any way you'd like, including having one of the headwomen come up with a suitable list of candidates to foster your child, if that's what you'd prefer over a nanny." Flustered Farideh keeps on flushing, despite the other goldrider's words; at least she looks slightly appeased, now, with her eyes cast downwards. "I still have to talk to Drex about that," she says after a generous silence, lifting her eyes and wrinkling her nose simultaneously. "I think he thinks babies can go on boats. Thank you, Irianke, for--" No, no, she won't be a broken record, braving a timid smile instead. "We have time. Eight months? Eight months, or so. It seems long. Is it long?" "No, darling, it's not," says a woman who has likely forgotten everything about pregnancy and the trials of it. "Let's hope they find the missing fabric, but in the mean time, I have a letter to write Lady Tevrane." The unexpected change from personal to business catches Farideh off guard, but she seems relieved to be moving onto territory that is much more familiar than-- babies, pregnancy, and that ilk. "I'm sure they misplaced it in plain sight, or have it hidden around here somewhere." She steps to the side and out of the way, nodding her head in reference to Nabol's Lady Holder. "I should check in with Jounine." "Tell her to fire the incompetent assistants." Someone is back to being in a tempermental mood. Someone. "No. Well, yes, if she wants to." Farideh's laugh is actually sunny and unaffected, and she wiggles the fingers on her right hand at Irianke as she steps out towards the hallway with every intention of finding Jounine -- to fire, maybe. "I'll pass along the message," she says, and continues on her merry way. |
Comments
Leova (23:22, 6 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
Wouldn't have survived without nannies. Even with an Anvori. Good luck. May you not have twins.
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