Logs:Wine and Gossip
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| RL Date: 3 January, 2016 |
| Who: Mirinda, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Discussion of topics both pleasant and not. |
| Where: Olivya's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 21, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dahlia/Mentions, D'mar/Mentions, Indalys/Mentions, Kh'tyr/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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| One of the perks of being the Weyrlingmaster is setting the schedule for who is watching the weyrlings into the evening, and this evening, that someone is someone other than Olivya. Ivraeth has curled up contentedly in the soft fleece of her wallow, gleaming with clean hide and fresh oil. Olivya has curled up on one of her couches in front of the cheerily blazing fire in the hearth, a full glass of a nice Benden red in hand. Dinner for her consists of only a handful of fruits and cheese, despite having a guest over. "So, how was Monaco?" she questions with a curve of a brow. "With N'rov, I hear?" Mirinda, of course, will eat anything. Drink anything, too-- but only ever in moderation. Even she has drawn her feet up beneath her, their existence hidden by the length of her skirt, a shawl around her shoulders helping to keep her warm. "With N'rov," she agrees, perfectly even; there's nothing to tell, here, Liv, so don't go jumping to conclusions. Promise. "Zaisavyth wanted Vhaeryth there... and I think N'rov was glad to escape. I wish it hadn't been midnight when we arrived, but it was still nice to be back." Olivya doesn't easily let go of those suspicions, her soft blue eyes narrowing in a study of her friend as she answers. But, without enough presented to jump to conclusions, she merely moves on to add, "I am glad that you were able to escape. That Zaisavyth--. It could have been ugly." Abruptly solemn, Mirinda gives a little bob of her head by way of answer. "It could," she agrees. "I didn't like to acknowledge it when I spoke to Dahlia; I don't want to worry her. Had Zaisavyth been in a more possessive mood... of course, it helped that she is so recently off the sands. She's very comfortable with the mantle of senior queen, and that helps." She tilts her wine glass, but doesn't drink from it. "How do you feel about two clutches so close together?" "And she had her mate with her, all of which helps," Olivya murmurs consideringly, her own wine glass lifted for a slow sip as she slides a look over to Mirinda. "But Dahlia will need to find some way to recognize the signs earlier, in the future. Hopefully Taeliyth will give more warning. It was just her maiden flight." But she shakes her head lightly to dismiss the thought, focusing instead on the last question. "I am grateful that I have Kh'tyr back on the team." She punctuates her words with a tap of her fingernail against her wine glass. "And that I have the one on loan from Ista. But it will be a challenge." "I hope so," says Mirinda, with a frown still lingering about her expression. "The difficulty, of course, is not knowing how long her cycle will be. Two turns? Three? Four? We've no idea, so we don't even know when to begin looking." Abruptly, she shakes her head, and turns her attention back to her wine, instead. "It will be a challenge. Six months apart... and by all accounts, a long flight. Not exactly what we needed, Liv." "No, it isn't what we needed. But unless you want to try to go back in time and prevent her from rising, well--." That dry humor appears as it usually does, in the drawl of Olivya's words and the carelessness there. She grows more serious to add, "It's not what we needed, but we will handle it. And given the recent hit our population took..." She twirls her wine glass, thoughtful as she peers into its depths. "Taeliyth has been living in an injured Weyr. It's to be somewhat expected that she'd instinctively respond in the only way she could." Mirinda makes a face, but nods evenly enough all the same, transferring her glass from one hand to the other as she considers the rest of Liv's words. "I think part of it, too, was desire to win out over Zaisavyth; more eggs. Never mind that it's not-- well. She's young. I have high hopes that all of this will help mellow Taeliyth. Zaisavyth, at least, is easier to handle now that her clutch has hatched; she doesn't feel the same need to rub her supremacy into anyone's face." Most of the time. "If it is a large clutch, more eggs, we will manage," Olivya repeats again with her easy confidence. "Even if it means scrimping and scraping now, it will be better for Fort in the long run to replace the riders that we've lost. Especially if we're going to make it through an Interval and be ready to fight Thread on the other side." Even as she says it, however, she lifts that Benden red to her lips; likely, something sent from home rather than out of her own pockets. "Your weyrlings are doing well, too, if that makes Zaisavyth any easier. They are all strong and healthy with only the usual adjustment problems." Focusing her gaze on Olivya, Mirinda points out: "We're more than a hundred and fifty turns from the next Pass, and between now and then we don't need huge rider numbers. In a hundred and fifty turns we need to replace the lost, but now?" She shakes her head. Even so, she's firm in her, "I am glad to hear that, though. N'rov tells me there's a pair of young men who've struck up some kind of bond?" "But we are supposed to lose our numbers naturally," counters Olivya lightly. "The queens will stop rising as frequently, produce less and less eggs. If we lose all of our numbers at the start, there won't be enough left to even continue when we're deep into the Interval." The young men get the hint of a laugh exhaled, and the Weyrlingmaster only tips her glass in a point. "Seventeen turns old, and they believe that they are in love. It helps, of course, that they can't be together. Mostly, I've said to my assistants to stay out of it and let them have privacy when they are allowed. Us standing in the way will only make it more urgent." "You need only one queen and one bronze to continue a line," is Mirinda's reply to that, though she's not arguing, not really, and readily abandons that line of conversation to focus on the two young men. "You don't believe there's any chance they can actually be in love, do you. But even if they're not, it's sweet. As long as they don't break any rules, I certainly don't have a problem with it, though N'rov seems... less sanguine." Olivya only makes a soft noise to Mirinda's point, her brow once again curving upwards as she takes a slow sip from her wine. But once she has, she moves on easily to the conversation at hand to agree, "At seventeen? I'm not sure that they know how to lace their own boots at seventeen. They don't have enough experience to know any better." She smiles, though, and counters, "You don't have to deal with it every day. It's nauseating, all the stolen moments and covert glances and pining, like we wouldn't notice. But, as long as they aren't upsetting their dragons-- What would N'rov have done?" Mirinda presses her lips together, and then smiles. Simply, "I was a fully trained weyrwoman at seventeen," she points out. "And I'll grant you that there's life experience to be had in Impression, and that by the end of weyrlinghood you tend to be a little more mature than you were before, but still. However, I can't deny I'm not glad to miss the pining. The idea is possibly more sweet than the actuality." Of N'rov, she simply shrugs; she doesn't know. "And if you had proclaimed yourself in love with the nearest bronzerider to make sweet eyes at you, I would have called you just as silly," Olivya counters with a breath of laughter, her own smile a crooked sort of thing before it disappears again. "Weyrwoman or not." She shrugs up a shoulder in a casual roll, however. "I'm not dismissing the experience of Impression. Of course I am not. Or the maturity that can be found in it and weyrlinghood. But being able to know you're in love? True, lasting love? I'm not sure if even I would recognize it, at my age." The very idea makes Mirinda giggle; she puts her hand carefully atop her wine glass to ensure she doesn't spill it everywhere as she reacts. More serious, as the giggles dispel themselves, "My mother loves my father. Loves him despite everything. The very idea of... of that kind of single-minded devotion." She shakes her head. "I never want to fall in love." "Then I will stop trying to woo you," deadpans Olivya in perfect timing and counterpoint to the seriousness. She holds her own serious look on the goldrider for a moment, then two longer. Before she lets out a soft sigh and adds, "Not that I think you're wrong. Not that your mother's love is what you should look up to. But it all seems like more mess than anyone needs." Mirinda bats her eyelashes at Olivya, but only for a second or two; she, too, is more focused upon the more serious side of the conversation. "It does," she agrees. "I have Zaisavyth. If I want physical company, that's easy enough to come by, too." Though, in truth, this has never been a particular driving force for Mirinda. "More than that... I can only see ways for it to go wrong." "Mmm. Who are you convincing here, Rin? No temptations lately, are there?" is what Olivya counters, once again studying her friend for any indications of something she might not know. "No," is bland; if Mirinda is obfuscating, she's doing a good job of it. "It wasn't even something I was thinking about except for that mention of the weyrlings. And being back at Monaco, I suppose, even if I didn't visit mother." "And M'kris?" Olivya questions gently, certainly more careful than her usual method. Mirinda's expression tightens. "I don't intend to visit him at all," she says, simply. "He may not have murdered R'hin, but... I'm done, Liv." "For now," is Olivya's answer, but she doesn't meet Mirinda's gaze as she takes a slow sip of wine. "But if you return to Monaco in three or four turns, if we are back there with him-- You won't be able to avoid him, then." A pause, before she adds, "You might want to come to some sort of closure with him before then, if you are still considering returning." "I will," could mean closure, except that no; it doesn't. "He's basically confined to his cottage. The most I will ever need to do is escort him to Ierne before Torith rises." Mirinda's voice is tight and hard, her gaze fixed to the art above the mantle. "And that doesn't mean I need to speak to him. I'm serious, Liv. I am done." Olivya's lips soften into the hint of a concerned frown, and she counters gently again, "For now. But time changes everything. Restrictions like that always relax over time. In five turns? It may just be confined to the Weyr." She doesn't press further, though. Instead, she only agrees with a simple, "Ok, Rin," as she takes a sip of wine. "You know I only ever want what is best for you." The firm, over firm, shake of Mirinda's head suggests that that this simply not a topic she's ready to address properly; the look on her face is a miserable one. "I know," she says. "But I can't." "You can do anything that you put your mind to, darling. Because you are absolutely brilliant, and lovely, and kind, and smart," Olivya answers, but her tone takes on a more broad meaning rather than a specific counter to that subject. "And I love you, even if love is messy and complicated. You won't ever need to fall in love, because you will always have me." And she stretches out one leg across the gap between their couches, to press a toe to the nearest part of Mirinda that she can manage, which is likely just a knee. It is just a knee, but Mirinda wastes no time in reaching out to grab that foot, squeezing it in the same way she might squeeze a hand if it were on offer, instead. "And you will always have me," she promises. "because you are brilliant and lovely and kind and smart, times two." She releases the foot, then lifts her gaze to grin at the other woman. "So we're even." "It doesn't sound very even if it's times two." But, notably, Olivya isn't arguing against that assertion for all that her own grin etches into her features as she meets Mirinda's gaze. "Now, back to how to keep weyrlings from falling in love--." Mirinda doesn't have a good reply to that first, remark, but to the last? "I'm sorry, I think you may be stuck, there. They're teenagers; it's inevitable. But," she gestures towards the bottle. "At least there's wine. Drink up." At that, Olivya will reach over to refill her glass in every bit of agreement. "Maybe we should stop letting all of the Candidates spend so much time bonding together," she suggests, not seriously. "There's another weyrling, Impressed one of the greens, who has been making eyes at any male who looks her way, already. I am tempted to tell Kh'tyr and D'mar to watch themselves around her, lest they get crushes." She'll be more than happy to continue in this line for the rest of the evening, keeping the topics to light things and weyrlings. |
Comments
Kh'tyr (09:21, 4 January 2016 (PST)) said...
I'm getting a crush right now.
Fun scene!! I especially liked the dynamics of when questions were asked and when they weren't and when there was some circle back toward unasked/unpressed questions.
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