Logs:Zaisavyth's Descendants
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| RL Date: 17 January, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Mirinda |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Two goldriders meet in the bowl. Discussions of goldriding ensue. |
| Where: Bowl/Caverns, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dahlia/Mentions, Farideh/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Oriane/Mentions |
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| Somewhere around mid-afternoon, Aidavanth emerges from between into Fort's skies. This time, she travels alone, unaccompanied by the aging green who first came with her into the other northern weyr's airspace. There was no visit then, no need to land, a routine visualization practice that brought the pair over the region, over the caldera, then back to High Reaches. Now, however, her warm, clear presence reaches out to the watchrider, to Zaisavyth, to politely announce her arrival and request permission to visit. It must be an informal enough trip, as no one in particular is named - and certainly, as she circles lower to land in the bowl post-clearance, the leather-clad figure atop her neck looks more functional than formal, but nonetheless put-together in a well-fitted set of cognac jacket-and-pants. Jocelyn takes a moment after dismounting to close her eyes, inhaling and exhaling away what uneasiness remains from her flight before shedding goggles and helmet, tucking both under an arm as she studies the view, the passerby, the layout of Fort's caldera with interest. "She's probably busy, " she says aloud at some length, with a glance up to the brilliant gold, "but - I'm sure we can at least see the lake." And her attention turns briefly in that direction, lips pursing in consideration. Zaisavyth makes her presence known almost the moment Aidavanth appears in her skies, but there's nothing overwhelmingly protective in that; it's merely a confirmation, and an acknowledgement. Aidavanth may visit... (this time). "You must be Jocelyn." It must be at least partially coincidence that finds Mirinda in this part of the bowl at this moment, though it's not impossible she's altered her path a little to draw closer to the visiting weyrling and her queen. Her heavy cloak is, perhaps, over-warm for the autumn weather, but the dark-haired weyrwoman looks chilled nonetheless, for all that she presents herself with a polite, if somewhat strained, smile. "Welcome to Fort. Our duties to your Weyr... and your queen." For Aidavanth, it's true, she has a softer, warmer glance. Aidavanth is, as always, pleased to meet new dragons, new people. Fort's Weyrwoman is no exception; there's a soft vocalization for Zaisavyth's rider, eyes a pleasant green-blue. The sound of her name causes Jocelyn to turn, blue-gray eyes settling on the other goldrider evenly. "You must be Mirinda, " she likewise replies, alto measured, and dips her chin into a brief, polite nod. "High Reaches' duties to your Weyr and her queens." With the formalities exchanged, she permits herself an awkward minute in which to clear her throat, managing a polite, if small smile in return. "I ran into Dahlia while she visited us a few sevens back and planned to return the company, " is offered as some attempt at explaining her visit, "but I can't say that I'm sorry to have found you first, instead. Weyrwoman." Her delivery isn't filled with affected grace or charm, but it's frank and respectful, even as her expression turns considering. "It's good to finally have a face to go with your name." That, at least, is warmer than her previous. Something in Mirinda's expression, which studies Jocelyn frankly, seems to be both wistful and restrained, as if the goldrider has drawn up barriers-- and is both aware and regretful of it. Still, there's nothing anything less than polite in the rest of her demeanour, or in the words that answer the weyrling's. "I'm sure my name is one you've-- well." Her smile is a little rueful. "I'm glad you've made Dahlia's acquaintance, and that you've decided to visit. It is a pleasure to have you... and for me, especially, to meet my Zaisavyth's descendant. You must be senior weyrlings, now, or very close to it? And now your weyrwoman has gone on leave." There's some uncertainty in Jocelyn, in the way she presses her lips together for Mirinda's own discomfort before first addressing the safer subjects. "We are, " she confirms of their status as senior weyrlings, something affectionate tugging the corners of her mouth briefly upward. "It's good to meet another - member of Aidavanth's family, " however extended the connection. Mention of Irianke smooths away that flash of smile; she nods, once. "It was unexpected, but I'm sure we'll continue to manage well enough while she's away." There's still the proverbial elephant in the immediate vicinity, however, and the younger goldrider hesitates before adding not unkindly, "Whatever one's origins, I believe a person should be weighed on the basis of their own competence. Farideh and I were roommates, once upon a time, and I'd have laughed if someone had told me that with some time, we'd both be where we are today." It isn't a total non-sequitur, but perhaps it softens what follows: "I think I'd like to grab a mug of something warm before I leave, if I may. If you have a moment - I'd like it if you'd join me." Something flickers on Mirinda's gaze at Jocelyn's statement on origins, and though she doesn't offer immediate comment in reply, there's a slow, delicate inclination of her chin that seems to accept the statement and acknowledge its truth. "In an ideal world, no one would ever be judged by anything but what they do; not their family, not their dragon; and not... I wish it were so simple." Still, some of that tension is softened in the Fortian Weyrwoman, now, who gestures towards the caverns. "I'd be happy to. Come. There's a quiet nook where we might continue speaking without being... on display, as it were." Even now, there's a twist in her expression; obvious discomfort. Some of Jocelyn's own tension eases with Mirinda's words, the set of her shoulders relaxing slightly while the weight of resignation briefly shows itself over her features. "Yes, " is her steady agreement for both counts, and she sets out in the direction of the weyrwoman's gesture, steps smaller than her usual stride so that they might keep pace together. "I'd ask if it ever gets easier, being on display, " she remarks drily at some length, tone already answering the question she doesn't need to ask: It doesn't. And although she no doubt gets a few glances on the walk over by virtue of the colors of her knot and her present company, she doesn't appear any more comfortable than Mirinda, making eye contact with the people they may pass only if politeness demands it. The glance Mirinda aims at Jocelyn is both knowing and understanding, and there's a good measure of sympathy there, too. Still, it's not until they both have a mug of something warm-- the former Monacoan still in her cloak despite being now indoors-- and have settled in the promised quiet nook, that she actually speaks again beyond instructions and pleasantries. "My grandmother was Monaco's weyrwoman when I was a little girl," she says. "And I was raised with the hope and expectation that I would follow in her footsteps. I'm afraid that even being raised to expect it, I've never found it any easier-- but worse, now, here. Still, I understand that not everyone feels that way, so perhaps you might learn to fare better than I ever have." Jocelyn sheds her jacket once they're indoors and settled, the long sleeves and cuffs of her button-down, crisply collared shirt apparently adequate enough away from the immediate chill outside. "I can't imagine growing up with all of this constantly hovering just over your shoulders, " the weyrling says with a shake of her head, hands wrapping about her mug with a little, pleased exhale. Self-deprecatingly, "I was just a weyrbrat who didn't do very well at fitting in, as a child. I stood a few times but didn't see a point in trying again afterward when there seemed to be a more - reliable opportunity for a career." The curve of her mouth turns wry. "I did my duty one last time - technically twice, I suppose - when we ended up with almost thirty eggs on the sands at once. The barracks could have been fuller. I was ready to ask our headwoman for my job back between the first clutch going and the second, and then - " No, she didn't expect this. There's a careful sip of her beverage, then: "I'm proud to ride for my home. I know I'd find it - hard - to try to do so someplace else." "It's one of the most difficult things about being a dragonrider, I think," Mirinda acknowledges after a moment, lifting her mug towards her mouth to inhale, though she speaks rather than drink from it. "I always believed I would be safe-- the only queen hatched at Monaco since Zaisavyth was Iesaryth, and..." And who would transfer away their only junior? She presses her lips together, now. "You know your home, though, and that-- when both your fellow weyrwomen are from outside-- is a benefit. I wish Dahlia and I had a local, though, of course, that could be seen as a challenge, too. I'm afraid the politics..." She sighs. Can any goldrider ever truly be 'safe' when it comes to the path of their own future? Jocelyn listens, brow furrowing faintly. "I don't suppose, " she says at some length, "that there's safety in anything save the most complex knot we'd ever wear - under normal circumstances, anyway, " unless you get cases like Tiriana's banishment or more unnatural ends to seniorship tenure like getting murdered. For politics, there's a grimace. "It is wholly my home in a way that it isn't, for them, " she agrees, "but that also makes it harder to accept that my chances of becoming a, " her nose wrinkles, "bargaining chip for the prosperity of the place I love drastically increased the day she broke shell." Mirinda's dark gaze slides towards her own knot, lingering there for a few moments while Jocelyn talks. She's plainly keenly aware of it, though when she glances back to the other woman, it's to give her a rueful smile and to say, "I imagine that must be difficult. It's one thing to serve the place you live, another to... at least I never had it hanging over my head." Instead, it arrived like a bolt out of the blue. "There are some who would advocate not getting too attached. But that's easier said than done, isn't it? I lead Fort, and I certainly do so with everything I have, but Monaco... Monaco was home for thirty turns, and it's not so easy to forget that." "Impossible, in this case, " says Jocelyn resolutely, of the difficulties in not getting too attached. "High Reaches has been my home for - almost as long as Monaco was yours. Logically, I know I'll do my job to the best of my ability regardless of where that job takes me. But, as you say - it isn't easy to accept the reality of that here, " and one hand presses a fist briefly to her chest. It's with a heavier exhalation that she takes another sip of what's steaming in her mug, studying the dark-haired woman across from her over its rim. Whatever she's searching for, there's a little nod that's quick to follow, then: "I realize it's some time away yet, but Aidavanth will eventually reproduce, and - " She clears her throat. "We'd both be pleased to have you see them, if you'd like to when the time comes for another generation of Zaisavyth-descendants." "I hope it never becomes an issue for you, Jocelyn," is quietly genuine, the dark-haired woman serious-expressioned while still managing to convey a modicum of warmth. "Most goldriders seem to Impress and live out their days in one place or another, at least. I imagine, in part, because it is difficult for people to be led by strangers." That this is something she has encountered seems clear, but rather than dwell upon it, Mirinda shakes her head and abruptly smiles. "I'd like that. To see her clutch, when that time comes. For me... Zaisavyth's children are like my own. Did you know... Zaisavyth and Aidavanth are the only producing queens of Monaco's line left, should Evielth never rise again. And both... both have duties to Weyrs other than Monaco." "It's also difficult for people to trust strangers, " Jocelyn replies knowingly, leaning back a little into her seat, "and that would, I imagine, make it all the harder to lead them." Her tone shades thoughtful near the end; perhaps, too, she's thinking of another goldrider transferred away from her home to work in a completely different part of the world. "I didn't know for sure, " she rejoins for the Monaco line of queens, "not until my training in our records room expanded into the annals of dragon lineages. I - looked closely into Aidavanth's, " for who wouldn't want to know more about those connected with their lifemate's history, says her expression. On the heels of a frown, "I don't believe in making promises of riders and transfers even if that's what's apparently done - nor am I exactly in a position to do so. People were upset enough when word was that some of Niahvth's first clutch at High Reaches were supposed to be traded back to Igen. We can't alter the history that's indelibly recorded between your home and mine, but I can't say that it would make me unhappy to see some Monaco-born riders with her children, at some point." It isn't an offer, a negotiation, or even her word that she'll do something; at best, it's a nebulous, if genuine expression of a hope for the production of some eventual display of goodwill. Mirinda's, "Yes," is simple: a statement of fact that offers no softening, so aware is the weyrwoman of the impact of outsiders upon a place. She has, after all, been on both sides of that equation in the past turn. It is the rest of what Jocelyn says, however, that draws a renewed smile to her lips, a simple pleasure so-obvious in her exprsesion. "I would very much like to see that," she says. "Both for... personal reasons, of course, but also because it would mean that our-- that is, that Monaco and High Reaches-- had made some attempt to mend the rift between them." As positive as this statement is, it's clearly from the belated flush to the goldrider's cheeks that she's aware that this, too, has personal significance. "Monaco, as a place, has never intended harm to your home. I do promise that." Jocelyn has an answering nod for that positive statement of mending rifts, allowing herself a small smile for the concept. "It's obvious, especially in light of the plague and its aftermath, that everyone can only benefit from bettering relationships. Let's hope we won't need to rely on one another for survival in our lifetime, but it's only right that we should be able to, if it came to that." For the intentions of one weyr toward the other, the redhead's chin dips, expression sober. "I believe you. I hope, some turns from now, that we'll both be celebrating some successful, new Impressions." For now, however, there's the careful offer of a hand, intended to offer a good-natured grasp, and a wry curve to the corners of her mouth. "I don't want to keep you any longer from the next item on your agenda, but it has been good to finally meet you." Unexpectedly so, but good nonetheless. "Thank you for some of your time. Even though we're still weyrlings, I'm getting a good sense of just how little of it there is to spare." "Personal feuds," Mirinda agrees, quietly and carefully, "do little good to anyone." She sets down her mug, reaching out both hands to squeeze Jocelyn's in reply, a gesture that seems to suggest some level of intensity, though her expression is politically neutral. "It was good to meet you, too, Jocelyn. Truly. I--" But she stops, shakes her head, and releases the younger woman's hand again. "It's never ending, it's true. But... satisfying, some of it. To do our duty. Best of luck with the rest of your weyrlinghood. I'm sure we'll see each other again." "Yes, " is Jocelyn's agreement; duty can be satisfying sometimes. "Thank you. It's hard to believe that there are so few months of it remaining - except, of course, when I look at her and remember that she used to be small enough to hold." And of their next encounter: "I look forward to it, Weyrwoman." She takes the time to finish her drink before exiting the caverns, pulling Aidavanth from where she converses pleasantly in the bowl to take flight over the caldera, circling briefly over Fort's lake before they climb to an appropriate height for going between. |
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