Template:LogBox
LogBox
"Something very important happened here."
>---< Mirinda's Weyr, Fort Weyr(#1650R) >------------------------------------<
Past the entrances to council chambers and records rooms, the senior
queen's deep wallow is sunk into the floor, lined with soft, padded
wherhide that has been achored around its rim. A series of brass hooks and
fixtures, supporting shelves and providing a hanging space for coats,
straps and other riding gear, can be found here. The rest of the space
here is clearly divided into two areas: one with a desk and bookcases; the
other home to a table and several chairs, all set before the hearth.
A door separates this part of the weyr from the more private quarters
beyond; there's a second hearth, here, with a wide couch laid out in front
of it. The bed is set towards the back of the cavern, with matching tables
on either side. There's a lot of empty space, here; the space is largely
impersonal, as if the occupant has not taken the time to make it her own,
or simply doesn't care. At the very back of the cavern, another archway
leads towards the bathing room, where a large, deep pool can be found,
along with shelving and storage.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Mirinda F 31 5'5" slender, black hair, brown eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Ledge
>-----------------------------------------< 24D 9M 39T I10, autumn night >---< | OOC Date: | Some time in history |
| IC Date: | Day 20, Month 6, Turn 40 |
| Cast: | K'del, Mirinda, Olivya, N'rov, Farideh, Suireh, Dahlia, Irianke, Jocelyn |
| What: | Weyrleaders from around Pern gather together to discuss the latest events. Things go terribly, terribly wrong. |
| Involves: | Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr, Telgar Weyr, Benden Weyr, Ierne Weyr |
| Type: | Log |
| Where: | Telgar Weyr |
| Weather: | Cloudy |
| Mentions: | Mirinda, J'sae, N'rov, Leova |
| Storyteller: | K'del/ST |
| OOC Notes: | Backdated. |
It's a rotten autumn day to be out and about. Though it's between bouts of the ever-delightful snow-rain-gross that sometimes comes about this time of the turn in Fort, the day is wet and the bowl is muddy. Kh'tyr's boots show signs of that mud and he's wet, but aside from those rather obvious detractors, he's remarkably well put together this morning, even his shirt is tucked in! (Arguably, wet hair is an improvement from the usual since it sort of weighs the mass down.) He leans against the wall not too close to Zaisavyth's section of ledge, but close enough that when Mirinda appears he can use hurried strides to fall in step with her. "Weyrwoman Mirinda," comes in a polite tone. "A moment?"
Zaisavyth has taken one look at the weather and retreated to her wallow in disgust; Mirinda, as she steps out onto the ledge, looks half as if she might decide to do likewise. Her ill-pleased indecision is (rudely) interrupted by Kh'tyr, for whom she has a sharp-eyed glance, mouth drawing together into a moue that is no better pleased than that earlier expression. At least her words are polite: "Assistant Weyrlingmaster. What is it I can do for you?"
Brown eyes rest on the goldrider a moment, but only a moment for the man seems to realize he might not really get more than one. "Weyrwoman, I was hoping you could be persuaded to accept my apology. I believe we got off on the wrong foot." If he's going to eat crow, he might as well make it a filling meal, right? "You're very important to the Weyrlingmaster and she has a great deal of respect for you. I was hoping we could start over." All of this is said sincerely while Kh'tyr's eyes search the goldrider's face.
Mirinda is silent for several seconds, her expression difficult to read. "You do realise that apologising to me because I am important to Olivya is a little offensive?" At least those words are even, not obviously offended whatever she says. "It suggests you'd like to start over for her sake, not for yours and mine. Or is it that her opinion matters so very much to you?" Dark brows raise, briefly hidden beneath the low, sharp line of her bangs.
Kh'tyr's brows furrow, perplexed by that reaction. "The latter," that much he can say without needing to do much in the way of thinking. The rest has him pursing his lips just a little and looking at the goldrider. "I'm apologizing -- and I do apologize -- because I believe I made you uncomfortable upon our last meeting. It wasn't wholly intentional, and I apologize for what was and what wasn't. It wasn't fair in any case. I mention Olivya's esteem for you because her good opinion of you altered my-- not as good one, has helped me see the error of my ever-questionable ways." He takes a little step back to give Mirinda a little more space. "I suppose I apologize that my apology is somehow lacking." He still doesn't quite seem to understand that, but his demeanor is infinitely respectful now.
Mirinda's arms cross, wrapping about her middle in a way that suggests it is a comfort gesture; something designed to make her more comfortable. Her brows furrow, and she's slow in coming up with a response. "I see," is what she says, carefully, as if caught between indecision: pursue this latest offence, or let it go. Then, abruptly, a sigh. "Thank you. I appreciate your attempt to make things right. I hope that we can be... better communicators in future."
Kh'tyr's watching Mirinda with an edge that suggests he thinks she might be dangerous. That whole 5'5" of slender, terrifying goldrider. "I am sorry," seems to bear repeating, this time with more feeling, though not as though he thinks she doesn't understand that. It seems he can't quite seem to bring himself to admitting that he doesn't understand. "Mograith and I," his tone tightens a little, "we live for our duty, Weyrwoman." It's possibly the most true thing he's ever said to her. "Please let us know if we can be of service to you." Otherwise, it seems like he'll leave her to herself, taking another step back a little questioningly: is he dismissed?
Behind that pretty face... that face that is, for now, relatively unreadable. "I believe you, Kh'tyr," she tells him, simply. "On all counts. And I am glad to have you assisting in the training of my children." The forward inclination of her head is simple. "Thank you." Yes, he is dismissed.
Kh'tyr doesn't linger. It's obviously not safe here. Still, there's no sign of that on his polite expression as he snaps her a crisp salute before turning to head for the stairs.
