View source for Logs:Terrifying the Next Generation

{{Log
|involves=High Reaches Weyr
|type=Log
| who = Telavi, Taikrin
| where = Council Chambers, HRW
| what = Telavi shows up to a cancelled wingleader meeting following the threadfall drills. Taikrin shares some 'wisdom' with her.
| when = Day 17, Month 9, Turn 31 of Interval 10
|day=17
|month=9
|turn=31
|IP=Interval
|IP2=10
| gamedate = 2013.05.06
| quote = 
| weather = 
| categories = 
| mentions = Quinlys, Meara
| ooc = 
| icons = telavi.jpg, taikrin_weyrleader.jpg
| log = 

After the fireworks of the last few days (mock threadfalls! wings in rebellion! queens at large!) one might expect the Wingleader meeting to be spectacularly noisy. Except-- it's not. About ten minutes before meeting time and the council chamber is ominously silent. Then: the creak of a chair, and heavy footsteps pacing rapidly, back and forth, back and forth. There's a mild curse, in the deep throaty voice that is unmistakeably Taikrin: at least ''someone'' is here?

Tela listens, and Tela waits, and Tela glances back over her shoulder. But then... why not?  She touches her supplies bag's shoulder strap for good luck, her pert cap for good measure, and lightly enters with the air of someone who hadn't noticed a thing. She can look surprised when she gets there.

"Faranth help me if you ain't--" Whatever Taikrin had been so hotly threatening is lost as she turns and stares blankly at Telavi. For a moment, she doesn't seem to place the weyrling at all. Then, to herself, "Weyrling. We didn't tell the weyrlings. Faranth." A note of weariness enters her voice as she gestures towards the occupantless table with its maps and scattered documents. "You're--- Tela? Telavi? Here for the meeting, yeah?"

"Yes, Weyrleader," Tela says with a dip of her head, all nice and neat and schoolgirlish, even what would ordinarily be a wide smile of greeting become a worried nip to her lower lip.  Her blue-green gaze takes in the room, takes in ''Taikrin'', and with new composure she moves to the table with its empty chairs... perhaps coincidentally, behind ''Snowdrift's'', setting her hands atop the back of Mielline's seat with a subtly possessive air. "Let me guess, something's come up, sir?" Sir. Never, ever ''ma'am''.

"It did-- forgot to let you lot know about it. Sorry." For a moment, there's a hint of the old Taikrin who loved nothing more than flirting with teenage girls: the crooked smile, the easy tone. But as she looks back over the table, the weight of leadership crushes a sigh out of her. "Meetings're cancelled this week so the wings can recover and review what's what from the drills." As her gaze lingers on the charts, she adds absently, "I was just marking up worked and not. You're welcome to look, since you're here already. Don't want Meara and Quinlys saying I ain't teaching you lot nothing."

"''Nothing'' to worry about... sir," and the title can sound so good in Tela's soft voice, her quick assurance. Not that the older woman's shift in mood goes unnoticed, and her nod is quick, too. She understands. "Thank you. And if there's anything at all I can do to help," and that could be so very presumptuous from a weyrling to her Weyrleader, and yet there's that soft, deferential warmth in her voice again, "please do say the word. A message carried, food sent, anything, really." That doesn't slow her from reaching for the nearest chart, either, and if there's any pause she'll look that over.  "It sounds... eventful. I don't know if I should wish we could have been there." That's a little lower, a little less soft, less like a ''girl''.

"We'll have to to it again, once we get you lot flying regularly. Never mind what you hear, this is what dragonriders were meant to ''do''-- and don't you ever let anyone tell you otherwise. ''Dragonmen must fly / when threads are in the sky'', right?" Taikrin goes momentarily intense, and there's a banked passion in the gaze she fixes on Telavi: whatever else, the Weyrleader is a true believer. "Appreciate the offer. Seems like there ain't enough hours in the day, lately. I'll see what I can do. I remember what it was like, being a silver thread. Needing to ''know''. Me and Szadath, we liked the charts the best." She nudges one over, this one marked and marked again with notations; at the top, it's labeled 'Tillek'. "Here's another, from earlier."

"Yes. Of ''course''." This isn't Telavi  playing the game, this is weyrbred Telavi, surprised and possibly a touch horrified that that could be thought of otherwise... especially under the not-inconsiderable impact of Taikrin's ''belief''. She's quick to take that second chart, to compare the two, to look for what stands out and for what they mean. Without looking up beyond a quick flicker of a glance, "It's hard to imagine you two in someone's charge, instead of being in charge." She's seen Taikrin in action, ''felt'' Szadath wield queenly influence with aggressive belief of his own.

A testament to the times that, though Taikrin smiles under the praise, there's also suspicion in her gaze. "Everyone's got to start somewhere. Weren't our time until now. One day it'll be your time, I reckon. It's our job to train you up to make sure you can take it when it comes." She's digging idly through the rest of the charts; by the time she's finished speaking, she's produced the record from the first mock threadfall for Tela to review.

There's no guilty aversion of Tela's gaze, though that suspicion meets with a press of her lips, more discomforted than anything. Her voice stays low. "''Do'' you think so?" the weyrling asks, simply. "For you, it's one thing, but Sabella and me, even Quielle. Especially Solith, she isn't... well, she isn't very leader-ly. I'm not sure how we'd handle stronger dragons."

"They're just babies yet. Maybe they'll grow into themselves, yeah? Especially the greens-- greens are different once they've flown, seems to me. And even if they ain't..." Taikrin shrugs, unconcerned, and offers an attempt at a crooked smile. "... a rider with guts can more'n make up for a timid dragon. Don't you stress too much about it. Meara and Quinlys knew what they were about when they picked you lot."

Tela's all ears, given the way she can't help but lean slightly over the chair even as she examines the records, and the way her eyes flicker at certain phrases. '' '''Especially''' the greens. Guts. Don't you stress. Knew.'' She says, "I hope so," with more than a little fervor. But then her tone changes, and though there's question there, it barely flavors what's very close to certainty. "These  aren't standard formations, are they. Or, at least, I don't recognize them," and she doesn't say that as though it's a likely failing on her part. Her eyes lift. "If this had been the real thing, letting that much through, Tillek would have been in trouble."

"Variations on a theme. Half the fun in doing a drill like this is trying out new things. Some of them are pretty boring-- see here, with Equinox? They didn't have much of a hole to plug. But Glacier was picking up slack for Avalanche, and since they've gotten so good at flying close formation we were able to slot in under?" She shifts from the second to the third chart, and scoffs, "Tillek would have been in a ''lot'' of trouble." She looks like she wants to say more, but then thinks better of it. After a moment's hesitation she says instead, "This is why we practice. To find the holes, and make them better. Been too long since the whole Weyr practiced together-- two hundred turns is a long time to preserve the knowledge... and Faranth help us if we get another comet pass. Were you old enough to remember that?"

Tela's very intent, quick to scan for what the Weyrleader's talking about, nodding. Though she glances up into that hesitation, she doesn't ask. "I don't know if I ''remember'', or if I've only heard stories and made them into 'memories'... but growing up there were always riders and dragons who'd been 'scored, others who weren't just riders who'd lost their people," she says quietly. "I'd have to fit clothing with fabrics that would be soft on scars, that would be easy to get on and off without an arm, without a leg." She hesitates, looking up at Taikrin. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Taikrin is quiet, thoughtful, as she considers Telavi's story. "We've got quite a few here, obviously. Szad and I were a few turns too late." She sighs, as if this were a great tragedy, then allows. "Go ahead. What's on your mind?"

It registers with a brief smile, though not as though Tela's finding it ''funny''. "Thank you. Sir. It's that... some people are saying," and she must have an inkling how that must sound, given the visible discomfort with which she straightens the records, "that some of them didn't show up not because they were told to, but because they just... refused. And that the queens made the rest." If Taikrin even lets her get this far, "Some of them even ask me. Because, you know. I don't know what I should say." She doesn't ask for the ''truth''.

It takes Taikrin a bit to compose an answer; in the meantime, her lips thin and faint splotches of pink appear in her cheeks even now. "You been to a few meetings by now," she begins, poorly suppressed heat in her voice. "You know some of us ain't playing on the same team. Some bronzeriders got the idea in their heads that they don't got to listen to orders, that they can throw a fit and do what they want and nobody gets to tell them what to do because they're so special. They started convincing the ones what look to them for guidance." Her sticks-accent is thick enough to spread on toast; she must be angry indeed. "You should say you don't support temper tantrums. A Weyr ain't like a crafthall. We got to listen to chain of command, or people ''die''."

The flip side of Taikrin's charisma is how Tela can't help but respond to her now, the weyrling's blue-green eyes wider, her hands tighter about the hidework. She may hold back from an actual flinch, but she very much does use Mielline's chair for support, pressing into the hardwood, and there's a slight tic developing in her temple where it's crossed by her cap. "Thank you, sir. I'll be sure to... say that." She takes a deeper breath, and when she resumes her voice is that much more methodical, that much more in her control. "Is there anything else you'd like?" May she flee now?

"No," Taikrin says as she attempts to reel her temper back in. "You're welcome. Let me know if you'd like another go at the charts. I'm keeping 'em in my weyr for a bit. You're welcome to go over them. Bring your friends. Make it a party." Taikrin snorts a rueful laugh, as if that were a joke of some significance. "Clear skies, weyrling."

All that's reassuring, and Telavi's glad to be reassured, that 'joke' earning Taikrin a  look that's by now mostly just  bemused. She glances down at her own hands before realizing and putting the records hurriedly down upon the table; then she neatens them too, the way they sit, and all but chirps, "Clear skies, Weyrleader." Tela may back up a few slow steps before turning out of the other woman's presence, but... at least she doesn't run?



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