Difference between revisions of "Logs:Coming To A Decision"

Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr

At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.

Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention.

A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.

It's been three months since Iolene was murdered; around two since I'kris and H'kon were both accused of the murder by each other; about a month since Azaylia spoke to R'hin; about three sevens since Brieli 'clarified' the situation with Monaco's Weyrwoman; about a seven since Brieli went to Monaco again and somehow made things worse. It's been a long few months. It all has to come to an end, somehow, eventually - so it is that the goldriders - minus Lujayn, notably - and the acting Weyrleader all find themselves in the council room to sort this out, because no one else will. Brieli's mood has not been exactly sunny ever, but the last few days have had her even darker and more irritable than usual. Fortunately, she's mostly been taking the opportunity to take that out on weyrfolk who mess up, rather than Azaylia or anyone else. Now, sitting at the table near the head with a glass in hand, she seems resigned, but who knows to what.

Slowly the baby birds have left the mother's nest. Months have passed, weyrfolk have been steadily trickling out of Azaylia's weyr with only the truely frightened, her guards and Bones remaining to haunt her home. It is with those still scared souls in mind that she enters the Council Room. Pleasant, because when is she ever not, but quiet, the junior sits in a chair across from Brieli and picks at a roll. She's nearly sideways in her seat, but not exactly lounging as she gazes down at the bread in hand.

B'sil's tenure as Acting Weyrleader, these past three months, has not been without trials: he's excellent with the wings in a way that K'del never was, but his grasp of area politics is far less practiced - and significantly less confident. He's also inclined towards caution, and not overstepping his bounds in this 'acting' position: he seems constantly and overwhelming aware that he has not been confirmed in any meaningful sense, that he is a caretaker only. Despite that, he seems tense but not uncomfortable, now, as he sits at the table, presently ignoring the glass of amber liquor sitting to his left and concentrating, instead, upon the pair of goldriders. "Well, ladies," he says, breaking his own silence. "You have me at your disposal."

Not even pretending all of this isn't awkward and awful in its way, Brieli puts down her glass for a moment to scrub hands over her face, let out a long sigh. "All right." When she looks up again, she has put on a more neutral expression, speaking with a briskness that belies the seriousness of the discussion. "Monaco says if we have proof, they'll 'take care' of the situation, but we have no idea what that means, if they'll do something suitable even with guarantees, or if our idea of proof is theirs. A good part of this Weyr would like blood for blood. I'm not entirely comfortable with that, because we'd have two deaths on our hands." A pause, as she glances Azaylia's way, before, "And if we don't do something, someone will take that decision out of our hands. So. What are we willing to do?"

Azaylia watches how the bread fibers tear from the mass of the roll in her hand, only to stuff them in her mouth. It's not with the woman's usual gusto, but at least she has been eating. Some. "Monaco says lots of things." It's a sour little murmur, a look of displeasure crossing her face for only a moment. Her eyes flick up to Brieli, then B'sil, before she continues, "If they really sent R'hin, then they don't care." It's what she gathered from her meeting, as wrong as she may be. "They'll do everything they can to try and take him and make it seem like no big deal. Like Iolene's death was no big deal. I don't want to give them I'kris." Foreign wrinkles crease her brow, frowning at the bread, "But I don't want to have to... I don't want him to die, in our Weyr." The roll has yet to give its opinion.

"Monaco always sends R'hin," says B'sil, with no real indication of his own feelings on the subject. "It was R'hin who brokered the deal with K'del for Iesaryth's egg. They prefer to keep their hands clean; that's always been K'del's assessment of them." Harper-trained though he is, the acting Weyrleader has no particular experience with Monaco - and it seems to visibly frustrate him; a deficiency in his intel, a failing on his part. "What that means about their intentions, I do not know. And I-- I do not wish to see a rider, any rider, incarcerated. Not forever. That dragon has suffered enough."

Brieli certainly isn't saying Azaylia's wrong; she purses her lips a touch, but says nothing other than, "They want it to go away." She takes a sip from her glass, dark gaze shifting to the tabletop as she does. "I don't know if there's something in between. We can't keep him here, we can't let it go. And if we can't give him to them..." She's a little greyed as she says that, almost looking ill; her fingers tighten around the drink. Looking over B'sil's way, she nods for his last; that she can agree with. "It would be nice," she notes softly. "If they could go home. And we didn't have to make that decision. But I don't know if the people would accept that. I don't know how that would go over here, or how we'd deal with the aftermath. Not everyone loved Iolene, but it's an assault on all of us."

Azaylia places the bread on the table, suddenly not hungry at the mention of Svissath. As if she has actually forgotten about him. "Well their hands can't stay clean." She says, exhaustion tipping into anger. "How... how is that fair? They did this to him. We didn't do anything to push him to... to do what he did." The junior struggles with the lack of empathy, "And they want to just make it all go away?" Is it unWeyrwomanly to rest her chin on the table and cover her head with her arms? She does so, eyes still switching from fellow junior to acting Weyrleader. A whimper, more like a groan, "If anything happens to him here, Monaco will do everything to make it all about them." It seems Azaylia truly has it out for that Weyr in particular. She closes her eyes and murmurs, "Is there anything that can even be done to a rider who's..?" Given the dragon and all.

B'sil's gaze shoots towards Azaylia, and though his expression is as even as it always is - Harper-trained poker-face - there's certainly something in the slight twitch of his lip, and it's definitely not a smile. "I think we would all prefer a quick and quiet solution," he says, carefully. "Dragging this out any longer, or making a public event of it, is unlikely to assist us in any way. But... I admit I have no ideas. Incarceration works perfectly well in a Hold, or a sentence to the mines." He doesn't mention exile, which is probably prudent given Iolene's past. "But I cannot see how that can be applied to a dragonrider. It would be nice if they could go home," he adds, glancing towards Brieli and nodding. "But you're quite right. The people are angry. Justifiably angry." Was that a little hasty? "There can be no implication that the boy is 'getting away with it'."

Less harsh about this sort of thing than she has been in the past, Brieli asks Azaylia, "Should we trust them to handle him, then? They know it was their fault - someone's at that Weyr - but should we trust them to appropriately censure him? Do we want to make that kind of gesture? And what would everyone here say? If we can think of a way to put it on them, we should. But not at our expense or the expense of justice for Iolene." There's a pause, and she's still not looking very well, but she says, "If anything happens that we don't intend to happen. And there's nothing we can do to avoid the dragon. I wish there was a way." She takes in B'sil for a moment at the speed of that last bit, but there's nothing she'll argue with. Lifting her glass to drain her drink, then stare into it, she asks, "Would there be a way to ensure that they'd carry out a death sentence if we sent them home?" There's only a few quick blinks after she asks, expression hardening.

Azaylia's head jerks up at Brieli's words, shocked though perhaps not for the reason one would expect. "You would...? Yes." She looks so unbearably sad, but manages to get the words out. "I would let him... be home for a little bit, first. Then. If they promised." The words don't seem to be her own, don't match the face of the goldrider as she clenches her eyes shut. But they are. "If this was a-a holdbred person, o-or a crafter, he would probably already be..." With a shuddering breath, "We can't let people think th-that having a dragon makes it so they can't ever be punished." She sits up a little straighter, just a bit, enough to rest her brow in her hand, "If they agree to handle it, we should tell the people that. If they don't, then..." Then they're the bad guys.

Rather than answer immediately, B'sil reaches for his glass, sniffing at the amber liquid before taking a careful, practiced sip from it. He swirls it in his mouth before swallowing, and goes to all the effort of setting it back down upon the table before opening his mouth again. "We would need to speak to Monaco again," he supposes, giving no clear indication of what he, personally, thinks of the plan. "And get a formal agreement from them on the subject. I would imagine-- it would make them look weak, to keep him around forever. His views may not be representative of theirs - though we cannot confirm or deny that fact - but that is not politically expeditious, given events. But we would need a guarantee."

The other junior's surprise doesn't immediately register. Not looking thrilled about any of this, much less the prospect of talking to Monaco again, Brieli tells Azaylia firmly, "We'll do that together this time." Because that will make things better? She's determined about that though, adding, quietly, "Maybe it will also be a bit of a goodwill gesture, given..." Given the way she told off Oriane likely, by her grimace. After another long sigh, she nods and sets her glass down, looks at it for a moment. "All right. That's what we'll do. Thank you. Both." She includes B'sil in that, though her real gratitude seems to be for the other goldrider, for the agreement. But she looks rather bleak and wan after, like she'd kind of like to throw up. Hopefully not on the table!

Azaylia manages to sit straight up in her chair, running her hands to gather up the loose waves hanging in her face. "Of course." There's less surprise there, for talking to Monaco together. "I... have a bad feeling about this." Eternal optimist no more, she gives a weak hint of a smile. "But something needs to be done." Even if this something is unsavory. B'sil earns the same shadowy curl to her lips, "Yes, thank you B'sil. A formal agreement is exactly what we need." She stands, grabbing the once abandoned roll and beginning to pick at it again. "You..." To Brieli, the maternal tone drops into something softer, "Maybe think about having some klah sent up? Something to settle your stomach." Because she sees how ill the other junior looks.

"I am at your disposal, of course," says B'sil, glancing from one Weyrwoman to the other, his expression as even and politic as ever. "If there is anything else you would like from me, please don't hesitate to ask. Anything--" It's a meaningful pause, after that: without words, he seems to be offering to take charge of any dirty business that might be required. "Shall I leave you to it, now? I'm sure you have many other things to discuss."

Trying to manage a smile, Brieli tells Azaylia, "I'm not sure that'd do it. But thanks for the thought." She does, however, stop the other junior from leaving just yet, with a hand to her arm. To B'sil, with something of an odd little smile, "Appreciated. And certainly - we'll let you know if we need anything." Once he's gone and she's sure Azaylia's not running away, she stands unsteadily to get another drink. Because that will help, right?

Azaylia nods her head, and does indeed move to leave. She's stopped by Brieli's hand, gaze dropping down to it almost wearily before she's looking towards the Weyrleader. "Thank you, B'sil." Standing there, she watches as the other junior heads for a drink, shoving the remaining bread in her mouth. Through a distended cheek, she mumbles, "Is there something you need?" Tired, not irritable and actually said with genuine curiosity, she simply stands there and waits.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay with this." Brieli pours out something into a glass, looking down into it much as she was before. "I wish it hadn't taken so long. I should have known..." She trails off and shakes her head, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. "Anyway. I'm sorry that I made things worse. I was thinking about myself, and I was careless." The weight to her words make it seem like an apology on a few levels, but it's difficult to tell for what else. "It'll get better, Azaylia. Once it's all over."

Azaylia chews rapidly so as not to be rude, though the way her hands spread at her sides is a much slower motion. "As okay with it as someone can be." Which isn't very, but it has to be done. They're the weyrwomen. "You didn't make things worse." She argues, gently, "It's hard for both of us. I've been trying to help, since..." The words are lost to a self depreciating hum, not quite a laugh. But there's no lying that she needed a fire lit under her in the beginning of it all. "You were there to give me the shove I needed and... I don't want to think of the state the weyr would be in, if you weren't around." Perhaps a touch on R'hin- Monaco's, threat? "It'll be better." She agrees, though dimly.

"I'm not going anywhere." Brieli is firm on that too, with an edge of anger that still rides her tone, even after whatever she said to Oriane, whatever issue she had with R'hin - maybe because of it. She looks up to try on a smile for Azaylia, telling her, "You're helping. Not trying. Once all this is done, it'll be easier." But she's less certain on that than she'd like. To cover it up, she offers the other junior a toast with a tip of her glass, then drains it. Once she can speak again, "I just... wanted to let you know. We should likely both... take some time with this, get some rest."

There's very little more than a dark trickle of water in the place of the tide tonight, at first at least - there's something stealthy about the small stream, but there's no real joy in evading notice. It's more out of a need to run up against something, seek comfort through contact. It's night in Iesaryth's world, and not all is well. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

Azaylia gives a short little nod, waiting for the anger to leave Brieli's voice before she says anything. "I hope." Uncertain as well, she tips her head at the toast, hands folding in front of her and wringing nervously. "It's good, to... talk." Though their closeness has waned over the past sevens, stress taking it's toll, draconic or otherwise. "We're goldriders. We're going to be together for... well as long as we both are." She passes on the pearl of wisdom with a shrug and a flutter of a smile. "I'm glad you at least want to stay. For a little bit I thought..." Her lips close swiftly and thin, before she tries again, "I just thought Monaco was going to win." Whatever that means.

It's night elsewhere too, if only physically, Timor high and gibbous-bright in a cool, crisp sky made the more enjoyable for the afternoon's warmth. Vhaeryth stirs, drowsily, but by now he doesn't need to fully waken to respond: there's a sense of metal in response, smoothing into... not a dam, but a channel, with bumps to be felt here and there. Not too smooth. Not alone. « Evening. » Or morning. It's dark. Does it matter? (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

With a nod, Brieli agrees, "It is. I hope that you've had people to talk to... about some of this. I figured with so many people staying with you, that you would. But I don't know how well you know them, not really. Not that--" She stops, gives a little laugh and a shrug. "Not that it matters. I... I don't let people tell me where to go and what do to when they have no right to, for all that it apparently wasn't a threat." Her expression is skeptical; wherever she heard it, she's not buying it. Though the idea of 'winning' has her puzzled, she just shakes her head as she sets the glass with the other dirty one. "No. I'm not exactly... warmly welcomed there."

Azaylia looks uncomfortable, but there is some give, "Kind of. But- I don't think it's something to go whining about. We have the gold dragons." It's their duty, as nasty as it has been lately. Her lips thin once again and she glares at a tapestry, "It was so a threat. I nearly... well, let's say that p- slapping," Punching. "R'hin would have probably made matters worse. No matter how nasty and... and selfish he..." She tries to unbristle with a slow sigh, eyes closed and face smoothing some. "I'm sorry. I know Iesaryth liked it back home."

It's no longer cold at Reaches - there's the sense of fresh, clean air in the mountains and less mud than there has been, and there's also night where she is, rather than just in the landscape of her mind, no moons to light the waters. They rush out at the touch of metal, whisper-quiet so as not to disturb the bronze, but grateful for him being there. « Evening. Vhaeryth. » Her low tones are warm. And there's little that she'll pass on to burden him as well - she merely wants that presence, that sense of not being alone, as much for her rider as herself. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

There'll be no questioning for Azaylia on having confidantes, lost in the widening of Brieli's dark eyes for punching. She doesn't buy the other junior slapping anyone. As if. "Don't do that," she says, quickly. "Don't hit anyone. Please. That's not the way we want it to go." Rather than pleased with the idea, she's a touch horrified. With some of her color returning, "He said it wasn't a threat, but I wouldn't blame you for not believing that. I-- I can do this if it's going to upset you that much." Beginning to relax as Azaylia's less bristly, "Well, they haven't stopped us from going there. So."

Azaylia blinks, startled. "I wasn't... I didn't. I only thought about it for a second." She looks guilty enough without having hit the man, hand moving to rub the opposite upper arm. "Just because I'm upset doesn't... oh." The junior gives a resigned sigh, shoulders slumping. "Then I'm glad. That you two get to go, still." From sorry to glad, the junior takes a step towards the door, "I'll be there when we need to talk to Monaco." At least that's a certainty.

She uses words so rarely, that Vhaeryth notices, imports a moon to turn the surface of the water to mirror-shimmers even if it does run so dark beneath. Still not entirely wakeful, even so, « We, » shall, can, may? « come before the morning, then. » After a round, if she likes, the golden flicker of fire and men's laughter and the whisper of cards, or two, if she expects him to have won more to share. Or lost. They aren't hurting. (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

"No, I didn't expect... I've just never heard you say you want to hit someone." Brieli seems a little surprised herself that Azaylia seems so guilty, assuring her, "I don't think you would, I just... I know what it's like for someone to be difficult to deal with." As for Monaco, with a wry quirk of lips, "We'll see how often we do now. And thank you. I'd appreciate that." She doesn't have another drink - not yet at least - but seems intent on lurking here a bit longer.

"I've never really wanted to before." Azaylia admits, hand and hand with Brieli's surprise. "He can't say that he loves my home, and then threaten to hurt it." By taking the other junior away. Hands reach up to smooth her hair back once again, gripping it in a silent prayer for something to tie it with. With a little nod, she manages to keep a smile for Brieli, "Of course." Before the older of the two heads for the exit, speed dutiful while not being in a rush to leave.

There's no sparkle, but the shimmer and shine is enough to light her waters a little, enough to give more color to the foamy whitecaps than grey. Iesaryth's appreciation, sudden and immediate, warms the waves. She's reluctant to accept, given Vhaeryth's state of consciousness - she wouldn't put him out - but manners and pride are in lower supply than usual, so: « Yes. » When he can, when his can. It's enough that they come. Enough that they'll have them before morning. (Iesaryth to Vhaeryth)

Before morning, then. (Quite a while before morning: Not so very much longer than... now.) (Vhaeryth to Iesaryth)

Quiet, maybe so quiet that it's missed, Brieli tells the bottles in front of her, "I think he does." She doesn't elaborate, just lifts her voice to call after Azaylia, "I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow." It's been a little bit, but better now than never? And the younger of the goldriders waits for her friend to leave before pouring out another drink and downing it like a shot, then following after to go to her own weyr.