Difference between revisions of "Logs:In The Den of Bickering"

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.

The evening blizzard's ferocity is challenged by another, Hraedhyth's guttural husk untouched by the driving snow that tears through their Weyr. « Balreth. » Drums and heat are not urgent, but focused, « Mine wishes to speak with Yours in the den of bickering. » Though there are no other Wingleaders occupying the space, only Azaylia. Despite the storm raging outside, the Acting Weyrwoman shares in the unhurried air of her lifemate. Sitting at the head of the table, there are hides strewn in front of her in an order that must make sense to the goldrider. Further down the table but still close sits a tray with a pot of hot water and various mugs, some used and others untouched as well as sweetner and bags of tea.

The den of bickering. « We are familiar. » The laconic green has no more to say, though she doesn't move far, staying well within the equivalent of earshot. Three minutes, four. Sisha arrives, mantled in snow. "Acting Weyrwoman," she greets, moving towards the table but halting well before where Azaylia sits. She stands there, a substantial presence, her dark gaze silently expectant.

"Wingleader Sisha." Azaylia is as prompt, clipped, but with a warm smile to help welcome the greenrider in from the snow. There's a flicker of confusion as Sisha stops and stands, ushering the weyrwoman to her feet so that she can motion widely to any of the nearby seats. "Please? I promise, I won't throw any chairs." Perhaps an exaggeration, but it's no secret that the weyrwoman enjoys taking her breakfast in the alcove outside. What has she heard? "Tea?"

The informality has its effect, and Sisha chuckles, moving as though released from captivity. "Please, and sweetened. It's a cold night for anything else, and I don't plan to take up the chair-throwing business myself." She doffs the heavy coat and with it none of her presence, hanging it and her hat on the back of a nearby chair before taking the one next to Azaylia, not on the side of the tea tray. "What's on your mind?"

Azaylia is able to reach the tray from where she is, flipping over a clean cup to drop in a casual, dark brew and pour in some water. "That's good. Really good." Perhaps too bright a smile when speaking of furniature preservation, placing the saucer in front of Sisha as well as offering her the bowl of sweetner. "Well..." Lowering back into her seat, she folds her hands on the table, even atop the hidework in front of her. "I've narrowed down my list of candidates and, uhm... It seems like people, riders, have nothing but good things to say about you. But I'm getting ahead of myself, I was, by not asking you first." Sitting up just a bit straighter, the goldrider takes in a little breath, "Sisha, would you be willing to be my Acting Weyrleader?"

The wingleader removes her gloves as well, rubbing her hands together briskly before accepting the bowl. Her hands are chapped, their knuckles slightly enlarged. As Azaylia talks, Sisha adds a spoonful of sweetner but hesitates over adding a second, starting to put it back before the goldrider speaks of asking. Then she dumps the second in as well and a portion of a third, admitting, "It's this or whiskey. What do you want from your acting weyrleader, Azaylia? What do you want from me?"

The question clearly catches Azaylia off guard, though the greenrider's extra spoonfuls of sweetner don't. "Ah..." Her dark eyes sweeps over the table and to the side, pensive in their glide as she considers her answer. "I want... someone who will help me? Someone with experience, that the riders respect. That the Wings will listen to." Finally her gaze finds Sisha, "What I want from an acting weyrleader isn't as important as what the Weyr needs."

"Then what do you think the Weyr needs?" Sisha's in no hurry. The tea steeps. Sisha could just as well be steeping, or at least sitting, with it. She might have left it at that, but given Azaylia 's earlier surprise she rouses herself to say, "Since it sounds like you think the two are different." The older voice holds sympathy but isn't slathered in it: two spoonfuls plus a little, not six.

Open mouth. Close mouth. Azaylia's jaw is firmly planted in her palm, elbow propped on the table as she looks at Sisha. "...Never mind. You're too smart for the job. I take it back." Amused, there isn't an ounce of real regret in the playful, perhaps improperly timed joke. With a soft laugh, "That isn't what I meant. I want whatever the Weyr needs, which is stability. I thought a bronzerider was the obvious answer, but..." Lifting her chin, she's sitting up straight once more, "Enough people think that Taikrin was a bad Weyrleader because she was a woman, or a brownrider, or both. You're stable, smart," Which was a con only moments ago, "You don't start trouble during the meetings. You're also Harper trained," And it's now she glances down at one of the pages, "A dancer, but you were still at the Hall. You're proof that it isn't the color of your dragon or your gender that makes a good leader." Here, her smile may edge towards guilt if only slightly.

Sisha's chuckle is full-bodied, though she holds off on a reply until Azaylia lays it out like that. Meanwhile, she's seeing if she can get that amount of sweetening to finally dissolve and not having the best of luck. "That's a lot to live up to. If I go down in flames, which I don't expect I would," would, not will, not yet, "you might not see another woman Acting for generations. No pressure, right? I won't say I don't like what you noticed." She keeps stirring. The sweetner will dissolve, sooner or later, or she'll drink it the way it is. "I'm also not apt to have my Balreth take after Hraedhyth or Iesaryth, though that would be a sight."

The guilt is even more obvious now, "It is a bit of pressure." Azaylia admits without too much of a wince. "Which is why I'd understand if you said no. I planned for that, but... Well, you're my first choice for a reason." Several, judging by the list she's given just moments ago. The mental image of Balreth giving chase has the weyrwoman choking on nothing, unable to help the laughter that follows. "That too." From afar, there's an amused sense that Hraedhyth probably wouldn't mind as much as others might. Clearing her throat, "This isn't going to be a choice based on favoritism, or who might win the next Flight." Though, judging from her little smile, she hasn't minded the attempts of those who try to gain that nonexistent favor.

Sisha sips her tea at last, shallowly, from the surface where it won't be so hot. If Azaylia had just said she'd thought a bronzerider was the obvious answer, if Sisha had heard about bronzeriders claiming to have been interviewed by her, she still doesn't second-guess Azaylia's 'first choice' here and now. Her dark eyes are calm, smiling. "No, it won't be. I'd have to be plain about being a caretaker, keeping the seat warm, as it were. I wouldn't plan to make grand changes, not unless B'ren insists," and then not, says the subtle alteration in her smile, a change the bronzerider would necessarily like. But he's not important right now. "I would be sure to consult with you, more I think than some Weyrleaders do, though I would have to keep a certain autonomy for the wings' sake. Do you find that satisfactory?"

Each of Sisha's points earns a little nod from Azaylia, eager and paying close attention judging from the slight widening of her gaze. The expression pinches at mention of B'ren, "Brute." Huff. Perhaps such a bias shouldn't be obvious, but more like that faint shift in the greenrider's smile-- one the goldrider catches. "I do, actually." Not surprised, but relieved, "In return, you'll have my support and Hraedhyth's if you ever need it. I would also appreciate your input on how to handle the Holds, and politics in general. If you're not comfortable with that, then I'll trust any recommendations you make on riders who could help." The weyrwoman gives a final little nod, and a smile, "Really though, it sounds like we have the same ideas on what needs to happen... If you need more time to decide, I understand."

"I'm happy to help as I can, but as you say, there are specialists. Mielline, for example. There are others I'd name to you who might know quite a bit about a particular hold but aren't themselves particularly diplomatic, if you catch my drift." Sisha smiles, but this time it verges on tired. "I don't need more time, Azaylia. I'd like to help out, High Reaches and you both, and sooner over later. There's one thing I do want, though. I spoke of autonomy earlier, but I also want to hear from you and Aishani that when a queen is flown, you'll do the best you can to make certain I keep my wing. If I fail objectively, on my head be it. If it's retribution, that's something else."

"Sisha, I promise that if Hraedhyth is the first to go up, that you'll keep Avalanche." Azaylia sounds less sure as she continues, "I'm... Aishani shouldn't deny you that, either." Hopefully it's because she doesn't feel comfortable speaking for the other goldrider. "I don't expect you to fail. You're a great Wingleader, and you'll make a great Acting Weyrleader." As bright and cheery as when the greenrider first entered, she begins to collect her hides. "I'll make the official announcement tomorrow morning. And..." She hesitates, gaze flicking over to the older rider, "Thank you."

With that assurance, Sisha can nod. "I'll hope you don't have to tell that to B'ren." She smiles when she says it, quietly composed, but she also says, "We'll make it work. Let's say three spoons of sweetner for the morning, and try to make it down to two by the next seven. Have a good night's rest, Azaylia." She can change her mind by the morning, but she won't. If there's more peace to be kept, they'll keep it.