Difference between revisions of "Logs:Milani Unburdens Herself On N'thei"

Resident Common Room, High Reaches Weyr(#378RJs)

Just off of the main passageway lies the small cavern that forms the hub of the residents' quarters, kept immaculately clean by the headwoman's staff and warmed in cold weather by a stone hearth to the left and well back from the entrance. Comfortable chairs and a plush fur arrayed before the hearth make an inviting spot to curl up with a book or handicraft, or just to sit and chat. Beyond, additional chairs stand in clusters throughout the room, some upholstered with age-softened hide, some plain wood. At the widest point of the cavern, a round table gleams with polish, though its surface is nicked and scarred from Turns of use. Beyond the table, the very back of the cavern often lies in shadow unless the glowbaskets there are unlidded to cast cozy pools of light. The commingled scents of klah, smoke and polish permeate the air along with the sweetness of rosemary and lavender.

Tapestries hang across the entrances to dormitories and more private quarters as well as the exit to the outer hall, colorful protections from drafts.

All people, even this one, are occasionally peaceful. Scraps of lunch on a plate beside him, a stool pulled up for feet that have successfully tracked in mud-- just to give Milani a little more to worry about, perhaps-- jacket slung across the back of his chair, N'thei has found somewhere comfortable and successfully driven away anyone else who might think to enjoy it similarly. It's easy, really. Witness: a young woman comes in from the inner caverns, carries her laundry on one hip, looks to set it down in the next chair and there to fold it, meets a gray-eyed glance, and decides she'd rather just fold her delicates off in her own room, on second thought. Lacing his fingers across his belly, the bronzerider presents no argument.

Coming in looking a little flushed and not from cold, the headwoman starts over towards her office muttering under her breath and wielding her clipboard when she catches sight of one tall bronzerider staring off laundry-girl. The edge comes off of her pissy expression and Milani actually smiles a little. A moment's reflection and she takes a deep breath, heads that way. "Are you going to give me the evil-eyed stare too if I try to sit there?" she asks with both brows high-lifted.

"Stupid question, isn't it." N'thei makes good with one long look at the wielder of the clipboard, one that contains only a modicum of malice, only the residual grudge that he bears for the world at large and not Milani in particular. "What are you mad about," he continues promptly, ever one to spare the pleasantries and spoil the sparseness of conversation. The chair, innocent of all hatefulness and wishing only for someone to enjoy its cushiony comfort, waits in silent anticipation for someone, anyone, to make use of it, please?

"I'll take that as a 'no'," Milani decides and drops into the chair making all of its wildest dreams about providing comfort come true. The clipboard is jettisoned over the side, set down on the floor. Shoes are abandoned underneath the chair and the headwoman folds up in her typical bundle, leaning back into the seat. "I am angry at Tiriana," the headwoman says succinctly. More quietly: "We started talking about ... about Rajiv."

Nothing said about being angry at Tiriana, though N'thei looks over with something like a smile at the edge of his mouth. It's hard to really call it a smile, 'cause that may be an expression of which he's not actually physically capable most of the time, but it sort of approximates one. The look, the flash of amusement: who's /not/ mad at Tiriana these days? "Shouldn't have done that, likely. Nothing good comes of it, neh?"

"No. It kind of ... slipped out and then it just kept getting worse," Milani confesses, wrinkling up her nose. "It's been festering with me I guess." Beat. "We shouldn't have done that." More forceful that and her head thunks against the chair's back. "Then she threw A'son and Persie in my face and told me it was all I deserved. I just love how one stupid mistake turns me into the Weyr's worst whore and shame on me to boot," she says with an edge of bitterness to her voice. The headwoman's face turns back towards the big bronzerider and she smiles at him faintly. "Were you just smiling?"

"Unless you drew the noose," begins N'thei calmly, "not something for you to fuss over. Best let it go and fight the fights you might win, not the ones already lost." He rethreads his fingers at that, changes the cross of his ankles the other way around, and glances dully Milani's way beneath questioning brows. There's no answer about the smile or lack thereof, not even one forthcoming, just his attention back toward the fireplace with a shrug and a frown. "Want me to knock her around a bit? Teach her to keep her nose out of business that's not hers?"

"Do you really think so?" Milani asks quietly, solemnly about that first bit. You know. The noose bit. Her knees tuck up towards her chest and she hikes her skirt down over her feet holding it firmly in place and looks over at him thoughtfully now. "I mean yes, it was their decision to go for the maximum penalty. But isn't it all of ours? Because we supported it? Didn't fight it?" The dullness in his eyes brings a pang to the headwoman's face and she clears her throat. "If it'd help, I'd say yes, but it won't. Though if you want to anyway and it'd make /you/ feel better, go for it," Millie says half-heartedly. "She always goes for the low blows. She always will. I didn't give her the satisfaction of breaking down in front of her. I'll do that later. Where no one can see."

Quick; "Do you think I'd say it if I didn't really think so?" Shaking his head, N'thei rubs a hand across the top of it promptly afterward, thinking. "What happens if we fight it, Millie? Nothing good. He gets hung and we get a headache. Best let it go." As if repeating it can make it more likely. There's a short, aborted chuckle while he admits, "Won't make me feel better. Though a few literal low-blows might do her some good." Not to belittle Milani's tragedy or anything, but he sounds unduly surprised, a touch disappointed even. "You're going to cry because A'son's fucking Persie?"

"Point," Milani answers with a breath blown out slow. "I'm just -- frustrated," a wave of one hand and she closes her eyes for a moment or two. Trying to let it go. "She doesn't even want to work with /any/ traders if we wind up with shortfalls. It's just nuts. /She's/ nuts. But you're right, it gives me a headache trying to think of ways to deal." Pause. "This is another stupid question. Are you still you know, not in the mood to help out with anything? Because I've been thinking that if we do wind up with some issues, you might be just the right person to you know, go out there, help set up meetings and things and make it look like it's tithes coming in, instead of trade if she's going to be stupid and dig her heels in." A look askance at the last. "I don't care who the hell he /fucks/, no. Never did, really. I mean it's not in him to sleep around, really, but if he'd wanted things to be open with us, I would've been fine with that, just like I was very happy with it just being us. No. He can fuck anyone he wants and that wouldn't bother me." Her mouth purses faintly before she starts up again. "They're moving into I'daur's old weyr. Together. How /fucked up/ is that?"

There's answer enough for N'thei's impetus, for his lack of it, in the silence that follows Milani's question, the silence that carries him right on through all Milani's musings about the openness of that dead-in-the-water relationship. That last, though, moving into I'daur's weyr, leaves him shaking his head, fingers steepled so his thumbnail scrapes across his lip in the process. "Pretty damn fucked up. A'son said yes to this? Doesn't sounds like something that would sit well with him, but--" A shrug; he can admit, if silently, his estrangement with everyone, including that so-called best bud.

Briefly there's a look that's mingle sympathy, concern and continued frustration. He's still Mr. No-Motivation. Milani wisely this time, doesn't push the issue though just makes another face. "I mean you know, fine, Ays is getting what he wants. Pretty little picket fence and a girl who'll just you know, adore him. Won't give him a hard time. Good, good they're happy. Good they're moving in." More handwaving. "But /I'daur's/ weyr?" Millie's shoulders hunch up then release. "She took his stuff, the stuff that was leftover after we cleaned the place out," the headwoman says very, very quietly. "Just some random little doodads. But --" Yet more handwaving. "You know, whatever. Whatever floats their boat." Exasperation again.

Here's experience; "She'll adore him, and he's probably the only person who could tolerate it. She's..." Trailing off, N'thei touches forefinger to temple and then shoots it off aimlessly through the air. She's not all there, is the implication. "He knows it's I'daur's weyr? I'll-- talk to him." Whether that means talk or, erm, kick him in the head, at least it's something he's volunteering for? That's good, isn't it? "Told K'del? Could put his foot down."

Silence from the chair across the way and Milani drops her chin to her knees moodily. "Maybe. I hope so. In some ways, you know, call me crazy but it almost seems like two little kids moving in and playing house. Persie's just ... well shells you know, the two of you call me /kid/ all the time, but she's all grown up and more of a kid than I am." It's entirely likely that long-repressed petty grievances are getting aired here to one of the few people who might actually get it. "I don't know. I just found out myself. Persie asked Tiriana to keep it quietly, apparently to spare my feelings, so there's been no paperwork." A shake of her head about K'del. "I don't think it's really anyone's business to interfere. I just think it's kind of creepy and well ... nuts."

"To spare your feelings." N'thei does derision real damn well, almost as well as he does apathy. He stops scratching his lip about then, before he grates the whole thing off with his thumbnail, and ends with a big-shouldered shrug. "Creepy and nuts sums it up all right. I'daur was K'del's weyrlingmaster, wasn't he? You should tell him. I wouldn't let them pull this, sure as hell wouldn't let Tiriana pull this." Let's not overlook the implications in that tone, that particular expression; /he/ wouldn't let them pull it, but /he/ wasn't exactly a sixteen-year-old-boy.

"Mm. Persie would mean well, she would," Milani says softly, chin digging at the valley her skirt makes between her knees. "I can't really imagine it was A'son's idea." Quiet again. "Yes. He was. And yours. And A'son's and almost every other rider who's trained up here in the last however many turns. This is the first set of weyrlings training under someone new." Her head tilts, cheek resting where her chin was just digging. "N'thei -- in the end it /is/ just a weyr. It's just you know, the connections there. Ugh. You'd think they'd keep it for someone new, someone who doesn't know, didn't know him. Let it -- get all neutral or something."

Seamless, on the heels of just-a-weyr, "Drank ourselves unconscious when he died, A'son and me. Just doesn't seem as something he'd do, move in with a ghost." N'thei squints at the fire for a little while, thinking through the problem, actually trying-- in his very inept way-- to empathize with all involved parties. "Should still tell him. Seems a small thing, but. If it was me, I'd want to know. At the least, to take Tiriana to task for being such a spiteful bitch."

"No ..." Milani says quietly. "It felt that way. The day we cleaned," the headwoman confesses. "And I -- I didn't even know him that well. Not like you guys would as his weyrlings," she continues then fall silent, watching him watch the fire. "I'll tell him. But not because of that. Just so he knows. In the end, what's between me and Tiriana is between me and Tiriana. She'll always come up with something to throw at me. Either for real or with words."

A look over, a serious one-- not that he has many others to fall back on these days, but still, best make the distinction-- and N'thei points out, "What's between you and Tiriana's between the Headwoman and the Weyrwoman, Millie. Couldn't stand you, could I? But Satiet wouldn't let me kill you just because I wanted to. K'del ought not let Tiriana torment you just because she can." Poor Milani. Seriously.

"I guess that's what I mean though, it's not K'del's problem to solve. I'm not going to cry to him to fix it just because he's the Weyrleader," Milani points out, then fall silent again, eyes on N'thei. "You really wanted to." It's not a question and she looks away, sharp breath taken. "Would have." What crosses her face is to say the least, complicated. After a moment: "You haven't. Since she --" Stop right there. "Do you stil want to?" This has to be the oddest conversation ever.

"It's his fucking job to fix it." Says a man known for meddling where he shouldn't have, but whatever. N'thei doesn't flinch at the look away, or the unfinished sentence, only releases a long sigh. "You let me down, honey, and that's a hard thing when you're not braced for it. Satiet, Shanlee, always expected them to stab me in the back." Just not Milani, says the pause. "There's nobody as I want to kill any more. Beat to a pulp, some of them, but murder seems a bit much these days. The effort and all." Yes, he's attempting to make light.

A little nod, that's all for his explanation. Another stupid mistake on what's getting to be a mountain of them. Another deep breath too and Milani looks back at him with a somewhat tremulous version of her usual bright smile. "Good. You know, kind of hard to be friends with a man who'd as soon throttle you as -- well just about anything else." Also trying to make rather macabre light. There's possibly more Milani could say but she doesn't, just eases to her feet, pads over and bends, aiming to drop a kiss to the top of his head. "Thank you for listening. I'll let K'del know about it, but I don't expect him to clean up my messes for me."

Okay. Yes. This time it is a smile. "Friends, she calls it." N'thei rubs his head in the wake of that kiss, brushes his fingers forward as though to chase away the idea of it before it goes and infests what passes for his hair. "If you have to cry, at least cry because they're fucking nuts and not just nuts fucking, neh? Least A'son might be redeemed from the former."

"Friends," Milani echoes firmly and gives him big eyes if he's thinking of contesting it then goes to dig out her shoes from under the chair, puts them back on and picks up her clipboard, comes to perch on the arm of his chair. "What else do you call a person who would listen to all that drivel from me when they've had a keen desire to shake the life out of me before, hm?" Her smile down at him is warm, fond even and it might beg the question: who exactly is nuts here? Maybe the whole entire Weyr. "If I cry ... it'll actually be for chances missed and over stupid mistakes and then it'll be over, again, for now and I can just get about the rest of my day and evening." Practical. Fingertips graze towards his arm for just a minute, a light touch, then Milani slips off the chair's arm. "I'll see you N'thei. I have a date with a pillow to punch and maybe drench." And for all that, she's got a chipper, cheeky little grin as she heads off, not towards her office, but her room to finish pulling herself back together.

N'thei probably shouldn't give people shit about crying, but he will shake his head at her back anyway. Poor Milani.