Difference between revisions of "Logs:Point And Purpose"

Records Room, High Reaches Weyr

Books. Scrolls. Bound hides. Maps. If it's a record pertaining to the Weyr, it's likely to be in this roughly oval room with its floor-to-ceiling cherrywood shelves, its multitude of slots for scrolls, and its wide drawers for materials that shouldn't be rolled up or folded. A scribe is usually on duty at the tall desk up front with its good view of the room, and is able to help visitors find what they're looking for via the big bound index on its rotating stand. Past the desk, several tables stand in neat rows for note-taking, each stocked with glowbaskets, scrap hide, paper and pencils. Additional lighting is provided by a many-armed wrought-iron light fixture, its glows gleaming through luxurious glass containers in fluted shapes instead of baskets.

To one side of the room, a gap between two sets of shelves outlines where another set once stood, now replaced by a tapestry-covered aperture. Peeking behind the tapestry reveals another cavern, this one likewise full of shelves, but occupied by only a few boxes of older records and a somewhat musty air of disuse. As well, two narrow but solid doors are locked when the room is unattended and a discreet staircase provides direct access from the Weyrleaders' weyrs.

The day's weather is one of those perfect summer afternoons, the kind that usually inspires people to spend as much time in the sun as possible. The records room is about as different from the sunny bowl as possible, but it is here that one of the weyrlings has chosen to spend his afternoon. Perhaps Kazavoth is soaking up enough sun for both of them. Perhaps D'kan just really wanted to get some studying done in the peace and quiet before more people are reminded they have other chores to do. His work doesn't seem to be complicated, at least, consisting of some simple hidework spread in front of him on one of the tables. He has parchment, ink, and pen, but he hasn't taken any notes just yet, too busy reading the closest hide.

A touch of sun is carried into the otherwise dull records room, Azaylia dressed for the 'Reachian summer in pale gold sundress. Layered skirt hisses with her purposeful strides, pausing to exchange a soft-spoken greeting with the scribe on duty. Airy murmur lifts, a question though the exact words are difficult to make out. Once she's pointed in the right direction, the weyrwoman moves towards the older hides and scrolls. D'kan's table is close enough to warrant a smile, a silent greeting for him to catch if he's not too engrossed in his studies. With her back to him, her fingers jump from one spine to the next, hover over the occasional scroll's label, movements quick but not particularly rushed.

There is little sunny about D'kan's own wardrobe, though it is at least clean. He's clean, in fact. Going by still-damp hair, upon closer inspection, it's possible he hasn't taken any notes yet because he can't have been here all that long. He's also not too terribly preoccupied with his studies, because he catch's Azaylia's approach and subsequent smile. The weyrling nods to her with his own polite smile in return, murmuring a quiet "Weyrwoman" in greeting. He turns back to the hide in front of him, but only momentarily, before he looks up for a casually curious glance at whatever it is Azaylia might be looking for. "Please tell me you're just in here for a brief respite from Rukbat." He's grinning a little crookedly now and has leaned away from the hidework. "Seems a sin for both of us to be missing out."

"No..." Answer is drawn out, distracted. When her groomed nail clears down another title, it keeps her place so Azaylia can aim a more attentive smile over at D'kan. "Weyrwomen have to brush up on their history, too. Or at least I do." She thinks better of condemning all other goldriders, lips thoughtfully quirking to one side. The pull is so great that she's turning back to the shelves, and the light tap of her fingers resumes as they dance across the records. Throaty hum is more of a stifled squeak as she finds what she's looking for, book thick with paper pages and the odd scrap of hide. Without her search to keep her away, the weyrwoman wanders closer to D'kan, book held lightly against her chest. "What about you?" Curiosity is all too obvious, "What's got you hiding away?"

"Tired of history lessons," D'kan answers before letting out a quick laugh. "Didn't know you guys had to do this stuff, too." He pokes a finger at the hide in front of him and states, "Lord and Lady Holders of Keroon, Ninth Pass until now." The next is, "Lord and Lady Holders Telgar, same. And Lemos. Got most of the others down well enough to hold my own at a dinner party." The last is drawled slightly as he lifts the corner of the third hide, then drops it again. "What about you?"

"I have to, at least." Azaylia tries to stress, "There's so much that's happened..." Fingers brush along her temple, free of fly-aways due to dual buns expertly set in place at the back of her head. It's a habit of the overwhelmed, though she sounds as if she's accepted her inability to know everything. "I wanted to read up on our past relations with Tillek, with High Reaches Hold. Refresh my memory on details I might have missed, before." The goldrider eases to the side, not wanting to loom over the seated weyrling as she looks over his hides. "Mm. I found it helpful to... well, sometimes Lord and Ladies just get married. I liked to make up a little reason why, or sometimes their names start with the same letters?" Even she's not terribly convinced of her methods being useful to anyone else.

D'kan gives Azaylia an easy shrug. "Not trying to memorize them in order so much as... figuring out who did what. I don't need to be a know-it-all, Harper Levier keeps reminding me. Just knowledgeable." He snorts slightly and sets his pen down on the parchment, then gestures to the chair across from him, should the weyrwoman feel like sitting. "Knew a lot of the stuff for the coastal Holds and all that. At least, the ones on this half of the continent. But as you said, there's so much." For the weyrling's part, he doesn't sound all that concerned. "I hate missing the sun, but got enough of the out-of-doors for a while back at the Hold. It's nice being in here when it's quiet, you know?"

Surprise lasts only a moment when D'kan motions to the other chair, the few steps taken towards it halted by what he says. "I won't be bothering you, will I?" If it's quiet he's after, she doesn't mean to disrupt that. The grip she has on the empty chair isn't tight, waiting for his say before easing down into the seat. "Aah. Sounds like you knew more than I did, coming here. The rest of weyrlinghood is going well?" Dark eyes glance towards his knot, possibly searching for a metallic sliver that would deserve congratulations. Finding none, "I hope you've gotten some free time, now that Kazavoth is a little more grown?"

There's a quick shake of his head after Azaylia asks whether she'd be disturbing him. "Knew enough to put together the pieces after, that's all," D'kan is quick to reply, shrugging slightly. "Geography, no problem there. Always loved maps. Names, though? Dates?" This time his head shake is slow and dubious. "If it wasn't some captain or something, forget it. Not too many captains who are also Lord Holders." He gives the weyrwoman a crooked grin, then glances toward the entrance briefly when another scribe enters. He turns back in time to catch that knot survey, which quirks the grin a little more crooked. "A bit more free time, yes, though Kaz is pretty disappointed about it. There's only so much I can do for him, he'll insist, I should be turning my attention to other things!" Slight inflections on the last sentence might indicate D'kan's attempt at imitating his dragon's voice. "So, I'm trying to get caught up on history. Not what he meant."

Only when she's solidly settled, with no hope of being shooed away, "I'm sure you've been told it's all important to know." Despite sympathetic smile, Azaylia agrees with the sentiment enough not to offer any youthful arguments. He must hear it enough from his classmates. The tome is placed on the table in front of her, upside-down title marking it as recorded accounts between Weyr and its various Holds. The goldrider leans forward, jaw propped up by one arm as the other rests atop the table, fingertips claiming a corner of the book. "Kazavoth?" Surprise mingles with delight, a chance to learn more about the brown, "He wants you to take charge? Or is it that he thinks you're so important that everyone else should, too?" Her smile is playful, not expecting to be right on either account.

"Oh yeah, crucial to being a diplomat for the Weyr, and all that," D'kan replies with a short laugh that gains the ire of the head scribe on duty. The weyrling leans forward and gathers the three hides before placing his empty sheet of parchment on top, followed by the pen. While recapping the small bottle of ink, he gives Azaylia a flat, considering sort of look, then the ink bottle is also added to the stack. "I think," he begins, then hesitates, gaze focused on the table. "I think he believes I'm missing out, or I'll be passed over later or something." Picking at a smudge of something on the table's edge, likely old ink, he frowns, then looks across the table at her. "Did they do this sort of thing when you went through weyrlinghood?"

Even the weyrwoman is not immune to a scribe's ire, the look in their direction answered with an apologetic purse of her lips. Azaylia's soft voice is even more so because of it, "Does he? Hm." It takes a moment to understand, thinned lips brought to fullness in a pensive pout. "I can see why it might seem that way now. All of this is sort of your whole world, or it's supposed to be. After your dragon, of course." Fingers flick beneath her jaw, throwing the last in even if it could go unsaid between riders. His frown has the weyrwoman sitting up, arms lightly crossing on the table, "They did. Though I didn't have a choice, impressing Hraedhyth. Or, the Weyrlingmaster's didn't. Goldriders are always a part of the leadership program."

"Right... right," D'kan replies, looking away, hands resting idly to the sides of his own study materials. "I guess all sorts of stuff was pretty different for you. Impression. Weyrlinghood. Everything after." His thumbs tap a couple times on the hides, just fidgeting. After a few seconds of pensive thought, he looks up at Azaylia again, frown not entirely gone. "Was it worth it? --I mean," he interjects, grimacing slightly, "not Hraedhyth, but... all the... extra."

Warm gaze turns curious as D'kan looks away, Azaylia's head tilting faintly to the side as she considers his question. Her own mouth is even, an unintentional mirror of his lingering frown, "I didn't used to think so. At the time, we had four weyrwomen, counting Br--" Memories have a habit of muddying present truths. "Aishani and myself. I worked hard, but I didn't think it would matter as much as it does now." Fingers creep back over to the book, pinching a corner and pulling it closer to herself, watching it's slow progress. "It was worth it. What I learned helps me to help the Weyr, but that's my job. It's what weyrwomen are supposed to do." She peeks up at him, shoulders inching up in a shrug, "I don't think it matters as much unless you know that you'll lead someday. I'm sure we've got Wingleaders who weren't in the program?" Not that she sounds certain, not one to peruse weyrling records for fun.

D'kan also watches that book's progress, though only in the way of interest at something in motion. His lips press together tightly for a moment when Azaylia finishes, but he continues staring at that book for a long moment after. "No offense, but here more than anywhere else, no one seems to know they're going to lead. Seems to me, they either take it or they don't. No little silver thread's going to make much difference." It's not a bitter sort of tone, just kind of flat, followed by a fleeting look at Azaylia's face, then away again. "I guess it just seems a little weird that any of you might be able to pick out the so called leaders from our group, when we've only been weyrlings a few months. That's all." Well, it's not "all", but it's where D'kan leaves it.

"Well, no." Azaylia is quick to agree, as well as clarify, "I meant knowing by... Impressing a queen. Even as juniors, we help lead." Another little shrug for the rest, for those he means who don't have their paths decided for them by a golden hide. D'kan's words do have her brows pinching, the furrow not as dramatic as it could be if he were actually bitter. "I don't know if that's the point of the silver threads..." Her words are slow, not leaping to oppose his opinions as one might expect. "Do you think it would be better to dump all that extra work on the whole class? I think it would be overwhelming for most." Considerate for the hypothetical weyrlings, she won't forget the one sitting across from her, "Does it bother you?" She probes for that 'all' that he's left unsaid.

"Well, I sure don't know what the point is, then," D'kan replies after Azaylia's slow words. Fidgeting fingers find the pen, twirling it slightly before he brings out a small square of old cloth so he can clean the metal nib. "And... no, to be honest," he answers with a frown at the pen before looking at the weyrwoman. "Seems like a good way to run them toward burnout. Why can't we learn that stuff after weyrlinghood's over? I mean, shells, who wants a barely-out-of-weyrlinghood leader anyway? It's not like any of the ones chosen are suddenly going to wind up Weyrleader." He sets the pen back down with a small shred of frustration and crumples the cloth into a rough square before stuffing it back in his pocket. "We're supposed to be this family, but here we are getting divvied up four months into it."

A thought that rides out on an exhale, "Does there have to be?" Azaylia draws her hands back up, folding them as she leans forward to rest her lips thoughtfully atop her knuckles. That light furrow remains, concern sharing the pinch in her brow with thought. "It's an opportunity for those who want it, who can handle it. Nobody's stopping you from learning it on your own now," Her gaze drops to his stacked hides, "Or after weyrlinghood, like you said." Her struggle to be both fair and honest is clear, not the most glamorous of spots to find one's weyrwoman, but image isn't her concern at the moment. With a sigh that sounds as if she's given up, it's hardly the case as she aims another curious look at D'kan. With light worry and little accusation, "You sound bothered. Do you feel like having some with silver threads hurts the 'family'? It shouldn't, unless those chosen are acting like they're better than everyone else?"

This time there is no fleeting look. D'kan fixes Azaylia with a long, hard, studious stare, his expression blank. Toward the end, there is a slight degree of relaxation just before he looks down at his own out-of-class studies. At first, it might seem he's not going to answer at all, as he takes a small washed leather pouch from his back pocket, slipping the pen and ink bottle inside. Fingers press hard against the stack of hides and parchment for a quick second before he finally replies, dark eyes rising to regard the weyrwoman again. "I think, out of the five chosen, only N'gan has a hope of improving this Weyr's image right now. So, well done there. But the others? Who are they supposed to impress? Three more women and some joker. Again, no weyrleaders in the making among them, fine. But I'd be a little more worried about trying to make High Reaches look like less of a joke to the outside world someday. Can they? Can our current leaders? That's what bothers me."

Azaylia doesn't wilt beneath that stare, brown gaze finding his and keeping it. She lacks his intensity, few lines in her face smoothing away as she waits to see if he has more to say. Patience, it's familiar. Easy. Muffled, until she lifts her jaw so that she's not speaking against her hands, "Silver thread or no, it's not their job to fix the Weyr, and it might never be. I'm sorry if I'm not understanding you," A faint wince, for that could very well be the case. "It sounds like you're putting even more responsibility on the leadership program when you had it right the first time. It isn't a guarantee. It just... is." The rest has her arms dropping into that loose cross from before, "It does fall on those who lead us now. On me. It's so much easier to... to break things than fix them. It takes time to set things right." With a faint nod forward, "I'm trying." Comfortable, certain, if only in speaking of herself.

The barely muzzled frustration remains in place as D'kan's jaw tightens momentarily while listening to Azaylia. "That's... not really what I was getting at," he states after a pause, voice a little tight before he takes a breath and closes his eyes before leaning back against his chair with a dull thud. His posture is more collapse than relaxation. "I apologize, weyrwoman. I'm not explaining myself well, and..." He opens his eyes to look away, gesturing vaguely to the side as he takes another breath. The frustration seems to be gone... mostly. "It's the idea of it. Feels so off-course, when what we all need most is one clear goal. Direction. Purpose." He turns back to Azaylia, expression soft but grim. "Instead, we have factions. Spies. Half-truths. A Weyr that feels as fractured on the inside as it appears from the outside. And I think..." He trails off, gaze falling to the edge of the table as he shrugs. "What bothers me is being a part of that."

His apology has Azaylia giving a faint shake of her head, offering no more understanding than that for fear of interrupting. When he makes mention of the Weyr, of the state it's in, she closes her eyes in what could be a muted wince. "I want nothing more than to set everything right. To make sure that you and Kazavoth can grow up in a Weyr that you can be proud of." Though her voice remains steady, she's not able to completely hide the raw rasp of guilt. "I won't have people pretending that they don't feel anything, aren't angry or scared just to make it look like everything is okay." She follows his gaze to the table's edge, leaving only to try and recapture his gaze in a glance. Lips part, stalling as her first thought is replaced by another, "Is there anything I can do?" While she's here, while he has her focus in these rare moments.

D'kan continues studying the edge of the table for a few more seconds, though what secrets it could possibly reveal remain mysteries. He looks in time to meet her eyes, his own uncertain. Following her question, he manages to smile slightly, softening his expression. "Letting me rant like a pompous ass for a while helped," he admits, voice quiet but dry. "So, thank you. It looks like you're already doing what you can," the weyrling adds, nodding his chin toward her book. "Maybe you all are. It was stupid to go off at you like that." He rearranges his stack of hides for a moment, making them just a little more square to the table's edge. "I know my job right now's to take care of Kaz and learn all I can. It's been frustrating being nothing but a student again, when all I want is to do something. Anything."

The way her brows shoot up says it all: that was ranting? In an attempt to hold back obvious relief, Azaylia sounds a touch amused, "It was interesting." She means it, no attempt to spare his feelings necessary. "You're welcome to 'rant' at me when you feel the need, just understand that I might have write reports, during." Soft smile makes way for the sympathetic glance she gives the weyrling, even as mention of her book has her fingers sliding beneath the cover. A silent promise that she will get to reading it, after. "I'm beginning to find out that you never really stop being a student. I haven't." The weyrwoman isn't embarrassed to admit it, accepting what faults could be tied to such a statement. "You might also want to talk to your Weyrlingmasters. They're there to help, and they might be able to understand?" She doesn't see her half of the conversation as particularly insightful, it seems.

For D'kan it sure was. He stays quiet, though, until she mentions always being a student, at which he makes a small sound of agreement, followed by, "Guess I never thought of it that way." When she mentions talking with the weyrlingmasters, he looks across at her for a couple seconds, then smiles slightly, more a pursing of the lips. Whatever the expression means, he follows it by picking up the stack of hides. "I'll think about it," he promises as he gets to his feet. The leather bundle of writing instruments is tucked into a back pocket before he tucks the hides under one arm. "For now, though, Kazavoth is getting restless. Thanks for..." He stops, frowning as he pushes in his chair. "For listening. It's nice to talk to someone not involved with weyrling training, if that makes sense."

Any lingering confusion at D'kan's smile is gone by the time he stands, "I understand. And you're welcome, D'kan." Azaylia answers, mindful of manners rather than taking any credit. Only after his chair is pushed in does she go flipping that cover open, fingers ducking beneath the first page and hesitating there. "Say hello to Kazavoth. I'd like to meet him, other than what Hraedhyth has told me." If anything, though surely the watchful queen has heard enough from those not of her own clutch. "Go," She playfully shoos, finally turning the first page. "Enjoy the sun while it's still out." The weyrwoman will remain inside, eventually pouring over the records with her own brand of intensity.