Difference between revisions of "Logs:New Headwoman"

Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr(#364RJs)

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 is a winter night, 18:21 of day 3, month 3, turn 18 of Interval 10.

It's with some trepidation that Milani crosses the Bowl answering the Weyrwoman's summons. She's been busy since Hayda resigned, working with the others to keep things flowing the way they should and today is no exception. Still she took the time to change, to put on a clean shirt and skirt, to take her hair down and put it back up neatly. And so she walks now across the chilly Bowl, feet crunching on the last of the slushy snow, sweater done up against the cold. It's only a matter of minutes and she's up the steps to the council room, comes into the room to attend the Weyrwoman.

Seated in the well-lit council chambers, with her glossy hair piled up into a work-friendly, if messy, bun, Satiet is speaking with another assistant headwoman, one several years Milani's senior. The conversation seems amicable, though cooler from the Weyrwoman, and the mid-twenty-something other woman seems far too eager to please, though time has nurtured at least the semblance of patience on the goldrider's face. But in due time, shortly after Milani's arrival in the council room's entrance, the loose-held stylus hits its final beat against the table and remaining seated, a simple gesture of her hand indicates that this interview is over - whether Maretta would like it to be or not. On her way out, opting for the records room exit than the chill of the outdoors, Maretta turns a quick, appraising gaze upon Milani before pressed lips and a toss of blonde curls follows her out for sure. Ignoring Maretta, Satiet's cool voice and slender hand extend an invitation for the younger woman to find a seat, "Milani."

The blonde's head-toss is taken in with a little quirk of Milani's mouth to the side. "See you later, Maretta," is what she offers calmly just the faintest hint of humor threading through her voice. Satiet's summons though sees her wiping that look from her face and unbuttoning her sweater. With this last folded loosely over her arms, she steps across the threshold. "Weyrwoman, good afternoon," Millie says politely and slips into a chair. She doesn't perch on the end, but neither is she quite relaxed. Attentive.

A hand is held up, the universal signal for 'one moment,' as Satiet finishes scribbling a few notes on what passes for a Pernese resume, and then slots it into a folder labeled with Maretta's name. It's a thin folder, sparse, for the woman in question is neither troublesome more meritous, but merely diligent at her job. Not one to hide motive when it's unnecessary to, pale hands work through the various folders before it withdraws one with Milani's name labeled along the side, but for now, refrains from opening. "How've you been holding up?" The question is asked in the mildest of the intonations at Satiet's disposal, two hands coming to fall flat over the folder so she might lean forward a little. "Without- Hayda?"

Waiting patiently enough though Milani is not talented at holding still and her fingers fiddle with her sweater just a little, Milani offers over a little smile when Satiet looks up. "Fairly well, ma'am. Hayda ... was and is a very able organizer and it would take more than her stepping aside to tumble everything that she built to bits." There's a little pause. "There's been a little bit of competition," a little head-tilt follows the direction Maretta just went, but it's not too bad." She takes a breath though and offers more quietly, more thoughtfully: "I miss her though."

The perfectly carved ivory features tip to one side; loose curls that fall into her face is a dark contrast to the winter-paleness of her skin. Satiet's one-word inquiry, "Competition?" carries with it interest and a certain sense of anticipatory levity, not just in the inflection imbued into her alto, but also in the careful lift of delicate lashes. This should be good.

"Oh you know, who can clear the most work orders in a day, who can do things /the most/ like Hayda did, who has the tidiest clipboard at the end of the day." Milani's shoulders lift a little. "I mean it's not every day that this kind of position opens up. So there's some showing up going on." That inflection of the Weyrwoman's brings out just the hint of that earlier smile Millie had. "I guess it's partly just kind of dealing with it all being kind of nervewracking too. Not knowing. And -- well most of them miss her too."

"So-." Blithely, Satiet breezes past any mention of missing Hayda, pinning instead on this one comment - this one line of thought from Milani. Indeed, her thin smile coaches a little more invitingly, less cool though by no stretch of imagination warm and a thin hand frees itself from underneath the other to hold out half way across to Milani. There, on the table, it rests, fingers tapping a succession of idle beats from thumb to pinky and back, near soundless. "You? They? Consider this a competition?"

"Some of them," Milani elaborates with another little shrug. "Most of us are just ... trying to get the job done. Splitting up the work, making sure someone is coordinating. It's not a busy time of the turn at least," she says, eyes meeting Satiet's briefly. There's sincerity in what she says as the Weyrwoman's fingers tap out that beat.

"And which," Satiet's smile widens slightly across only her right cheek, causing the dimple there to impress faintly, "Of those groups do you fall under, Milani?" The rhythmic fingers halt, the index finger poised to drop, but for now suspended in the air.

"I'm getting the job done, ma'am," Milani says straightforwardly and then maybe can't resist: "Would you expect anything less?" Her hands fold into her sweater and her eyes are scanning Satiet's face again. "The way I see it, we've either already proven ourselves in the course of duty, or we haven't. Anything else boils down to what you think is best for the Reaches ... or what you want in a Headwoman. So. There's not really any point in doing that kind of thing. It just makes everyone cranky."

Milani's timely addition draws out a purse of Satiet's lips, seeming displeased though no other attention is drawn to that statement. The dark-haired woman with the ever pale eyes looks to the assistant, meeting her scanning head-on and following whatever path Milani's gaze might take. Now lacking in even the inviting amusement, the slender face is impassive, other than the telltale purse of her lips. "Then tell me, Milani, what you would deem your greatest strengths as well as your fatal flaws?"

There's a faint movement of Milani's lips, either amusement or something else at the shift of expression on Satiet's face. Unlike their last interview, the younger woman isn't flinching under that pale-eyed gaze. "Simply put, I know the job. I know /here/. This Weyr. And you know I'm loyal to it. The Weyr." Not her, not the Weyrleader. The Weyr. "What I don't do well, sometimes maybe I'm too blunt. Sometimes maybe I care too much. But what I don't do as well, I know when to get help."

Neither pleased nor displeased, the purse of her lips retracts and her lower lip disappears behind the worry of her teeth briefly. "And-," it's all be easy up until now - easy in Satiet's sense, but the weyrwoman tips her head forward, so a glossy curl falls to frame her sharp features. The alto lowers, warms a little, and the pale eyes remain fixed onto Milani's blue-green. "And, what do you think I would need in a Headwoman?" Not the Weyr. Not the Weyrleader. Her. The Weyrwoman.

There's a brief moment of blinking, not in surprise, but something else as Milani gathers her breath to answer. "You need someone who will make sure that things keep running, no matter what. You need someone who's really good at working things out in the Interval when things might get dicey. You need someone you can trust and who won't balk at some of the things that go on here, but who will do her best to keep it all above-board so the Weyrleader doesn't have to go poking around under the boards. You need someone who's creative enough to think outside the box without sinking the place."

"I need," Satiet asserts quietly, without missing a beat in Milani's long list of what the assistant thinks her weyrwoman might need, "Someone who has the ability to point out where I am wrong without invoking my wrath. I need someone who has a thick enough skin to not take to heart the various trials of this position." There's a glitter in her pale eyes, unlike the chill of norm, highly amused and mocking of not Milani, but herself. And then there's deliberately placed, pointed emphasis. "Do you believe yourself capable of that, Emilly's daughter?"

"I think my skin got thick enough last turn," Milani says quietly, looking back across the table at the Weyrwoman. "As for making you angry, that might be a flaw. I haven't figured all of it out yet. But I think I can, eventually." There's a little breath exhaled and Millie leaves it at that.

"You think you can." Is she disappointed? It's so hard to tell; but from warm and low-toned, the slight woman sits back, physically placing distance between herself and the would-be Headwoman. "No one is flawless and to be able to work with the flaws of others, as well as complement and supplement what they might require or lack is truly a skill." From the table by her, a hand reaches forward for a pair of glasses, perching them on the top of her nose and then sliding them up further so the pale eyes are shielded by a layer of glass as they observe Milani. Blue eyes glance towards the wall where beyond lies various private weyrs, paused there in thought, and then in conjunction with her words, perhaps betray something of her thoughts. "Would you allow him a chance to make you cry once more?"

"Yes," Milani says simply and rearranges her sweater, laces her fingers together. The Weyrwoman's gaze turning that way, the question draw Millie's gaze briefly, then her eyes are seeking out Satiet's again. "There are things he could do that are far beyond my power to control. He could transfer my mother or my father. He could take things from people that I care about here. He could unwittingly bring wrack and ruin down on the Weyr. Some of those I can fight. Others I can't." There's a little lift of her chin though. "But he will never see me shed a tear because of something has done or said to me."

The longer Milani speaks, the more dry Satiet's expression becomes, until by the end, there's only one brow quirked at the assistant headwoman and a mild, "No need for theatrics." Then, in the next breath, "But the explanation is appreciated." The folder in front of her is finally opened, the knot that rests within its fat confines studied. "You're young. Do you understand what it means to become Headwoman? Do you realize you won't always get it right?" The dry twist of her words cause her gaze to fall to the hands that rest atop the Headwoman's knot, rather than to Milani herself, slender fingers intertwining above the intricate loops that rest below. "Do you really want it, when supposedly better, wiser, older women have passed on the responsibilities?"

Eyes down to hands and then back up to Satiet, one corner of her mouth lifted again. "Of course I won't. There was still a lot for me to learn from Hayda. She's a good Headwoman. I didn't think I'd be sitting here for at least another ten turns." Breath released. "Even if I screw up sometimes, I know I can do this. We both do or you wouldn't have that knot where it is," she points out perhaps too daringly. "This is my home. You know I will do my damndest to make sure it's taken care of."

The knot lifts, hefted lightly in Satiet's small hand. "That's not what I asked."

"I wouldn't be sitting here at all if I didn't," Milani says quietly now and lifts a hand to the back of her neck, looking across at Satiet again. "What I understand is that it's a big job, that everyone in those caverns will be looking to me now, not through me to Hayda. There'll be her legacy too, people who wish she hadn't left, who don't think I can hack it. There'll be good days and bad days." Another breath and then Millie's hand drops again. "But out of all the assistants, I think I'm the one who can do it. Even when it's hard."

"Your confidence," remarks Satiet with the subtlest trace of sarcasm infused, "Is inspiring. Don't let it make you arrogant." Which is as good of an answer as the knot is set on the table and slid across. "And don't let Maretta's disappointment rain on your triumphs. Congratulations, Headwoman."

And there it is, sitting right there on the table. Milani looks at the knot for a moment and then back up at Satiet. "I won't," she says simply, no fuss. Then she reaches out to take the knot, rests the loops over her hand. "Thank you, Weyrwoman." When her gaze lifts again there's something like bemusement mixed in with pride and then she holds the knot back out to the slighter woman. "Would you be so kind as to do me the honor?" Hey. Poise. Sort of.

Or cojones, the request startling a woman who's already moved on to better, brighter, more interesting things -- or at least the mundanity of every day tasks. From her hides, the folder left open, the pale eyes fly upwards to find Milani with the knot held out. "Some nerve," remarks Satiet, though that voiced appraisal doesn't stop her from rising and rolling her slender shoulders backwards, back straight. In fact, it seems impressed. Taking the knot in hand, she steps over to pin it to the other woman's right shoulder, adjusting the various loops and tassles. "Welcome to the club."

"I'm my father's daughter too," is Milani's steady reply as Satiet affixes the knot. She takes a deep breath and she rises. "Thank you very much, Weyrwoman. I'll see you in the morning." There's a little nod, professional even in quality as Milani shakes her sweater out to hang over her shoulders for the walk back across the Bowl to pull the remaining assistants together, make some announcements and get everything in order for the following day.

As Milani leaves, Satiet remains standing for that moment longer. A nigh on imperceptible lift draws her chin and gaze upward. Watching the sweater, skirt, and woman in it disappear, a moment of fleeting sympathy softens the weyrwoman's features, discolors her eyes, and looking suddenly tired behind those glasses she wears, the weyrwoman finds immediate solace in work. She sits, reclaims her stylus and studies the open folder before her with Milani's various credentials and two sheets of a letter of recommendation from Hayda before that is shut, and more pressing matters claim her attention.