Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Bad Guy"

Galleries, Fort Weyr

The entrance to the sands and galleries alike is little more than an archway and a section of flat stone before it dissolves into the sands proper. Although it's warm here, it's not nearly as hot as the sands themselves are. To the right is a broad pathway leading to the stands, with a set of stairs leading up one side all the way to the upper tiers. Also visible from here is an odd engraving on the wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red Star. Lined along the right-hand side of the hatching cavern are the galleries, the seats carved from the stone wall and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated spectator's box at the topmost row. There are three separate flights of stairs leading into the galleries, with one near the entrance, another set in the middle, and a flight at the northernmost end.

"Hmm?" is Hattie's response at first, until words and the question they form sink into her consciousness and draw her to cast a brief look at both the ground-level entrance to the cavern and the way of the less obvious sky-entrance. Not immune to the concerns some others are far more vocal about, it seems. Likewise, Elaruth pauses to do much the same, almost in perfect unison with her rider, but /her/ attention lingers on Vashelle, whose presence so close to her rider must be deemed acceptable, for she goes back to her slow rearranging, now gently nudging one of the larger eggs to make sure that it sits at just the right angle. "For the moment," she confirms for Vash, pausing in her work to lean back against stone. "Unless you're here to tell me there's a brawl going on out there?" Dry, feet digging into the shallow edge of the Sand as she looks back at her.

The ground-level entrance is where N'rov's walking through, fresh from sweeps that must have started at dawn, unlucky man. Though, lucky man: he's walking arm and arm with his girl, and definitely isn't tickling her elbow or anything, or at least not /now/. "Twelve, they're saying," he says. "And no shiny shell, which is just as well with three of them, or so my three-Turns three-months not-quite-three-days of experience tell me. Or rather, more experienced riders tell me. Though it seems like common sense."

For a moment, Vashelle looks unconvinced that all here is as it should be. Hattie's last dry statement gets a grin out of the stablehand. "If there were a brawl, don't think the guards out there would've let me through just to gawk at some eggs," she answers, irreverent but sincere. She glances up toward N'rov, but Vash just rolls her shoulders, hands still stuffed into her pockets.

The bronzerider's girl, known to other people as High Reaches' (Acting) Weyrwoman, or Brieli, or /Aishani/ of late - so confusing - doesn't seem to be on an official visit, but she's still what looks to be a bottle of wine tucked under the arm that N'rov isn't holding. "Twelve's about the same as we'd have had if it weren't two at once," she notes, a bit wryly. "And I suppose that does seem like common sense. A tie-breaker." Not like she has one handy. Her attention should be on the galleries, but it's on Elaruth first, her slow egg-nudging.

"Shame," Hattie replies with an ever-so-heavy mock sigh, beginnings of a smile starting to surface. "Incite one on your way out, would you? Seems people need something new to talk about every five minutes or they're coming up with conspiracy theories." Just offhand enough to mask any concerns that lurk beneath the surface, or simply slightly distracted by the arrival of N'rov and Aishani, clocked with a steady gaze that soon returns to Vashelle, for the moment. "But do gawk away," she invites, in that same dry voice. "Sorry it's not such a good moment for it. It's easier when they're still." But still is not to Elaruth's liking, that egg settled as it /should/ be and the next of her choices now unearthed with the utmost care. The little queen pauses as if she can feel Aishani's gaze on her, attention lifting a fraction to look over at her, focus unwavering. If she can remember who she belongs to, it's anyone's guess.

N'rov's got a nod in reply, tacking on dryly, "Convenient to have common sense match up with the way things happen to be." He's not averse to gawking, doesn't seem to mind all the turning and shifting and such, doesn't let it slow them down, either. When they get close enough, "Morning, Weyrwoman Hattie. Both of you." Vashelle gets a easy smile, heaped with an 'I probably should know you' dose of rueful charm.

Vashelle seems to be seriously considering whether or not Hattie's request is sincere. She blinks once at the Weyrwoman, then smiles slightly. "We could just make up our own conspiracy theories. Then it would only be new to the people who like that sort of thing. She glances out over the sands, and he smile broadens. "That's okay. I like watching /her/ more than the eggs, anyway." She then notices N'rov and Aishani as they draw nearer. The stablehand has a polite nod in reply for the pair, but the politeness probably stems from the obvious lack of recognition on the girl's face.

Neither the queen's focus, nor the Weyrwoman's seems to bother Aishani that much despite being on unfamiliar ground, but she's got N'rov with her and a lovely smile of her own. After a nod to Vashelle, brief acknowledgement; to Hattie, "Weyrwoman. I'm sorry I've been remiss in visiting." In general? Since her hatching feast? Who knows. And as seems to be her custom, she has a gift, offering over the bottle of wine - which is predictably a good one. "Your Weyrleader was by the other day, I sent my regards. I think he liked this; hopefully you both will." A pause, before she tells the stablehand, perhaps a bit awkwardly, "Iesaryth likes watching the galleries more than her eggs."

Can anyone blame Hattie for her split-second of an unguardedly bright smile in answer to Vashelle's admittance? More affection for her lifemate than she might want known spills over for that moment, soon tamped down to a level not quite so soppy. "We could," she agrees, the slight twist of shoulders and hip broadening her address and field of vision to include N'rov and Aishani, "but unless we want them to get all the way to the 'Reaches, we probably shouldn't right now." Though let it be said that there's not a trace of concern for that eventuality to be seen in gaze or expression. "Vashelle, this is Weyrwoman Aishani of the 'Reaches, and our bronzerider N'rov," she introduces. "And this," for the others, "is Vashelle. She works in our stables." Whether she knows of N'muir's visit or not, Hattie takes the news (or not-news) in her stride and with a smile, inclining her head a little as she accepts the bottle. "Thank you - and Fort's duties to High Reaches." And not /only/ to her queens this time. "You're always welcome here."

It's a soppiness not missed by not-quite-unwillingly amused gray eyes, though N'rov comments neither upon that nor the gossip. Rather, with a press of Aishani's hand in his own before he relinquishes it in favor of leaning on a seat, "What do you do in our stables, Vashelle? Have you done it for long? Tell me you aren't Weyrbred and haven't lived here for eons while I scrabbled my way out of Boll."

Vashelle has been giving both Aishani and N'rov some curious study, but it clears when Hattie formally introduces them all. "Pleasure," she says politely to the two riders before quirking a small smile at Hattie. "I'll keep fictional gossip quiet, then. Though the runners seem to enjoy stories as much as drudges do, but they talk less than drudges." By her tone, this is all in the runners' favor. She glances at N'rov and shrugs stiffly. "I don't... I'm not sure. Not long. The stables here are huge. Lots of work. I like it."

Wryly, "The Reaches is in love with conspiracies. You'd find them quite twisted when they came back. And Reaches' duties to Fort. Thank you, Hattie." Aishani is touched, which might explain why she doesn't quite catch the soppiness in the same way N'rov does. It's there in usually guarded dark eyes and her smile for the other goldrider. "The clutch is lovely. I hope it all goes well - our lot have turned out to be an interesting group. And it's likewise a pleasure, Vashelle." She gives up the bronzerider's hand a touch reluctantly, but she seems amused by the /questions/ for the stablehand. "And do they? The runners, I mean. Sometimes it's nice... to have someone listen. People aren't terribly good listeners." Runners would have to be, one would suppose.

The pattern Elaruth has chosen to settle her eggs into this morning is looking more and more oval-shaped by the minute, a fact that registers with Hattie only once she darts what is meant to be a quick look at her queen and ends up being a slow double-take. Eggs forming an egg within an egg? "Runners are excellent secret-keepers," she can agree, though she has to protest: "You didn't 'scrabble' your way out of anywhere," to N'rov, fixing him with a look that sits somewhere at the edge of amusement. With her arms now fully-occupied, she takes a step backwards off the Sands and into the first row of seating to where she can settle bottle, clipboard and pen in the folds of her abandoned jacket. Her thanks lie in her shallow nod and small smile she has for Aishani as she asks, "Does Iesaryth like to watch her children any more now that they're not eggs?"

"Talk less than bronzeriders, too, I'd wager." That, from the one in present company. N'rov adds less sotto voce this time, "Wonderful, though. I do not have to droop my head in shame for the lack of knowing, though it seems I might for the lack of scrabbling... reputation," this with a merry glance Hattie's way. "Or the lack of listening," and the significant look /Shani/ gets is more like theatrically despondent. "Though at least I can blame it on being a person, instead of being four-footed with a propensity towards hoof rot and a tail... Do you have aspirations to Stand for this clutch, Vashelle? Or do you like your animals to keep themselves on the ground. I wouldn't blame you if you did." There's no audible bugle from Vhaeryth. Perhaps he's not listening. Perhaps he's used to it. Perhaps, no, /undoubtedly/ he has his own ways of getting even.

Vashelle is starting to look just a little uncomfortable now, outnumbered as she is. Dark eyes go from rider to rider to rider as her shoulders hunch, fists digging into her trouser pockets as far as they'll go. She opens her mouth, likely to answer about the runners, but she quickly closes it again and simply shakes her head to N'rov before darting further glances at Hattie and Aishani. "Speaking of runners... should, uh... I should get back to them." She motions back toward the bowl with a pivoting swing of her shoulders, then nods to the three riders. Then she flees, polite farewells forgotten.

"She /does/. She was terribly annoyed they wouldn't speak to her in the eggs as well. She wanted to know what they were like. Jhorinth said he heard, so that made her happy at least. I'll need to remind her next time." Though, by Aishani's slightly rueful grin, it doesn't seem that the queen will care that much. Casting a look over to Elaruth, she asks Hattie, "Still patterning. At least everything looks so organized when the time comes." Though she's not /looking/ at N'rov, there's a poke for his side, as she tells him, "You do /talk/. And about Vhaeryth, even." And as Vashelle begins to look uncomfortable, then flees, she looks at the bronzerider askance. "What a way with women you have." It should be noted she's not running off, but.

"Vashelle..." Hattie murmurs as the girl departs, in entreaty or farewell, her path followed all the way through the galleries and out into the bowl beyond. Likewise, she eyes N'rov in that wake of that departure, brows dipped low to affect dry displeasure. "I think you need to either perfect or abandon your interrogation technique," she drawls. "It's a good thing we don't have you working as a diplomatic envoy." Talk of patterning draws her attention back to Elaruth, who now eyes the position of the last egg to be moved against the bigger picture coming together. "Everything has to be perfect," she sighs with feigned frustration clearly not truly felt at all. "It's nice to know that he heard and /remembered/ Iesaryth's voice. I do wonder how much influence dam - and sire - have on them at this stage."

"Or remind the candidates to tell her they heard," N'rov says, /right/ before wincing. "Violence in the galleries. For shame. /And/, only certain women. What it says about which is which, I don't know." To Fort's Weyrwoman, affecting sudden servility, "You're exactly right, ma'am. No diplomatic-ing for me." If then he brushes his forehead with the back of his hand (saved!), at least he doesn't talk about it, and when he listens to talk of dam and sire, it's with not so idle interest... at least until a little later, when another rider hails him from the edge of the galleries. It's important, surely! He excuses himself with a brief touch to one of the weyrwomen's shoulders, no need to guess which one.

Giving Elaruth's efforts another glance, Aishani notes, "At least it gives her something to do. And I do wonder that. Some of them seem more like Iesaryth than the others." If she doesn't mention the clutch's sire, well... That might not be a shock to N'rov, at least. She glances over to him with a touch to the hand leaning on the chair... though when he heads off, she has a brief, warm smile for him. Turning back to Hattie, she explains, "Not so much violence in the galleries as near-violence; nothing major, but I was glad to have the guards then. Even if it's a precaution, I feel it might make things safer generally."

"Near-violence is enough," Hattie says, sympathy lying low through her words, N'rov's exit from the cavern watched not half as intently as Vashelle's. "Candidates?" she half-assumes. "Or...?" Or others; possibly others who should know better. "I'm not sure that I like having guards watch so intently." It's a confession with no grounding in any particular reason, until: "I think I liked knowing that there was a time when it could be just me, her and the eggs. Even if the guards aren't watching /us/... I still know they're there." She grimaces, nose wrinkling. "If that makes sense."

"Candidates," Aishani confirms. "Both weyrlings now. One was a guard; she's a odd one, but it seems better now, after the hatching. It always does, I suppose." Not that she has all that much experience with clutches or hatchings; she might just be repeating what she's been told. Though she nods to Hattie, seeming to understand. "After Iolene, when we didn't know... who, where they were, what had happened... there were guards outside our weyrs. N'rov got on all right with them, but it was always strange, if you're accustomed to your own space and time." Which, by her tone, she expects the other Weyrwoman is.

"The older ones, with former occupations, seem to find it more difficult than the younger ones," Hattie observes, the twitch of one shoulder suggesting that such is only as far as she's experienced. "I suppose they're lucky - the Candidates - that dams perhaps don't go so far as to tell their babies 'No, /not/ that one' whilst they're in the shell." But, then again... "Maybe some do." She regards Aishani for a moment, during which her hesitation, or quest for the /right/ words is clear. "Do you," a very specific, not general 'you', "keep any now? Given Aishani, /not/ Brieli. Their reaction." Abruptly veering away from dwelling on that for too long, she gives a wry smirk and shares, "I get too many looking at me askance for all that I still want to do for myself and not have the drudges do. Guards at the door would have me sleeping at the star stones." Not literally, one hopes.

Wryly, "Seems like the younger ones are having a bit of a time of it this time around. Or maybe they're just more likely to show it." Aishani has a faint smirk for that. "And they are lucky. I'm not sure who Iesaryth would prefer or not, or if she'd go so far as to choose a rider. I think she trusts them, if only as an extension of her own arrogance? She's brilliant, therefore they must be." Hattie's hesitation doesn't worry her; she often chooses her words with care as well; with a slight smile, "No. Jo... She's blue Tascuseth's. She and some of her friends were there that evening, but since then, Iesaryth's been off the sands. And I am rarely unarmed." There's a bit of a laugh for that, nodding. "I admit, I don't mind delegating. But it was difficult, to feel so confined, even if it was wise."

"I don't think Elaruth would put any of them off a particular Candidate, if only because she wants them to be happy," Hattie murmurs, gaze swinging out to watch her lifemate carefully ease the smallest of the clutch to its new location. "Even if /she/ doesn't like the person, one of her babies might /adore/ them." News of the lack of guards at her fellow Weyrwoman's person seems to ease any tension in her that asking that question created, and where some might condemn being armed, conversely she approves, sharp little smirk rising. "Glad to know I'm not the only one," she confesses. "I did have someone insist on guarding me once... Only problem was, I liked him far too much to ever have him stop."

Aishani has to admit, "There's that, as well. I suppose mothers want their children to be happy." That's something she'll have to look to Hattie with fine brows arched questioningly, with a smile. "Even if they're not quite the same sort of children. Iesaryth's wondered what mine would be like now, but I've told her there's time." And she can admit /that/ now that certain people aren't around to overhear. But the other goldrider's last has her giving a faint fond smile for her own bronzerider anyway, and she notes, "Sometimes, I'd like that. I worry that we'd lose... the perspective we have for one another. But your work doesn't necessarily seem to take over your life." With the Weyrleader, presumably, but it's vague enough for Hattie to take it another way, avoid it entirely.

Hattie gives a quiet snort around her lingering smile. "Even if their choices aren't the ones you'd make - or have them make," she utters wryly. "No matter how irritating that is." Her smile loses that sense of wryness as she looks up at Aishani to tell her, "I think you'll make a good mother," very sincerely. "N'rov might make an insufferable father, but..." Because of course she has to joke about /him/. Pride demands that she not take the out given, or perhaps it's because she speaks with a fellow goldrider that permits her to give a proper response. "It... can take over," she says slowly, as if working out what she means bit by bit. "Sometimes by accident and sometimes not so. ...It took me a long time to figure out that sometimes you have to /say/ where the line is or whether you're talking with the knot and..." And all the rest of it.

There's the slightest flush at the Fortian Weyrwoman even putting the idea to words; it's not something Aishani herself can do, but it makes her smile nonetheless, in a way she can't quite suppress. Looking up in the direction N'rov'd disappeared in, resigned, "I'd be the bad guy. But I suppose I have more practice at it." She's grinning - at least she has a sense of humor. How could she not? It's Hattie's slow words that demand full attention though, and she does /listen/. "Yes," after a time. "I can see that. There's a time where talking about an issue isn't going to help, and it could be easy to just... keep going." A pause. "I am glad, though Fort has had its problems, that things are stable here. It's good for the Weyr, the riders." Good for N'rov, specifically, maybe. She won't /take/ him.

"Someone has to be," Hattie declares without a hint of remorse, unable to quite fight the smirk that wants to answer Aishani's grin. "Or we'd all have two turn olds running around on ponies, owning a dozen firelizards and eating nothing but sweets." The smirk gets free and so does a sudden bark of laughter that has Elaruth peering curiously over at the two of them. "And riders doing much the same." If anything not so stable as it appears lurks beneath the surface, she's good at hiding it, and sidesteps /that/ a little to share: "I've been hoping, given the... changes at High Reaches, that we might step towards a more constructive relationship between our Weyrs. I couldn't broach such a thing with the last leadership, for reasons I'm sure you understand, but maybe one day, under more official circumstances, a better understanding could be reached."

"Mmm. I suppose so. It'd be more fun if everyone didn't cry so much." Aishani's tone is both wry and not a little rueful; it always sounds like more fun than it actually is. "And the riders would do the same, wouldn't they? It's only a thin layer of civility between us and chaos." And if her lips thin a touch there, perhaps it's reminding her of events at home. High Reaches hasn't been able to project the same stability as Fort, sadly. And Hattie's offer... or offer to maybe offer in the future - might arch fine brows, but she seems well-pleased by that, nodding. "I do understand. And I would like that. I think it could only be to our benefit if any past difficulties are... past. Though I likewise understand that things are not so settled now." With a wrinkle of her nose, still girlish, "Which is why I should probably go find N'rov before I head back. I don't know how long I should be away. But I'll make time soon, Hattie. Since you're stuck." And isn't /that/ fun, says her slight smirk.

"If only everyone were placated as easily as two turn old girls," Hattie sighs overdramatically. "Buy out Keroon and get everyone a runner to dote on." The future of politics Pern-wide, clearly. She dips her head, a weight to her words when she agrees, "Not too long away. People are... opportunistic." Likewise, she appears more than content with Aishani's response, her only proviso, "I have a Weyrleader to speak to about such matters. As I'm sure you do." And not a flicker of concern about the colour of that Weyrleader's dragon or the sex of the individual holding that knot. Not now. Not for the moment. "Go and find him before he gets himself into trouble," she encourages, sporting a smirk of her own. "I look forward to hearing from you soon, Aishani." And, as she is Sands-bound, that's precisely where her footsteps begin to take her, towards queen and eggs in an egg.