Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Perfect Person"

It's early afternoon at High Reaches when the touch of a foreign queen - soap-bubble translucent, and prettily bubbly - reaches out to find Hraedhyth, all the way across the planet. « Hello! » she enthuses, bubble-gum sweet. « You're Hraedhyth. Aren't you? Kyouri would kill me if I got that wrong and found the-- no, no, you're definitely Hraedhyth. I'm Torith. From Benden. Kyouri says that Leiventh and his rider suggested we talk to you, and so she says you should come and visit. It's wet, though. I hope you don't mind wet? » Evidently, she doesn't expect the suggestion to be turned down, because she adds, without waiting for a reply, « It's the third ledge. I'll make room for you. We'll see you soon! »

Surprise is unbecoming of a warrior. Her flames leap as she's suddenly, painfully aware of the foreigner who floats past the borders of her mind. Torith is not met with force, but there is an intensity to Hraedhyth's attention. Fire's light helps to illuminate the Benden queen's intentions, a snort of amusement meant for the Reachian's own reactions. « HELLO. » Enthusiasm is cover enough for relief that the other comes in peace. Bubbly, saccharine, peace. Leiventh? Her smoke curls curiously, but then, « We will-- » And then ledge is offered up, prompting a low rumble of good humor. « Soon. »

Torith's presence skitters back, a little, when she's so lit by Hraedhyth's flames-- but she seems delighted, too, and leans in a moment later as if to bask in their warmth. « HELLO! » Enthusiasm is fun. « We'll see you soon, then! I can't wait to meet you, Hraedhyth. » She bubbles away, off to that distant Weyr, where night has fallen-- long since fallen. It's late evening, at Benden, and the rain teams down in endless torrents, making it difficult to see for a native, let alone a guest. But Torith is helpful here: as soon as she's found Hraedhyth's local presence, she projects a mental map to assist-- down here for this many wingbeats, and then to the east, and three more, and-- there! Her ledge! Isn't it lovely! Complete with overhang, to keep Hraedhyth from getting too soaked.

It may take some time for the invited to actually arrive. What does one wear when suddenly summoned in the middle of Bendan's night? Azaylia has sense enough of the time to keep Hraedhyth from waking half the Weyr with a bellow, as well meaning as it would have been. The watchdragon is greeted with an unintentional mirror of Torith's excitement: bubbles filled with dark smoke highlighted by enthusiastic, friendly flames. She is in their lands, she will act appropriately. The directions are appreciated, ledge found and temporarily claimed by Hraedhyth's deep, splashing thud of a landing. It isn't until she's beneath the overhang that Azaylia dismounts, motions fluid and swift to clear herself of the gold's energy. Hraedhyth will look to greet Torith with a light headbutt and praise for the other gold's ledge, as well as gratitude at the invitation. Azaylia's in her riding leathers, headgear removed swiftly in order for her to check the long braid that hangs off to one side. "Hello?"

Perhaps the watchdragon has been warned, or perhaps he's simply used to Torith (and her visitors): he acknowledges Hraedhyth levelly, through the rain, and watches her all the way down to the weyrleader complex. The Benden junior is as bubbly in person as she is from afar, and seems delighted to have visitors; poor Hraedhyth may be subjected to an absolute torrent of chatter, in the time that follows. "Azaylia. Come in." In contrast to her lifemate, Kyouri is a composed, if slightly rotund, woman in her mid-thirties, appearing in the passage between ledge and weyr in something resembling a lounging gown. "I'm sorry about the late hour. We're night-owls, Torith and I, and I didn't want to pull you away from home too early in the day. The time difference is appalling."

It's no secret that Hraedhyth can be, and usually is, a social dragon. Though it may be difficult for the gold's rhythmic, low contralto to find enough of a break in Torith's chatter, she doesn't seem bothered. Poor Hraedhyth, certainly, but poor Torith who will be subjected to the 'Reachian's need to tuck in close for a cuddle. Compared to Kyouri's comfort, Azaylia is overdressed, riding leathers carrying with them a touch of formality. The younger goldrider unfastens her jacket, not presuming enough to shed it just yet, "No, it's really alright. It's more of a problem for you... You've already had a full day." Voice is just above a whisper, cautious and curious all at once. A moment of hesitation more before she's walking further inside, doing her best not to drip all over the other woman's weyr. Still soft, "Torith mentioned... Leiventh?" The question itself is unspoken, carried over in a shy glance.

Luckily, Torith doesn't seem bothered by cuddling with another queen. No doubt they'll be very happy together! Kyouri beckons Azaylia in, into the warmth and brightness of her weyr. It's beautifully decorated, the soft furnishings all decked out in subtle variations of pale purple, from carpets to couches and even to the hangings upon the wall. "Hang your things up here," suggests the older of the two juniors, waving towards a rack just near the door, as she heads towards the hearth. "Klah? Or something stronger? Honestly, we prefer evenings. Yes-- we've known R'hin and Leiventh a long time. He suggested you might like a mentor, and I thought-- why, I really am the perfect person for that. I'm just sorry we couldn't invite you sooner. Torith's been on the Sands, and she's a frightful pain, when she is."

There's one last look to the queens, huddled close and chatting like gossipy old aunties. Hraedhyth's pleasant reception gives her rider heart, Azaylia's smile warming up past polite, "Your weyr is beautiful. Purple." It suits her. Doing as she's told, gear and jacket are left to dripdry on the rack, pastel blue undershirt closer to Kyouri's own state of dress. "Klah is fine, thank you." A moment to reconsider, "With a drop of something stronger, please?" It's past sunset in Benden, at least. Relief manages to keep her from sounding overly eager, "Yes. A mentor. It's really alright, I didn't really expect... Are you?" Airy voice lifts higher with her self-stifling question. "The perfect person?" Not doubt, if anything the young weyrwoman already seems convinced. Rushed, "Congratulations to you and Torith, for your clutch."

"Isn't it? We've worked hard on it. Torith argued for pink, but we met in the middle, and I think it works." Kyouri busies herself by the hearth, filling two mugs - purple ones - with klah that was clearly made in preparation for the other woman's arrival. She lets the rest of Azaylia's words hang in the air, unanswered, until she's turned back around and waved Azaylia towards the little sitting area. "Oh, we're old hands at clutches, of course, but thank you. I'm the perfect person," and she smiles, all teeth, "Because I simply am. I've been Cora's junior since you were a little girl, Azaylia, and I think there's not much I don't know, at this point. We're goldriders: we stick together. We rule the Weyr."

"Hraedhyth just had her first. I'm still excited." It also serves as an attempt to excuse the sudden spark of interest in her gaze, the energy that has her moving briskly to the offered seat. The klah is left to cool where it sits, Azaylia's eager focus keeping to Kyouri, the older woman's smile encouraging her own to grow, if only slightly. "You do sound like just the person I need-- that I want to learn from." It's not an unfamiliar sentiment, that goldrider solidarity. And yet it has soft features pinching, stressing against whatever obstacles have presented themsleves since her own unquestioned faith. "Queens protect the Weyr." Taken from her own dragon, delivered with the same conviction if not strength.

On another, Kyouri's expression could so easily be read as patronising: of course Azaylia is excited, little dear. But she manages to deliver that smile without it being overtly so, as she reclines onto one of the couches, her own klah in hand. "Protect the Weyr - oh yes." She hasn't missed the pinch in the younger woman's features. "A Weyr is only as strong as her queens, Azaylia. As strong as her Weyrwomen. That, if nothing else, is why you must learn. And that is what we'll teach you. It's a pity the old tradition of sending juniors to other Weyrs for training has fallen upon the wayside, in your Weyr. If I were Weyrwoman, it's certainly something I would reintroduce, especially at High Reaches. You've had such an interruption. Now, tell me how you are faring."

"I didn't even realize that was tradition. I wish I could..." Wistful though Azaylia sounds, there's a firm reluctance in leaving High Reaches Weyr as it is. Never mind this particular style of training would have gripped her with panic in the past, "It's something to think about, back home. I'd like to bring it back, whenever we end up with another junior." The weyrwoman is already so receptive to Kyouri's teachings, to her opinions. When prompted to speak, her dark gaze falls to the klah in front of her. She uses the time it takes to pick up the purple mug to think, "I... the work is a bit overwhelming. It used to be four of us, and now? But really, if I'm going to be Weyrwoman," Uncertain enough to be purely hypothetical, and yet. And yet, "I need to know how to be Weyrwoman. To handle the Holds." The other Weyrs. "What's appropriate, what isn't. How to manage people but not... just force my will on them? I'm sorry, there's just so much to it." So much where she could be lacking, and unaware of it.

Kyouri's nod is approving. "I believe it fell by the wayside after Satiet's death; a pity. You'd do well, reintroducing it. Sometimes, it can be easier to learn with someone you won't be working with, day in and day out." Stubby fingers wrap more tightly about her mug as she considers Azaylia over the rim of it. "I can't teach you how to be Weyrwoman," she says. "Every Weyrwoman is different. Every style is different. I can certainly give you some insight into how Cora and I run Benden, and how we manage our Holds. Do you want to be Weyrwoman, Azaylia? Is it your ambition? There's nothing--" She seems amused, abruptly, her dark eyebrows raised in a challenge. "Wrong with being a junior forever. I certainly have no such ambitions."

Azaylia's gaze remains low, swimming in the klah she then sips from, "I wish I had known her." Spoken into the mug, like one who is and always will be naive to the flaws of a legend. Swept back up by Kyouri's words, there's a faint grimace, "I didn't mean... Yes, I'm sorry. I would like to see how you and Cora do things. I understand it isn't easy to lead, but I also believe that if I had been properly trained I'd be able to just... be better for my Weyr. Stronger." If she finds any danger in the older woman's amusement, there's no hesitation in her answer. There's something raw, a touch hungry, "Yes. I want to be Weyrwoman. Not because I don't want to be a junior." There's a difference. Reality has her taking in a slow inhale, "And if Iesaryth rises first, then I'll do my best to help my Senior. Either way, I need the training." Either way, there will be no leaving High Reaches Weyr.

"She was a great Weyrwoman," opines Kyouri, though she herself can't have known Satiet well, or perhaps even at all. "Perhaps High Reaches will have another great one, in time." Now, she sets down her mug, the liquid in it still untouched. It leaves her hands free, but she's evidently not the type to fiddle: they drop to her lap, resting there quite unaffected. "Good," she says, continuing. "You can be great without wanting it-- you can be great, having it thrust upon you, but it's always much more difficult. I will teach you, young Azaylia. We will make you as capable as we can, in as much time as we have. I hope we will be friends. I hope that relations between your Weyr and mine can improve. Perhaps, in time, you will send your own junior to see me. Or perhaps we shall send one to you."

A faithful nod for Satiet, silence hinting at subtle doubt for either road in the fork that is High Reaches' future. Azaylia sits up, unaware of the meek slouch she's taken on until now, "Oh thank you, Kyouri. I know that... Well, I'm not your junior. And I really do appreciate you taking the time to mentor me. I... thank you." Flustered, her heartfelt words lose direction until she can only utter that soft gratitude. "I would like to be friends. Hraedhyth already enjoys Torith." Both are overly social, despite the obvious differences in how they go about being such. Her half-drained mug is set on the table, her own hands folding in on each other nervously, an unintentional opposite of the experienced woman in front of her, "The least I can do is try to bring back the junior transfer program." She sounds happy to do so, "It's something I can manage as junior or senior." In this, she's confident.

Kyouri is so-obviously pleased, in a self-satisfied way, by Azaylia's response. "Good," she says. "Good. I do believe this will work well. Now-- may I suggest we set a time for our meetings, and carry them out on a regular basis? You may come here... or I can come to you, unless you would prefer to keep this quiet?" Lighter, with an edge of laughter, is her, "Torith is well pleased. Most dragons seem to dismiss her as simple, but, of course, there's so much more than what meets the eye. That's often the case, I find."

If the older goldrider is pleased then so is Azaylia, "I can make time." Eager to make her appretiation known, "Whenever is best for you and Torith will work for us." She falters at the options presented, at the idea of keeping their sessions secret. Too much thought goes into her answer, taking time to give her lower lip a pensive chew. Finally, "I'd like to keep coming to Benden. I don't want my own... I don't want anything else to reflect poorly on my home, if I can help it." Not that she sees it as such, but even now she's beginning to understand the importance of appearances. Surprise in two blinks, "They see her as..? I... think I know what you mean." In regards to her own, instinctual lifemate. Lips are pursed and rolled back, stifling another outpour of gratitude as she looks to the Benden goldrider. And yet, "Again, thank you."

A single nod confirms Azaylia's choice of venue, and if anything, that seems to please Kyouri more: Azaylia made the correct decision. "Not, of course, that our meetings are a secret." Of Torith? A smile. "They underestimate her. As, I imagine, they underestimate your Hraedhyth. No queen should be so easily dismissed; they have more power than many can even imagine." And that, if her expression is anything to go by, is exactly how Kyouri likes it. "You are most welcome, Azaylia." Talk swiftly moves on to setting some dates, before, finally, the Benden goldrider leads the way back towards the exit. "I will see you soon, Azaylia," she says. "And if there is any way I can be of assistance before then... Torith will keep an ear out."

"Of course not." Azaylia is quick to agree, though her voice keeps to its usual quiet. "We'll pay our respects to you and your Weyrleaders, of course." As well as the watchrider. Kyouri's expression has the younger goldrider curious, eyes taking on a thoughtful squint before it smooths into a smile. To one so willing, everything seems like a lesson, even when it's not. The curse of the over-eager. During their talk, it will become clear that the 'Reachian woman intends to be honest. The need drives her to be too critical of herself at times, perhaps preferable to the other extreme. She won't overstay her welcome, hopping up when Kyouri intends to show her out. "Thank you. And if you need Hraedhyth and I?" The offer of assistance is mutual. Before she shrugs back into her damp leathers, Azaylia will risk a short hug, brought on by what gratitude remains unsaid. "Have a good night, weyrwoman Kyouri." Back into the rain, and moments later, to the sunny skies of High Reaches.