Difference between revisions of "Logs:And It Started Out So Well"

As dusk falls across the bowl, just toward the end of the usual dinner hour, a sharply dressed, freshly bathed bronzerider in deep blue gather best approaches Irianke and Niahvth's weyr. K'zin might easily set tongues wagging given that he's carrying a sizeable bouquet of blue, yellow and orange wildflowers, accented with a red but here and there throughout, the stems tied with a braided wrap of long, long green grasses, and a small square box in one hand. Then again, after what happened at the clutching feast, perhaps the young man is hoping that this much will buy just a bit of the goldrider's time (and hopefully her patience, as well). "Weyrwoman Irianke?" is called respectfully but loudly enough to carry from without. "May I come in?" Not that he risks injury to his cause by offering his name just now.

Irianke might laugh if she could see him in his attire and with his gifts, but as yet, she's still staring down at some hidework, a frenetic energy resonating off her for the speed with which she scans and discards, scans and discards. The open bottle of wine and the half-finished glass is doing absolutely nothing to calm her nerves it would seem. So when she's interrupted, a flustered look lifts from those hides to the entrance and then a deep breath. A deep calming breath. "Come in," is finally said in even tones. She'll look back up when he approaches, but she takes the moment to look back down and discard this one too.

Though K'zin doesn't stride in with the seasoned confidence of a bronzerider who feels entitled to be here, neither does he come with an abundance of nervousness as one might were one approaching a first date. He comes simply, his steps even and his shoulders straight. When he gets to the mouth of the outer-most room and can see her, he stops, waiting to be acknowledged after his polite, "Ma'am."

There, she finds what she was looking for and there, Irianke marks something down and sets the page in a different stack. "Ye..." her voice trails off when she finds K'zin and the look she has is visibly strained. She might not have even noticed what he's wearing or what he's brought, so focused on his face she is. Fighting against nature, the goldrider gestures to a seat and puts on a tepid smile. "What can I do for you, K'zin? Do you..." she finally takes a good look at the man and stops speaking and just stares.

The trailing off gives K'zin an opportunity to speak himself. Stepping forward, he extends the flowers and box toward her. "I was hoping you could help me with a problem I have. I think, ma'am, that you're the only one who can." Then he waits, perhaps to see if he's still invited to that seat.

"What... What are you wearing? What are you doing?" Irianke's virtual jaw has finally been reeled in and the goldrider, perhaps it's from having had some long nights and days recently, has no sense no composure or filter. The invitation isn't remade but at this point, it certainly isn't retracted either.

Since Irianke doesn't move to receive the things he's brought, K'zin takes them with him as he sits in the chair, box resting on one knee and flowers held upright in a crooked arm. "I heard that you might have been having-- that your assistant is one of the ones stuck," he decides as the wiser course than repeating what he might've heard about Irianke's state of mind. "So I know my timing is shoddy for making this request, so I thought... I've always had better luck asking for help if I bring nice things. I went riding with Faryn today-- runner riding, and there was a field full of wildflowers and--" that explains the bouquet, "and I'd already made this," whatever's in the box, "for you, to thank you for your help, or maybe to apologize or both, so since I had it and I had the flowers fresh, I figured I'd better come tonight." It might be a ridiculous explanation for everything but his manner of dress, but there it is. And really, if you're a bronzerider bringing a goldrider flowers and a gift and asking for a favor, shouldn't you wear your gather best?

"What?" Along with her composure, Irianke's lost any verbal skills as she continues to just stare at poor K'zin. Somewhere at riding, and the clarification of runners riding as opposed to other kinds of riding, a snort escapes and then by the end, she's in full on ridiculous tear-worthy laughter. So much so that her hands are up hiding the tears streaming from her face. "Oh. Oh. Oh. I didn't realize I needed this today. But who really ever thinks they need this on any day?" Somehow, she manages to get those words out in between laughing and then not laughing and then laughing again. A few fingers are over her mouth and she shakes her head, possibly at herself and maybe a little at him. "What can I help you with?"

If there's one thing K'zin is practically made for, it's to take laughter (at him? near him? because of him?) with exceptional grace and poise. His lips pull, wanting to smile, but only turn upward just at the edges as he waits it out. He doesn't even draw attention to the tears. He just quietly supports her having this moment that she needed. "I'm supposed to write you a letter of apology, ma'am," he begins after drawing a deep breath. "Only, I'm not entirely certain what I'm apologizing for, and you seemed, to me, from that time, in the records room, like the kind of person who would appreciate a real apology and not something empty. So, I was hoping you could... clarify for me." He looks serious now, and genuine. He's trying here! See the flowers? The box? The doublet?

Oh, serious topics. Serious topics need serious Irianke. Serious is so hard when she's finally given an emotional outlet to not be serious, but she tries, first by schooling her expression and then by taking a quick succession of deep breaths. "H'vier mentioned that the Weyrleader directed the both of you to do so. He apologized for losing his temper and ruining the clutch celebration. Perhaps," she looks to K'zin, the remnant damp stains on her cheeks wiped away, "That is where you could start."

K'zin's hand shifts just slightly on the box. His expression is uncertain, but not looking like it's aiming to antagonize the goldrider. "So this isn't about Searching Zadkiel? And what Rasavyth said to the dragons?"

That sobers Irianke up quickly. The goldrider is silent for a long while, looking quietly at K'zin until she finally says, "It is. Can you tell me why you did so? Have you ever Searched outside of High Reaches' coverage area?"

"Now and again. Crafthalls, mostly." K'zin answer calmly in the face of these questions. He must have known it was a possibility he'd be asked. "I wasn't at your Weyr on Search." Clearly, that would have been wrong. Rasavyth noticed Zadkiel while we were in the bowl. Given that Igen is said to be getting some portion of the riders from this clutch, it seemed reasonable to me at the time," before they were told explicitly not to, "that to have an Igenite Impress and return home at the end of weyrlinghood wouldn't be a bad thing, so I Searched him." The words are almost certainly chosen carefully, but it's logical that they would be if the bronzerider anticipated having to account for his actions after everything. None of them seem to be a lie and K'zin's demeanor thus far does not paint him as the sort of person who'd be a good liar, so there's that.

"And if he should Impress bronze?" asks Irianke quietly. "Or shall we make sure he's only on the sands when there are green and blues hatched?"

K'zin's brow wrinkles deeply. He's silent, lips pressed tightly together as he considers his next words. They come quietly, "This deal the Weyrleader made," he starts the words being laid out gently, "it's trading the lives of people for the lives of dragons. Treating both like chattel. Arguably, perhaps a Weyr can be said to 'own' it's dragons, because the likelihood of a sole rider being able to care for their dragon without the support of its Weyr is unlikely, and the dragons are therefore indebted. But the candidates... Does the Weyr own them once they Impress?" It's a wondering question, one that clearly makes him sad to even have to think about. "Are our Weyrleaders trading in living currency?" So, so sad to think of it. Heartbreakingly sad, even.

Irianke's response starts with a finger up. "One, the Weyrwoman. The Weyrleader had nothing to do with brokering this deal."

"Two," Irianke's second finger climbs, "You used to be an apprentice. Yes," she feigns a brief smile, "I do study and read what is at my disposal as I find it makes me a better administrator. When, if ever, do you get a choice as to where you are posted and for how long?" Should he start trying to speak, she'll waggle her finger and cluck a negation.

For the third point, her finger comes up and then the three fingers set down on the edge of her table. "Finally, dragonriders go where they are needed. I have gone where I was needed. It was not inconceivable during Passes to redistribute entire wings to new Weyrs who might need them more if casualties were that high. Just because this is not something you or I can understand does not mean the decision was not made with any less consideration and thought for the greater good."

Irianke releases her three fingers and looks at K'zin. "If you mean to apologize, I accept. You don't have to write me a letter because I don't think it would hold the weight of the quality of hide or paper you wrote it on." Her voice isn't cruel, merely tired and accepting of the situation. "But I would much prefer if you owned up to the fact that you went to Igen, deliberately, to Search so you could be promoted. And because you believed people were being wrong. So you rejected turns of tradition and unspoken and implied directives from your superiors for your beliefs. I commend you, but it does not mean I trust or believe you."

K'zin's face is tight, his dark eyes intense on her face. "When I apprenticed," he begins with quiet intensity, "I chose to take my allegiance to my family and give it to my craft. When I chose to Stand, I offered it to my Weyr. If Igen is under strength and needs riders of a particular color to fill their ranks, it could be any riders of the correct color. Willing riders. But the deal wasn't made for riders, it was made for weyrlings." His frown is deep now and he sighs. "I'm not sorry for bringing Zadkiel to Stand. If he finds his lifemate, then I will feel bringing him was the right thing. If he Impresses bronze, then his lifemate was meant to find him here, and you won't have lost a bronze in Niahvth's clutch for lack of the right lifemate on the Sands." He sighs; he looks tired.

"Thank you for being as close to honest as I feel I have seen tonight," says Irianke simply. "My allegiance is to my dragon and my Weyr. Currently, that is High Reaches." Other than that, the goldrider has nothing more to say and looks directly at the assistant weyrlingmaster.

"If I was going to bother to be dishonest with you, I would've written you the sharding letter and have done." K'zin is frustrated, rising from his seat. His grip on the flowers and the box are both too tight. At least he seems to have better command on his temper than H'vier. He looks at her, lips pressed into a line, holding in something else he might be thinking of saying. "Permission to to be excused, ma'am?" is all he manages after a moment.

"Granted." The formalities of such words brings a crooked smile to her mouth. The self-effacing, sad, how ironic kind. Irianke doesn't look pleased, in spite of that curl, and her eyes cast down tiredly.

He turns, he starts to go, then he turns back, laying both flowers and box on the chair he vacated. K'zin doesn't look at her as he says, quietly, "We met when I was studying in the record. Studying to prove I should be an assistant weyrlingmaster. I pulled double duties when the last clutch shelled just so I could help out and learn something. I can't explain Quinlys' motivations for giving it to me, but I damned well earned it." So there's that, and he turns with the intention to see himself out.