Difference between revisions of "Logs:Life Is Over"

The Snowasis is rarely quiet, and even then, the high-ceilinged former
  weyr is kept from echoing by the fantastical booths tucked into its       
  convoluted perimeter. The secluded seating spaces have been shaped from   
  the truncated stalagmites that escaped the smoothing of the main floor,   
  and are both softened and separated by colorful hangings that are thick   
  and opaque enough to make each corner its own private nook.               
                                                                            
  Some of the smaller stalactites still roam the ceiling, their jagged teeth
  tracing a bumpy, inverted spine to the hearth. There, a thick rug with a  
  low klah table and comfortable armchairs and couches sit, their upholstery
  and cushions changed sporadically to match the season: bright, light      
  colors in the summer, fresh greens and yellows in the spring, warm        
  autumnals in fall, and clear, rich hues for winter. Small tables litter   
  the rest of the cavern, enough to fit up to four people each, while stools
  stand along the smooth wooden bar behind which is the passthrough window  
  to the kitchen. Glass-paneled cabinetry behind the bar provides a clear   
  view of the available liquors, the many colors reflecting the soft light  
  of glows tucked into strategic niches around the cavern.

It's late evening, and the Snowasis is busy, but not packed -- already a few groups are starting to drift off towards bed. Over near the bar, Glacier and Savannah are battling it out on the darts board, drawing a few onlookers who wager on the outcome. Savannah's Wingleader, however, is not amongst them, instead having claimed a booth towards the back, near the stairs, a bottle and a couple of glasses filled with dark liquid on the table. Bristia's with him, and they're talking in low tones.

Little girls with big dreams should be tucked safely in their beds, dreaming of the perfect blonde-haired, blue-eyed Romeo that will come whisk them away from menial servitude. Should. Farideh enters with another girl, talking in quiet but intense tones that stop when the other woman squeezes her hand and hurries off to the bar. It's an uneasy mask that the laundress wears, wandering between a pair of tables, and casting about the room with tumultuous eyes. Her gaze slides for the dart board, fairly quickly to the booths and eventually, R'hin and Bristia. Something lights up her expression - an idea? - and she wends her way over with harried strides. Then, she's there, at their table, and flicking looks between the two Savannah riders. "Hi," real eloquent.

Bristia spots her first, and makes some sort of gesture that stops her Wingleader speaking. The latter looks, then, expression turning from neutral to a twitching of brows as he sees who it is. With a chuckle, Bristia slams back the rest of her glass, gives Farideh a knowing smirk, and excuses herself. R'hin, for his part, refills the glass the greenrider's left behind, and gestures towards the seat in silent invitation.

Though technically not Savannah, Edyis herself seems at ease on their side of the board. At least until one dart sails wide thunking hard against the wall. Oops, that tip is ruined probably as good time as any to quit. Maybe it's fortunate that the timing has her spotting Farideh's approach to the conspiring riders at the separate table. Bristia get's an odd look in passing, and Edyis can't help but flash a conspiratorial grin in the green rider's direction as she snags a bottle and a glass of her own, and decides it is safe to eavesdrop now.

Bristia's smirk receives only confusion from the brunette, but she'll slip into the booth in the other woman's vacated spot anyway. "Hi," Farideh tries again, linking her fingers on top of the table and sitting up straight, "I was--" She falters, closes her mouth, and frowns. A third try is more fruitful, if by a small amount. "I wanted to talk. About-- Igen."

Eavesdropping might be a bit disappointing, all told, since all R'hin says is: "Oh?" casually, like he's not quite sure exactly what Farideh could possibly want to know about Igen.

Is that disappointment in her features? Possibly, but it seems the conversation isn't going to be the kind of fodder for teasing friends that Bristia's expression had lead the former scribe to believe. So instead of plopping obviously at a nearby table, She attempts to sneak up at her friend's side. "I have to admit, now I am curious. Your brother-in-law up to his old shenanigans again or did you have something bigger in mind." R'hin gets an 'oh hi' sort of expression.

"You remember what happened the last time?" Farideh's face is earnest, trying to convey her point in as few words as possible. "I thought-- maybe you'd-- know. What happened this time. I heard the Conclave met, but I-- haven't gotten in touch with anyone back home." She might say more, but Edyis is at hand, causing her frown to deepen. "No, not-- not that I know of," and that draws her gaze back to R'hin.

"Hard to forget," R'hin acknowledges. He taps the glass a little closer to Farideh, as if her drinking is somehow a prerequisite to him answering. Fortunately, perhaps, for Edyis, he doesn't have a spare glass, though her question earns a twitch of brows. "Brother in law?" he echoes her, glancing between the two.

"Mm you mean if Joremy was confirmed then?" The scribe asks Farideh by way of confirmation, slipping into an empty seat and plopping down her glass, starting to pour. Glancing to her friend, and then to R'hin she shrugs. "He sounds like the sort that might make good friends with Cron from what she tells me." She offers as if this explains everything about the man. "Though he's possibly quite a bit smarter." Looking to Farideh, with a softening of her expression and falling silent, lifting her glass.

Staring at the glass while everyone else speaks is essential. It's a tether from emotional turmoil, and that shows in her face. "Mishal," Farideh murmurs, taking the glass between her hands. Her eyes flick up to R'hin over the top of the glass seconds before she actually touches her lips to the rim, closing her eyes for the duration. "That," setting it back down, "was awful." She wipes the back of her hand against her mouth, hazel eyes shifting to Edyis. "My sister's husband. Intolerable. Not that that matters now. Joremy-- Lord Joremy, if he's confirmed."

"Who?" R'hin asks, lightly, of Edyis: "Joremy? Or Wulfan?" As if it's not that clear cut -- at least not for him. The Wingleader looks entirely too amused at Farideh's reaction to the liquid, but he does at least seem appeased that she drinks it. "Mishal," he echoes, as if tucking that away -- for later. "He is," he confirms Farideh's latter, "Though not," with a pause, as if it were significant, "Unanimously. Some interesting rumors floating around Igen. Bitra, and Ista, Lemos -- expected, of course, because of Daroda. Tillek couldn't have done anything by the time it was their turn to vote, presumably, but Edeline's canny."

"No Mishal." She states shrugging. At the face, Edyis frowns, looking for the source of whatever was in the glass. She pushes her bottle in the Laundress's direction, drinking from her glass. "Is it all that rare for the Holds to disagree over confirmation though?"

"Let's not talk about him," Farideh growls at both of them, letting her vexation loose in her voice; needlessly so. "It shouldn't have happened, period. There was no death or miscommunication." She spreads her hands out elegiacally. "I appreciate Lord Joremy. He's like family, but I don't--Wulfan didn't do anything, that I know of." Heedless of Edyis' bottle, or offer, she sags against the booth backing and covers her cheeks with her hands. "Why?"

A curious purse of lips is R'hin's reaction to Edyis' answer, thoughtful for a moment. He doesn't linger on that, however. "They'd prefer to present a united front. That votes are being made known is a political manoeuvre. Holds have debts and allegiances and blood ties to each other." His gaze, inevitably, goes to Farideh, waiting until she's finished, until the why, before he says, "People can be nice, and want power. People can be deceptive, and want power. His new... wife, is Yuliye -- once married to the former High Reaches Lord Holder Braeden, once heir of Crom -- is reputedly ambitious, and she'll manipulate people to get what she wants. She may have pushed, but you can't push unless there's also a want there."

"Sorry Farideh." Genuinely apologetic, as for the answer. "Incase he needs to be removed you think?" She offers on the contention over Joremy's confirmation. "Or so they can have deniability if things continue to go wrong?" As for the why, well R'hin sums it up quite nicely. "You are blooded, you know better than anyone what people get like over the prospect of added power."

Farideh's hands slap over her mouth and her eyes widen. "Yuliye!?" is mumbled from behind her fingers. "Yuliye!?" Every time she says it, she gets louder and sounds more hysterical, which is probably drawing attention. "No. No. No. What?" Definitely a hysterical laugh that bubbles up from -- somewhere, some reserved emotion. "I don't believe you. Yuliye wasn't intere-fuck." Also, unladylike, that slur from behind her hands.

Oh, it's deliberate, the casual way R'hin adds, "She had his child. A boy, I heard. Sickly, apparently." That Farideh swears earns a bemused glance from the bronzerider, a darted look at Edyis, and a reach for his bottle, to refill the laundress' glass, unasked. "I take it you know her?"

Brows furrow over those dark studying eyes. The hysterics, those are alarming, and it's enough for Edyis to reach out a hand for the laundress's shoulder. Though the gesture seems ready to abort if it at the first sign that it is unwelcome, still it's obvious she is concerned and confused over it in equal measure.

"Oh," is her immediate response, but the redness creeping up her face isn't from embarrassment. Any second her head could explode, from the looks of things. "A baby. They're not-- they can't be--" Farideh fans her face, laughs awkwardly, and eagerly reaches for the glass R'hin refills with her other hand. "I know her. She-- she came to visit. We all-- she-- " Nope, words aren't coming, so she's going to drown that out with that awful drink the bronzerider's offered; she doesn't shrug off her friend's hand, so that's something.

"The child seems to indicate they can," R'hin counters, then musing, "Unless it's not his, which is not entirely out of the question, from what I've heard of her." He does, however, lean forward, interested. "So -- when you met her, what you learned of her, clearly doesn't jive with what's happened. Was she interested in anything specific thing? Ask for your help, or advice?"

Edyis just blinks, and listens, still offering whatever reassurance she can. "You going to be ok?"

A mixture of disbelief and confusion meets R'hin's characterization of what he's heard of Yuliye; neither of the warring emotions wins and she wraps her hands around the girth of the glass. Her eyes drop to the table. "No. I thought she was positively delightful. I thought we could be friends. I met her at Igen. We were-- we had dinner in honor of Wulfan's turnday. She was nice and not dreadful, and not interested in Joremy." Towards the end, her eyebrows come together in further consternation. "I hadn't any idea that she was motivated to-- help him pursue-- that end." Then, she drinks. A long time. Surfacing only to mutter: "Fine."

"Not interested, for a woman, is sometimes interest in itself," suggests R'hin, with a low-throated chuckle, fingers tapping at his glass as he considers. "The Igenites are all talking about it. And how Devaki and Braeden came visiting to see the child, all gentlemanly like." Except that that's followed with a disbelieving snort. "At least, the numbers of guards have dropped. Not gone -- but dropped. Still, you shouldn't be planning a visit any time soon, I'd suggest. Nor to Katz, which is reputedly where they've stashed Wulfan."

The former scribe tilts her head, like a canine that has just heard an unfamiliar sound. "It's always the nice ones you have to worry about, there is almost always something else going on underneath." Returning her attention to her glass thoughtfully. For Devaki, she almost laughs, "That could explain who else was influencing the situation. I doubt the idea was purely her own." There's a wrinkle of her nose. "Or. if you decide not to heed advice," because this might just be the sort of thing Farideh does, "Take someone with you who can get you out quickly if needed."

Giving an easy shake of his head, R'hin says, "Devaki and Wulfan were close. I'd not be surprised if High Reaches were one of the ones to vote against Joremy. Besides -- I doubt Yuliye's that fond of Devaki, given it's his fault she lost the mantle of Lady of High Reaches." His gaze lands, sharply, on Edyis. "No," he corrects her, adroitly. "Don't go at all."

"You don't have to be fond of a person to use them." The bartender counters, softly. "And even the best course and wisest course of action isn't always the one people choose to take." Refilling her glass. "Don't get me wrong I agree." The but, that seems implicit however never comes. At least on the not going side of things. "What do I know though about politcs, I'm just a bartender these days."

A lot of words and sentences have been flying around, and Farideh's been listening this entire time, if quietly, taking long swallows out of her glass. Eloquently speaking around a hiccup: "You shouldn't talk about Lord Devaki that way, or Braeden, or Yuliye, or Wulfan." Though, she sounds confused about the whole mashup herself. "I don't know the reason. I can't think of a good one, but the Joremy I knew was a good man and Yuliye too, even if she-" She shakes her head, wavering on the phrasing. "I'm bound to think there's a good reason. Have you heard anything about the minor Holds? Did they all vote with Lord Joremy?" And here, more earnestness, the most important part, even if she doesn't want a part of it.

A lot of words and sentences have been flying around, and Farideh's been listening this entire time, if quietly, taking long swallows out of her glass. Eloquently speaking around a hiccup: "You shouldn't talk about Lord Devaki that way, or Braeden, or Yuliye, or Wulfan." Though, she sounds confused about the whole mashup herself. "I don't know the reason. I can't think of a good one, but the Joremy I knew was a good man and Yuliye too, even if she-" She shakes her head, wavering on the phrasing. "I'm bound to think there's a good reason. Have you heard anything about the minor Holds? Did they all pledge to stand by Lord Joremy?" And here, more earnestness, the most important part, even if she doesn't want a part of it.

"No," R'hin says in response to Edyis, "That's true enough. And Yuliye, apparently, is good at playing the part," he concedes, with a somewhat sympathetic look to Farideh. Her defense of the Bloods earns a snort. "What, because they're Blood, they are not immune to criticism, to being weak, or ambitious or manipulative, or any of the other failings that affect us normal people." With an exhale. "Most," of the minor holdings. "Though it's not," with a twitch of shoulders, "Like they'd have any other choice, if they wanted to keep their holdings."

"Maybe." Edyis concedes on the point of good reason. "But the reasons that are evident publicly are the ones you mentioned weren't justified in your mind." Glancing at Farideh as she takes another drink. "Replacing minor holders is the easiest thing in the world, after all. Their whole existence depends on the person in power."

"You say that like you don't like us," Farideh accuses with not a small amount of hurt in both voice and face. "I think sometimes we do what we do to keep our heads above whatever. We don't have a dragon to save us, at the end of the day." She would be relieved about the minor holdings report, but she's too busy looking annoyed. "It's not like throwing away of piece of trash," she says to Edyis with a sideways flick of eyes, "There's tradition and-- neither of you will understand." She sinks down, farther, in her seat and keeps sipping on her drink in irritated silence.

"Most people don't," have a dragon, presumably, R'hin dismissive of that particular argument. "And, you were the one suggesting, not a moment ago, that Wulfan hadn't done anything. If he, and Joremy, and Yuliye, are all to be placed on a pedestal for their upright, noble-Blooded behavior, then what happened?" he asks intently, leaning towards Farideh, as if he expects and answer, right now.

"Liking the blooded or disliking them has nothing to do with it. It's a matter of keeping a realistic perspective, not personal preference." Something in her friend's voice causes Edyis's expression to sharpen. Though she has a sharp look for R'hin too surprisingly. She can't force the edge out of her tone as she adds, "Yes Farideh, for the minor, non-blooded holds? It is exactly like that. You may not think so, or want to accept the fact that it is a possibility. The simple truth is the leadership of the minor holdings is entirely dependent on the will of the Major Holds. They are going to vote for whoever will protect them. Regardless of tradition."

"I don't know!" Farideh slams the glass back on the table, staring heatedly at R'hin for all his intense questioning and rational points. That Edyis adds onto the lecturing just tips her already overflowing cup. "I. Don't. Know. This is precisely why we won't like weyrfolk. Precisely." Then, she folds her arms on the table and buries her face in them. Her Life Is Over.

R'hin stares at Farideh -- or rather, the back of her head, then gives Edyis a look, and a gesture, as if to say over to you. This is clearly a girl thing to fix up. He's going to settle for refilling her glass, because of course, that fixes all the things.

Edyis twitches almost imperceptibly at the weyrfolk comment but when Farideh buries her face, she softens almost immediately. "It isn't over, things just got... more complex is all. And I know you know me better than to think I am the sort of person who holds a grudge just because of blood." She sighs, studying her friend, empathy evident. "Your family will be fine. I don't think you have anything to worry about unless Joremy decides to do something stupid with his confirmation. Regardless of the way they did or didn't vote."

"That isn't," mumbled, between arms, "the problem." Shortly, very shortly, the laundress lifts her head and eyes R'hin across the way, and the glass he's refilling. "I'm not worried about them." Farideh does not indicate who she is worried about, however. "Lord Joremy and Yuliye have an heir now--" But no, that doesn't suit either, and she's covering her face with her hands and in the second minute jerking them away to grab her replenished glass. She shakes her head, as if to negate her own words, and starts greedily consuming her beverage; anything is better.

R'hin seems to think he's done just about all he can; the bronzerider leans back to watch, avidly, if silently, seeming content to wait it out.

"I don't understand." She answers bluntly. "Is it tradition being uprooted that is upsetting you? Or..." She tries for a wild stab in the dark. "Farideh, you weren't - you didn't have a - you know Thing for Joremy did you?" Though her expression shows her dubiousness of that possibility, but the whole thing has turned into a puzzle now. From the way, the scribe is leaning in and listening one she aims to solve.

"Everything. It was fine, perfectly fine, for how many turns? Since I was old enough to remember. Wulfan was Lord of Igen and Joremy was just his brother. That makes as much sense as my father taking care of my uncle and running the Hold by himself." Farideh is about to sink back into sulking, and indeed, has just taken a sip when Edyis accuses her to an affair with Joremy. She partially chokes on her drink and hurriedly covers her mouth with her hand, her round, wide eyes on the other brunette. "Me? And Joremy? No, definitely not. He's much too old." Her eyes sliding over to R'hin are totally a coincidence. Totally.

Is it coincidence, that R'hin smirks when Farideh happens to look at him, or no?

Edyis says, "Since when has that ever stopped you?"

R'hin being amused by her circumstances is one thing, but Edyis' response earns her a displeased grimace. "Really, Edyis? Truly? Is that what you think of me?" Farideh makes a point of burying her face in her glass and not looking at her friend, finishing off the rest of whatever the Savannah wingleader is providing. Strangely, there isn't another refill in the offering from the bronzerider. "I think I might go shake the... you know." R'hin's standing, taking the bottle with him, because that's terribly useful in the bathroom, apparently.

"Farideh, I think you are an amazingly headstrong person, and that you will likely be very scary one day." There is a lift of a finger as she pauses for effect. "But don't think I forgot who it was who tried to talk me into seducing that one over there on a bet. I can go fetch the corsets as proof if you like." Fortunately, Edyis has her bottle. "You go do that. I'm sure Bristia's still muttering about young girls."

In passing, the bronzerider gets little more than a shrug. "Edyis, I find that you are horribly overstepping your boundaries and I should very much like it if you would--" Farideh holds out her hand, palm thrust out. "Move." Because she's leaving, too, apparently.

Well, that's news to R'hin, staring first at Edyis, then at Farideh, like they're errant little girls about to be scolded. Except: "Huh. Interesting." And that's all he says, whistling as he strolls off, with the bottle in hand.

Edyis sighs. "As you wish Milady." Slipping out of the booth with a bottle in hand. Yeah that stare is simply ignored, she's on her way toward the records room. Bottle in hand. "If you want to explain sometime why you are really upset, you know how to find me Farideh." She offers.

With the way cleared, Farideh can flounce her way out of the booth and onto her two feet, where she fusses needlessly over her hair and shoots both glowers from the safety of distance. She takes her own leisurely path out of the Snowasis, not bothering to take any drink with her, and doubtless find her bed.