Difference between revisions of "Logs:Like a Dance"

Early morning, after joining Snowdrift in their morning physical training exercises, Irianke stands to one side, her heavy breathing forming clouds in the cold air. "Is every morning like this, or just those special mornings when you have a shadow?" Meant as a joke, the goldrider's words are paired with an easy smile as she looks to the wingleader before leaning down to cool down stretch her muscles.

For a woman in her fifties, Mielline's exceptionally fit; it's obvious not only in her trim physique, but also in her easy recovery from the morning's exercises. Irianke's joke makes her laugh, a musical sound that carries, easily, through the chilly morning. "It's all for show," she agrees, teasingly, turning her gaze back upon the goldrider. "Usually we do a few jumping jacks and call it a day. How are you faring, weyrwoman?"

Irianke tries hard to regulate her breathing and mostly succeeds. Pshaw, her fingers flitter through the air. "Piece of cake." Oh cake. It's the wrong analogy to use, for in an instant, the Igen woman is sighing wistfully. "Cake. What I wouldn't give for a moist piece of vanilla cake slathered in a berry frosting. Do you think they might indulge me for the clutching? The hatching?"

"Now you're making my mouth water," declares the bluerider, popping her spine as she stretches, shoulders rolling back. "It seems an entirely reasonable request, I should think, were you to make it. For a special occasion, after all." One lifted hand dismisses the other riders, some of whom linger; some of whom do not. "Do you find my wing in order, then? Up to standard?" There's too much of a smile in her voice for this to be serious, or critical.

"I was never checking to see whether the wings are in order." Irianke rolls her ankles with her hands on her knees and doing bendy circles. "I...," the weyrwoman straightens, her close lipped smile wide in spite of its lack of teeth. "I'm a stranger in a strange land and want to understand. I enjoy seeing what wings do, since it's not something I'll ever get the chance to be a part of. That wing camaraderie."

Thoughtfully, "It's never the same, in Aurora." Mielline's crisp nod confirms that she understands this, as best as a bluerider can, as she rises up onto her toes - booted foot making this more difficult - to stretch a different set of muscles. "Azaylia flew with Glacier, for a time, but that was never the same, either. Could never be, I should think. From the moment of your Impression--" But she smiles, now. "Is it lonely? I was a holder's daughter, once; that had its own loneliness."

"No, not generally," responds Irianke, reaching up to right her appearance. A hair tucked behind her ear there, her pants smoothed out over here. The subtle crreases on the back of her hand rubbed down. "At Igen, my place was clear and I had friends in other wings, in the lower caverns, about the coverage area. Here," the woman stands, arms akimbo and starts twisting lightly, "I had hoped to learn two fold: how wings work at High Reaches, in particular your wing, and a fast paced introduction to the riders in the Weyr."

"My wing," as has surely been demonstrated through today's exercises, at least in part, "is an unusual one. As you will have seen. It's good for you, I think, to get to know us. Not just Snowdrift; all of us. And for us, in turn, to get to know you." She turns, now, to study the goldrider, her smile gracious. "You could join us for darts, this evening, if you were so inclined."

"I," the rarity of being caught unaware makes Irianke's eyes widen. "I would love that. Thank you." Is she... wiggling? Is she really dancing in place in shimmy version? "I'm sorry, I get giddy when happy. But yes, your wing is exemplar and I'm curious about the details of how it works and if it can be replicated in other Weyrs."

Pleasure floods Mielline's expression, too, though the timing of it makes it difficult to see whether it is praise for her wing, or the acceptance of that invitation that draws it so. In either case, "We'll be delighted to have you," seems warmly genuine, complete with a spark of amusement. "I would be delighted, too, to share all I can about Snowdrift's practices. What, in particular, interests you?"

"Your training program. Do you accept weyrlings, or do you select established riders from other wings?" Irianke stills for her questions, grey-blue eyes made all the brighter for their keen interest cast Mielline-ward. "How does it not become chaos? Or is it, in fact, controlled chaos that you alone can manage? And was there not a gold on the Sands when you Stood? You would have made a marvelous Weyrwoman."

Mielline's laugh is low and rich and gracious. "There was not," she says. "But I can no sooner imagine riding a queen than I can being a man. My Corobith is the only one for me. We accept some weyrlings; I like clean slates to work from, sometimes. But life experience - that, too, is important. I find... I think of it like a dance, a choreographed one. Sisha would say the same, I suspect, but our outcomes are different. Our... focus."

"Understandable. But still." Still! In the land of what ifs. "It is one of my highest regrets that leadership in Weyrs default to what, often times, feels like chance." Irianke finishes stretching and shakes her limbs loose one last time. "I'd love to hear more of your ideas and how it differs from Avalanche's wingleader's for how to tackle wing relevance in an Interval. Thank you," she reaches forward to embrace Mielline lightly in an arms length gesture/hug. "Thank you for your gracious hospitality in allowing me to join in your morning routine."

If Mielline is perplexed by the hug, she does not let it show in her expression; indeed, the older woman smiles, amused and pleased, clasping her hands to the other woman's forearms, briefly. "In my experience," she says, "those of us in lower positions of power can make all the difference. Weyrleaders come and go; we have staying power. Thank you for joining us, weyrwoman. We look forward to your company tonight, and in future."