Difference between revisions of "Logs:Eriskel's Turnday Party"

It's not, perhaps, warm outside, this Nabolese spring afternoon, but the sun is shining and it isn't raining; it's good enough. The celebrations Tevrane has arranged for her grandson's twelfth turnday aren't lavish in the way a gather would be-- rather, it's more of a garden party, activities aimed at the Hold's children, with the adults socialising in clusters and small groups amid the trees, or enjoying the harpers playing in the nearby gazebo. While not an 'international' event, it's polite for the Weyr to make an appearance, and so K'del and Farideh are here, the former smiling politely to passersby as he escorts the latter. "These holders seem happy enough," he murmurs, idly, to the goldrider.

Sunshine and trees -- apples, cherries, and pears, too -- might be the balm that soothes the shrew's irritable nature; or, wide-brimmed sun hat perched on her head, she appears to be enjoying this outing despite her near-rival that escorts her. "These holders," Farideh repeats, her lips in a perpetual state of being ready to smile at any moment without acting showing teeth. "Do you think it's all for show or that, perhaps, these ones actually reap the benefit, being closer to the Hold proper? There could be an angry mob on the other side of these orchards, for all that we know." She slants him a look from beneath her frivolous hat, that's part challenge, in the arch of brow, and part actual curiosity, given his greater experience with upset holders.

Iska would be enjoying today's proceedings. Likely, her younger brothers would, too. K'del, however, seems not so much ill-at-ease but resigned to the experience, more focused on being seen as a dutiful escort as on actually enjoying himself. He glances, side-long, at Farideh, considering her words with more interest than he's shown to much, this afternoon. Keeping his voice low and his tone pleasant, he says, "Most likely it's the latter: these holders live close, and that's of benefit. Though there's likely some of the first, too, given they're unlikely to publicly show discontent to her face. But if there's a mob, I'll protect you." Ha.

Looking good in front of dignitaries or not, it's a pleasant day, and Farideh can't help the way her eyes stray to the orchard trees. "That's a bold statement considering what happened the last time we were both out together and there was a," here, her voice lowers and she enunciates each letter separately, "m-o-b." She pats his forearm with one of her gloved hands in a reassuring sort of way, but her eyes are still taking in the sights of the fruit-laden trees. "Isn't it a bit excessive, given everything that's happened? I more modest showing might have done more to-- no, I suppose if you want to throw the rumor mill off your scent, then you should pretend to be well-off." There, she makes a face, and gives K'del a displeased look. "It's a terrible shame."

M-O-Bs, and past happenings related to them, go uncommented upon by K'del; in part, this is likely because their path takes them past a cluster of women, one of whom fixes a hard stare upon the High Reachians, but no doubt there are other reasons, too. The Weyrleader smiles blandly at the women, holding off on answering Farideh at all until they've stepped past. Then, "Exactly so. And that's why we're here, too: we're letting Tevrane demonstrate it to an outside party, in the hopes that we'll pass that on to others. She's playing the expectations game." Beat. "But why do you say it is a shame?"

The lady, with her hard stare, gets a beguiling smile and a short wave from Farideh as they pass, and nothing more. "What game are we playing?" is what the young goldrider wants to know, when the weyrleader has finished his spiel about the Lady Nabol. "It's a terrible shame that in the midst of a-- what, an on-the-verge uprising-- when her people are missing so many things, she chooses to spend lavishly instead of conserve. I doubt you agree, but it's a bit--" Her lips purse and she flicks an invisible piece of lint off of her sky-blue dress. "Tasteless."

"Actually," says K'del in answer, and without pause, "I agree entirely. Don't think it would be the tactic I'd use, and a handful of turns ago, it's the last thing I'd've expected of Tevrane, too. She used to be more... down-to-earth. Woman of the people." He pauses, blue-eyed gaze sweeping through the assembled crowds, past the adults and towards the children; Eriskel, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, takes the lead with one of the smaller children hoisted up onto his shoulder. "He, at least, is making friends."

Farideh's lips twitch in answer, but there's no laughter forthcoming despite the signs. "I wouldn't have thought that was something we would agree on," sounds less sobering than it actually is. "What happens next, do you think? Does she play this game until her passing and her heir takes the reigns? Do you think there will actually be some type of-- overtaking?" She's obviously leaning on K'del -- but not literally -- for his turns of practice in handling Tevrane and Nabol's strife. His comment drags her eyes away from him and back to the boy who they've all come to celebrate. "Isn't making friends normal for children? I hope Lady Tevrane isn't that bold as to include her young heir in her political plans," dry.

Honestly, quietly: "I have absolutely no idea." K'del scrunches up his face as he says it, giving a passing couple an eyeful of less-than-attractive expression, one he hastily attempts to remedy afterwards. "Tevrane came out of nowhere to take over when her father died, but she never seemed a political figure the way some of the other lords and ladies are-- Aughan, for example. Makes her difficult to predict in a different way. Do expect she'll start using her grandson, though. If he's popular and she's not, it's practically a given, especially now he's a little older."

"I'm am thoroughly reassured by your confidence," Farideh replies wryly, seemingly not bothered by his expression and more focused on their situation-of-sorts. "Did you back her back then? Back when she came out of nowhere?" Hazel eyes are still soaking up the scene of Nabol's heir, on his turnday, frolicking with the other children. "Popular? He's hardly out of short britches. An heir, but still a boy," she says, expression briefly distant. "You're an old man, or I'd tell you to get acquainted." Now, back to K'del, she's staring, looking all sorts of wide-eyed innocence.

K'del runs the fingers of one hand through his hair-- hair that probably needs a trim, given the length of those curls, though that's likely far from his thoughts at this moment. "We didn't back anyone," he relates. "To the best of our abilities. We attempted to protect the people from Rone, and there's certainly suggestion that Aishani had some involvement with Lady Ienavi, but the Weyr did not take a side. That is Hold business, and best left to holders." Of Eriskel, he says only, "Easier to be popular as a good-natured child. Easy to present as the people's man." Beat. "I'm going to choose to ignore that you called me old. Have you know Irianke's a good handful of turns older, and she isn't old, I'm sure. Forty, though, this turnday." Maybe. Or not? Perhaps he's confused by the weyrwoman's age.

"You're right. It's Hold business." Solid is Farideh's phrasing, and the inflection in her voice. Holdbred is as holdbred does, but that doesn't stop her from adding, after a pause, "Until they drag the Weyr into it, then it's our business." Her expression darkens long enough for her eyes to flick between the young heir and the weyrleader. "As the people's man? A boy?" She makes a clucking sound, which turns into a strangled laugh. "You are old. Old enough to have sons who can stand for eggs, and one that Impressed." It's the second half that's not much of a laughing matter. "Irianke isn't that old," except suddenly, she doesn't look too sure either. "I don't think she's but a turn or two older than you are."

"Most things become our business eventually, directly or indirectly." K'del lets that hang, the seriousness of his expression abruptly put aside as he steps aside for another passing couple. Few people seem inclined to speak to the High Reachian pair; perhaps that's for the best. "Anyway. Old enough to be your father, even, yes; I'm aware. Irianke..." He hesitates, rather as if he's caught between various trains of thought and unable to commit to one. "She's older than you'd think, not that she looks it. Seems it. She hopes to come home, soon. Niahvth's kept in touch."

The response elicits a sudden chill. "You didn't have to take it that far," Farideh informs him, far less amused. "I've known Irianke since I was twelve, K'del. I know she's not that old. Not older than I think, and that's a terrible thing to say about her, while she's not here to defend herself." She's totally giving him an unhappy look, which may or may not be interpreted by their ooglers whichever way they please. "Is she well? Is Niahvth? I think Roszadyth misses her, and I'll be much relieved when she returns and takes over the meetings, the headaches, the pleasantries."

K'del abandons his warning (if, indeed, that's what it was intended as) and says, quickly, "No, of course. Perhaps it's just that she seemed old, before she left. And for a time before it. Hope, when she returns, she'll be... rejuvenated. Not like the last time she went away." When she came back looking worse, so soon before Niahvth's flight. "I think she is. I think... think it must be lonely, for a queen, not being in a Weyr. Sure we'll all be glad to have her back. How are you and Jocelyn settling in?"

The next sound Farideh makes is even more concerned, and she tilts her head back so far her hat touches her shoulder. "Have you lost your senses? That's simply rude. Irianke has been tired, I'll warrant-- she's been running the Weyr, when she didn't expect to originally. That would make anyone exhausted, but seemed old?" Aghast, really. "Do you think? Maybe Niahvth has missed Igen as much as I miss Igen," is idle, but then she stiffens at mention of the other junior and her reply is purposefully short. "You know Jocelyn. She thinks she knows everything, that she could run the Weyr all by herself." Someone might be a little bit salty. Just a little.

It's for the best, really, that K'del has directed their ambling walk towards a far edge of the orchards, now, and that there are fewer people to observe expressions-- or overhear sharp words. "Pretty sure Jocelyn doesn't think she could run the Weyr; she's pretty aware of her shortcomings, in my experience," is probably not going to help this conversation return to gentler waters. The bronzerider stops, then, and sighs. "Maybe I'm feeling old. Which is ridiculous, by the way, given I'm not even forty and likely have half my life still ahead of me. Seems like there's nothing but doom and gloom anywhere."

It would seem that the buck stops there, and the whole this-is-sort-of-comfortable-thing. "How nice, that you two know each other so well," gets tossed with a stilted smile. "I'll be infinitely happy when it will be Irianke's job, again, to manage her." Farideh doesn't look the least bit chagrinned for those words either, and keeps her piqued expression trained on the orchard trees farther out; if only her eyes were captured fire, they'd be ashes.

K'del's sigh is a lengthy, audible, and obvious one. "You've done a good job," he tells the Acting Weyrwoman, genuinely and without need to grit his teeth to make the admission. "Irianke'll be proud of you. Shall we make our apologies and depart?"

Sunshine and trees make shadows, and it could be an illusion, that smirk on her face when he sighs. Hazel eyes slant back to K'del at his question, her chin dipping in the barest of nods. "We shall," she affirms, one hand lifting to fix the brim of her hat.