Difference between revisions of "Logs:Cut Short"

The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr

Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements; round-backed seats with deep, terra-cotta colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a subtle red shade at regular intervals around the walls add a little depth to the color palette. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.

All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all, having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain has become - frankly - a swanky place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and fancy desserts.

It's as tentative as Hraedhyth can manage, drums giving a distant rumble of warning before she reaches out to the Fortian Matriarch. « We would like to visit you and Yours. » Her fires consume all in a friendly heat: Elaruth's rider, as well as her newest brood. Other than her boisterous greeting to the watch dragon from on high, Hraedhyth doesn't look to disturb the Weyr any further. She has a deep curiosity for the new dragonets, one that she satisfies from afar once Azaylia has dismounted and is heading toward the bar. There's a small basket in the crook of her arm, warm dress and cloak swishing in what lingering fog remains despite the afternoon sun. Her preference for a booth has her gravitating toward one, her woven basket set down, the bumpy contents hidden by a fine red cloth. Azaylia doesn't order unless suggested to do so as she waits for Fort's Weyrwoman to tear herself away from the work she knows all too well.

A protectiveness more akin to that which she projects when on the Sands seems to define Elaruth today, her reaction instinctive and not unique to Hraedhyth when she advises, « Careful, » with a quiet firmness, from her post in the south of the bowl, close to where the entrance to the weyrling complex lies. « They are... » But she can't find an acceptable term - or decide whether she's speaking of her children or her rider, or /both/ - and so she abandons that line of thought. « You are welcome, » brushes against fires, mist lingering there for as long as it can without risking being consumed. Soon, a figure emerges from the arched entryway that leads to both Weyrleaders' weyr and council room, and tracks its way across the bowl, to disappear again into one of the tunnels to the maze of inner caverns. And, not quite as soon, Hattie appears at the bar of the Fountain, glancing way this and that until she locates Azaylia and begins to head towards her chosen booth.

Hraedhyth allows the protective pressure to wash over her, smothering her fire down to manageable flames while she is in the other queen's territory. « I am always careful. » She reassures, and though it itself is not a lie there is a spark that prompts her to clarify, « With the young ones. They are delicate. » No claim that Elaruth's are particularly dainty, as it is how she treats all new life. The foreign queen moves to join Fort's in the south of the bowl, not forcing contact and making a comical sight as the brutish gold picks her landing, overly careful in even closing her wings. While Azaylia waits, she has to place a hand against her mouth, hiding a smile that Hattie may catch once she's spotted. "Hattie!" Pleased, but still gently said, she moves to stand and offer a soft embrace to the other Weyrwoman. "'Reaches' duties." Formality aside, "How are you?"

It's not a desire to keep any other queen away from her offspring that prompts Elaruth to relocate herself closer to Hraedhyth, to sit side by side if she may, but something more social, the younger queen's potential as a rival dismissed, for she has a flock of her own and no need of hers. Maybe if they wait long enough, they'll eventually catch a weyrling lesson, or see the babies adventuring on their own. Hattie tries for a smile that doesn't really reach her eyes, but the effort is made, and she moves to return Azaylia's embrace, though she might hang onto her for a moment longer than might be expected. "Fort's," she offers, in her own, brief addressing of manners, then she moves to claim a seat opposite, smoothing her skirts out into their proper lines. "I'm not sure our knots permit me to say half of it," is quiet and apologetic, "so I'll settle for 'been better'." She quirks a odd, self-deprecating smile. "You?"

Hraedhyth is a notoriously social dragon, even if she reigns in most of her impulses when visiting the small, older queen. Sitting side by side suits her just fine, the tawny gold occasionally brushing her well oiled hide against Elaruth. Should they be so lucky as to catch a dragonet's wandering, Hraedhyth will have plenty to say-- all good things, naturally. Azaylia is an extension of her own dragon as well as Hattie, physical contact needed and held until they both sit down. She pushes the basket over with her fingertips, light enough to do so with only a slight drag against the table. "Right," There's a nod for the weight of there knots, although her gaze is soft with concern. "'Reaches is doing... well." Well enough to share the variety of liquor in the basket, the bottles half-size samples of wines and harder spirits with exotic notes. "But those are our Weyrs." Azaylia catches herself with a little shake of her head, "I'm doing fine enough, although I meant to visit sooner. I thought it would be better if I waited for Hraedhyth to... be completely calm, first." To forget. "But, you? Elaruth?" The weyrlings, by association.

Hattie tilts a curious look over at Azaylia before she sets about investigating the basket, the contents of which draws another funny little smile from her. "Are you needed home? Or can I get some glasses and work through some of these with you? If we end up dancing on tables, well, maybe we won't remember the looks we get in the morning." And on the theme of remembering, she can't help but sober and glance down at the tabletop. "...She's okay when she forgets that Sidrinth has died, and that Yueth is sick, but then either I remind her accidentally, or something else reminds her, and... It's a cycle. Forget, remember, forget, remember..." She gives a weary shrug of her shoulders; a more helpless than dismissive gesture. "She'll forget for good. Eventually. It'll just... take time."

"I've made a bit of time for myself today. To visit, and to dance on tables." Azaylia says with a bright, pleased smile. It shrinks as she adds with a grind of annoyance, "Though not so much that I can't fly home, after." It's with a slow exhale that she recovers her grin, reaching to turn the bottles around in order to read them. "I admit, I had to buy a bottle of this spiced one myself. Not like rum, it's a bit more rich. Like molasses." She falls quiet at the mention of those dragonets, shoulders slumping with her sympathy. "Some say their memories are a blessing, but..." Not when caught in such a vicious loop. "Hopefully Hraedhyth can help. Hers have all graduated by now, and she loves watching the babies." And praising them, though her pride is for Elaruth rather than her own bloodlines. Sick? No. Just fighting stronger than the others, with the confidence that Yueth will be fine.

"Well, if you're going to fly, hopefully you can give me a shove towards my own weyr before you go," Hattie drawls, smirk curving one corner of her lips. It's difficult to tell whether she's joking or not, particularly as she doesn't stay still after uttering those words, and first rounds the table with the intention of giving Azaylia a one-armed hug in thanks, before she heads across to the bar and wanders on through like she owns it, to retrieve two glasses and cart them back to the table, where she sets them down with a careful, dull thunk of heavy glass against wood. "Your choice," she invites, rearranging the glasses in-front of them. "Do you think... with..." what she might have said is clearly swallowed back down, the flare of something close to upset repressed, "her being the only queen, she might rise again soon?"

Azaylia leans into the hug with a soft laugh, "A shove? Really? I'll lovingly tuck you into your bed at least." A joke and yet not, given the 'Reachian goldrider's habits. Her choice is that darkly brown spirit, opening it with a soft grunt, allowing the sweet spiced scent to escape. She's generous in pouring, filling the glasses half-way and draining the bottle rather than just a splash to taste. With a glance for Hattie's pause, she pushes the first glass toward her, "I... don't know. Not soon, soon. She hasn't gotten restless yet." Or wanted to travel, beyond visiting Fort. "There have been rumors and... suggestions that maybe we should have a junior transferred in. I'm embarrassed to say that the workload hasn't changed too much." Embarrassed because it sounds as if she didn't have a handle on her previous junior, but it is what it is. "Speaking of which, I wanted to ask..? I'm sure you would have mentioned something if this was the case but... Are you planning on offering Lilah as a transfer?" Her head tilts with genuine curiosity, pausing with her own glass hovering in front of her lips.

Fingers that were reaching to curl around the offered glass hesitate and curl back, hand retreating to the edge of the table as Hattie regards her fellow Weyrwoman with a shuttered guardedness that she's never directed towards /her/ before. "Why?" she asks, just a little too sharply for any distance from or disinterest in the subject matter to be claimed. "Eliyaveith is Elaruth's daughter." Not that that's stopped her before. "Is she the one you'd want, if you were to follow their," the great, nebulous 'they', "advice?" And then, still not reaching for the glass: "Or has she approached you about wanting to transfer?"

The glass Azaylia has is promptly set back down, her own eyes open and honest in contrast to Hattie's gaze. "I know she is..." Delicate and careful, but the 'Reachian goldrider is not known for her secret agendas. "What? No! Oh no, no no." It's almost relief that has her lobbing those words at the other Weyrwoman, "I would never... Honestly, I haven't spoken with Lilah much and she's never mentioned wanting to transfer to me." Although that might imply there have been others, whether she realizes her own suspicions or not. "She and Eliyaveith... I just see them around. They, ah... They seem to like 'Reaches and I was wondering if perhaps you had suggested she get... comfortable?" She chooses now to take a generous sip of the dark liquor, savoring it as well as the silence as she decides what to say next. "I'm not planning on transferring anyone. It would just be easier for me and Hraedhyth if we understood why a foreign queen was on her mate's ledge all night." Now there's a protective note, for her own dragon's feelings.

Hattie looks down into the glass she's yet to touch, listening, until that last comment settles the myriad of emotions she's been trying to conceal on something that can't quite be defined as anger or upset, but some unsettling mix of the two. "...I'm sorry that she's troubled you both," she murmurs tightly, suddenly sitting almost painfully straight, though her regret seems no less genuine for the manner of its delivery. "I have never once told her to visit. I can make it an order /not/ to, if it would prevent causing offense." She spares another look for her drink, but she can't settle to the idea of it. "Lilah's reasons are her own, and I would say her manners too, but I'm to answer to for some of them, I imagine." Beneath the table, her feet tap, and the moment she notices that is the moment she stands and edges her way out from her seat. "...But I think it might be only fair, at this point, to suggest to your Weyrleader that he stop seducing a string of my juniors," she sighs out, smoothing at her skirts again. Hattie swallows hard and tries to smooth her features back to something less readable, but her agitation won't be contained. "...I'm sorry, Azaylia. I don't think I'm going to be very good company." She is, at least, truly apologetic, and tries to soften her poor reaction with the offer of another, quick, embrace, but then... she has to depart.

"It's not... Hraedhyth just gets..." Whatever anger or annoyance Azaylia may have felt has passed in the last several days, especially when faced with Hattie struggling with her composure. "Visiting is... It's fine if it's not overly long. Hraedhyth and I try not to, even if you've made it clear that we're welcome." She begins to smile, only to have a look of surprise wash it away as Hattie edges to stand. "Oh Hattie, I didn't mean to..!" She's cut off by mention of her Weyrleader, the tight line of her lips not meant for Fort's Weyrwoman but for the implication... the very possible, very true implication. "I'll talk to him. I can at least reassure you that... that that's probably not..." But she doesn't want to further that agitation, or it could be that she can't speak with confidence on that matter. This embrace is returned, "No, it's perfectly alright. I'm sorry if I've made things worse." Her squeeze might just be overly tight, "We'll leave soon. Call us for anything." And though the 'Reachian pair will depart, it's only after Azaylia has finished those two glasses and requests that the basket be delivered to the Weyrwoman's weyr.