Logs:Better
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| RL Date: 18 May, 2013 |
| Who: Z'ian, Azaylia |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: Azaylia buys Z'ian a drink. They talk and lend each other some support. |
| Where: Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Vienne/Mentions |
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| Snowasis, High Reaches Weyr 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. A cool, damp autumn night. It doesn't have quite the crispness that this time of turn usually lends to the evening, but that hasn't stopped people from coming out to the Snowasis. It's a relatively busy time and the bar itself is full of people, while the tables are a touch deserted. Z'ian's been seated with some Boreal riders for the last while, but it comes to a point where they get up and leave. He's there by himself now, draining the last of his mug and signaling to a server for refill. While he waits, he digs into his riding jacket for a pencil and pulls a notepad out from next to him. Idly, he begins to jot something down. For those that will still have her, Azaylia sometimes finds the time to catch up with old wingmates. Chatting with one or two at the bar is much easier than invading Glacier's table, where strong opinions might surface were she to approach. It's after her company excuses himself that she follows a server's line of sight to a table that seemed busy when she had first arrived. Now, "Let me get that?" The weyrwoman offers as she reaches Z'ian's table, both hands holding the mug of cider that may be responsible for her easy smile. "If not, I'll have to find her again and tell her not to put it on my tab after all." Those lips strain with embarrassed humor. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Z'ian's hand pauses over the paper, leaving a trailing mark as he blinks slowly and looks up at Azaylia. He glances first at the goldrider and then follows the path of the server that's getting his refill. A gentle kind of amusement plays across his face and he laughs, shaking his head. "I guess that would be sort of awkward, wouldn't it? Alright, if only to spare you having to chase her down." His feet are always on the opposing bench, so it's with a cough of remembering that he pulls them back and slides into a more upright position. "How have you been?" He asks, polite on the service but perhaps asking about something more. Gentle surprise follows what could be seen as a silent invitation, Azaylia giving him plenty of time to correct her as she slowly sits. "It would." Not that it sounds as though she minds. Placing her mug in front of her, it's where her hands stay as she looks to the bronzerider with a hint of curious unease. Is this okay? Is he okay? He's able to voice his concerns first, and her eyes drop to the table for a pensive moment. "Better." A quiet answer, one that has her expression softening, "I've been better. But, I feel better, since." Since their last talk, surely. "And you? Tsanth?" Genuine interest, certainly asking after whatever he feels comfortable talking about. His drink eventually finds its way over from the bar, Z'ian accepts it with a drink. Pulling the mug closer towards himself, he lifts it to his mouth. His smile is wry, a little tired but more or less alright. "Better than not that great is good. And we're okay, Tsanth is fine." Despite everything. Despite broadcasting Weyr secrets to the entirety of High Reaches. He clears his throat before taking a long swallow from his mug. "How was Tillek? The man they sent here was... Interesting to say the least. I'd never been more glad to have had drafted Vienne than I was then." There's a long linger to her look-- is he sure Tsanth is fine? If anyone knows, it's Z'ian, and Azaylia accepts his answer with a soft nod. "It was..." Difficult to describe, or it could be that she's looking for the polite words. "Very... catty." She succeeds. "There was a lot of talking that... either meant something else, or was some sort of insult." Sounds like politics alright. "I think it went about as well as it was going to. Edeline released the tithes." Not that it made any difference, but the fact itself is a victory. "Was he? It sounds like Vienne really helped out." A lift of her mug, for the Harper-trained bluerider, before she takes a drink. One of Z'ian's eyebrows gently arches for that long look of hers. But he doesn't verbalize anything more on the subject of Tsanth. "I've always been glad that I managed to steer clear of that. The wings usually only deal with the more minor holders and they're not exactly trained in politics themselves." His grin comes with a shrug of his shoulders, again wry. "More straightforward. At least it didn't become a grudge match. Were there any terms?" He wonders, glancing at the area around them before taking another sip. "He was and she did, definitely." There's a faint grimace for 'grudge match', "It almost did." Or so Azaylia is convinced. "She was definitely sending a message." She's reminded to use some discretion when Z'ian glances at their busy surroundings, "She was angry about the wings drilling over Tillek without warning, or permission. She wants us to communicate more... It isn't unreasonable of her." Another subtle pinch to her face, one that hints her opinion might not go unchallenged, "I'm glad things went more smoothly on your end. I'm... sorry." Dark gaze flicks up to his face, "Sorry that I had to ask that of you, of Vienne and the... weyrlings?" Which is another issue entirely. "Thank you." That 'it almost did' makes Z'ian wince faintly, exhaling softly through his nostrils. He takes a longer swallow from the glass, stretching his legs out under the table and then leaning back. "And so you and Aishani agreed to keep her in the loop as far as holding drills like that over her land?" As for her apology, he flicks it away with his fingers. "Even if you hadn't, I would have anyway as soon as I found out. My boys are being raised in our lower caverns, tithes aren't a joking matter. Vienne was fine and as for the weyrlings?" He lifts his shoulders. "They enjoyed a little field trip out of the ordinary. Quinlys hasn't come calling so I don't think it bothered her any." "I..." Uncertainty creeps into apprehension, "I will. Aishani said she would. She just... it was the way she said it." Not words, but tone. Azaylia lets out a sigh, giving a little shake of her head, "It was probably just my nerves. I didn't like it at all. I probably messed things up more than I helped." Self depreciating, it's not a fish for reassurance, a simple possibility that's stated as such. "Good. I'm glad you didn't have to force yourself to do it." The rest of her drink is drained, empty mug pushed forward with her fingers. "We were in the wrong. We should've coordinated with the Holders..." To explain the lack of insult she finds in having Z'ian's accept the tithes. "The weyrlings." Uttered with a sigh, "How can they be expected to trust their weyrwomen?" After Tsanth's grand reveal: how can anyone? "I don't think they can be anymore messed up than they are right now, they've probably hit their peek of fucked-up-ness. At least for the time being." It's meant to be at least remotely amusing in light of her self-deprecating remarks. Z'ian lifts his shoulder in a shrug and smiles crookedly at her over the top of the mug. "Something to take up with your Weyrleader? Isn't it? The lack of coordination and all." He drains some more of the beer out before letting his hands lower it to the tabletop. "Don't expect trust then. Build it." Seems simple enough to him, but then he's spent the better part of the last turn with a wing of riders that have not exactly been fond of him. There's been no expecting anything for the bronzerider. Looking briefly apprehensive now, "Did you know?" About Iolene, Aishani. The whole thing. "That's not nice." Comes the quiet, half-hearted scold for Z'ian's pointing his finger at Taikrin, though he's not wrong. Azaylia's murmur is just for the man across from her, lips barely moving, "I don't have a Weyrleader." Though her support has been publicly stripped from the brownrider, it's still a difficult thing to say out loud. His question has her taking in a slow breath, bracing herself, a sign that he's not going to like the answer. "Yes. I learned about it after K'del." Through the bronzerider, much like Z'ian had. "...I wanted to tell the truth." The goldrider lifts her gaze, "I was asked not to, but that wasn't what stopped me. It was... She left us. Things were hard here, and she left. I didn't want someone like that as Weyrwoman." "But it's true." Z'ian stubbornly insists, quietly however. "Really. Does she get to not be my Weyrleader too then?" He asks with a crooked half-serious smile gracing his expression. His fingers idly trace the outer edges of the mug, wiping off trace bits of dampness. Her answer comes and he exhales slowly. "So you lied to all of us too." His gaze drops to the table and he pushes his drink away, tapping on the table. "Her dragone rose first and- And everyone here only cares about the traditions and rules that apply to them in a way-" The bronzerider cuts himself off then, reining back in the obvious frustration that's rising in him. "Meddling in the natural order of things has really brought us far, yeah?" "If things keep going so poorly..." Who knows? Perhaps Z'ian won't have to have Taikrin as Acting Weyrleader. Azaylia doesn't speak with any certainty, quiet voice even more lofty with the unknowns yet to come. A swallow, "I did. I deserve just as much of the blame." And his frustration. She refuses to look away, folding her hands on the table, "I can promise that it's the only secret I've kept... Not that you have any reason to believe me." Guilt, a note of sadness, but once again the majority of her tone is matter-of-fact. "All I can do now is try to fix things. I'd like it if you could help me." A hand lifts away from the other, palm out, "I don't have any plans, or schemes, other than doing the right thing from now on. If you or the Wings need help, or have any ideas..." She's trying to build that trust. Z'ian's eyebrow arches slowly and he pulls back, shaking his head slowly. But at what isn't particularly clear and he doesn't voice it outloud, whatever it is. It might not even be at her exactly. "If Boreal needs your help, we'll be in touch." He watches her for long moment before tucking the earlier abandoned pencil behind his ear, the notepad slipped back inside of his jacket. Eventually the slowness is broken and he clears his throat. "Thanks for the drink, Azaylia. I need to get going, we're pulling an early morning sweep tomorrow." His shoulder is lifted apologetically for that. "If you need anything, you know how to get in touch with me." Azaylia's lips manage to keep a small smile, "Hraedhyth will be listening." As if the queen ever stops. Once he's finished collecting his things, and himself, "Anytime, Z'ian." Sounds as though she means it, but then everything she's said thusfar carries that same honesty. "Have a good night. Clear skies, for your sweep tomorrow." His own offer doesn't have her smile widening, though it's just a touch warmer, "Thank you. I'll remember that." The weyrwoman doesn't leave, instead taking over the table in the bronzerider's absence. There are more drinks and talks to be had before she calls it a night, preferably with company.
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