Logs:The Next Step
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| RL Date: 24 June, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, E'sren |
| Type: [[Concept:{{{type}}}|{{{type}}}]] |
| What: E'sren is a sleepy ray of sunshine to brighten Azaylia's evening. They talk about leadership, potential and otherwise. |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day {{{day}}}, Month {{{month}}}, Turn {{{turn}}} ({{{IP}}} {{{IP2}}}) |
| Mentions: Sabella/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Vienne/Mentions |
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| Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. If only Azaylia would admit her preference for the cozy space and finally take all her business in the nighthearth. It's certainly the one of the places to check when seeking out the Acting Weyrwoman, though most who visit are simply seeking refuge against the howling winds outside. The goldrider is curled up in one of the comfortable armchairs, legs tucked up beneath her as she shuffles through numerous hides and papers. There are several small piles spread out on the short table in front of her, a mug half filled with amber liquid set within arms reach. With her more regular duties over with, Azaylia looks to be doing a bit of extra, brows lightly furrowed in concentration and a stylus held between her teeth-- all the makings of a studious grimace. Perhaps better suited to falling under the latter of those two categories, E'sren's entrance into this little niche of peace in the craziness that surrounds is a subdued one. He has a mug of something steamy in one hand and is undoing the buttons on his flight jacket with the other as he approaches, while he sinks into a seat near Azaylia's. He's watching her with his head tilted, sinking back in the chair after a careful sip from his mug and a little wince. His face looks red, chapped from the wind, like he just came from somewhere and maybe didn't go Between. "Busy busy," he comments gently, smiling. A glance upwards inspires a double-take as E'sren is recognized, teeth biting harder to keep their grip as a smile is stretched behind that stylus. Azaylia is pulled all too quickly back into the page she's reading, and what she finds causes her nose to wrinkle. Freeing her lips with sure fingers, she jots something down and places the sheet into the thickest pile in front of her. At a first glance there are names, human and dragon both, and chance could have that the weyrling might recognize any pair in particular. "You have no idea." A tired sigh that carries with it some satisfaction, the weyrwoman's mood as warm as the cavern itself. "How're you doing? We haven't talked in a bit-- Oh. How's Ahruth?" As if Hraedhyth isn't a direct line to the blue and his well being. The subtle furrow between his eyebrows is probably proof enough that yeah, he might recognize a name or two or three. But when Azaylia speaks he stops trying to see if he can find more and redirects his attention to smile again at the Weyrwoman. "I'm pretty tired too," he shares, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles before the fire. Reclining so, he cradles his mug in his hands there atop his stomach. "I'm swell. But the swelling's gone down. Ahruth's good. Bigger and bigger." And he used to be so small. "How are you? Acting Weyrwoman." He's grinning with his eyes over the rim of his mug as he takes a drink. "Almost there." Airy and not quite sing song as Azaylia speaks of the weyrlings' looming graduation, obviously blaming his fatigue on senior duties. Setting the pages in her lap, she reaches over to hook a finger through the handle of her own mug, sinking back into the chair afterward. The beginning of her relaxed exhale is viciously interrupted by a laugh for E'sren's playful ailment, "Has it? Normally I'd ask where..." But the bluerider is an acquaintance, and not like that. An acquaintance with an infectious grin, his eyes causing the weyrwoman's lips to curl even more, "It's awkward if you just say it." Her title, the way he's shoved it in. "But, honestly? Scared. Excited? I'm... scared." She's said that already, all through a smile, and perhaps it's not what one wants to hear from new management. It's E'sren's damn trusting face. If she has anything to admit, he's the one to admit it to. To prove it, E'sren's little smile reappears and he just says, "Nah," in response to her expressing her emotions. It's a dozey, tired kind of smile, but it's genuine. "Not you. Scared? Nah. Nothin' to be scared of." The whole Weyr. That's all. "Even if you didn't have a whole laundry list of Things Not to Do, you'd be okay. You'd be just fine." He takes another drink, that must be klah. "Scared, nah. I don't buy it." And maybe he's just teasing her, but he's doing it fondly enough, it shouldn't be too hard to bear. "So what's the verdict? Are we doomed?" He swings a pointed look at the hides and papers and everything that she has, there. There's some embarrassed shrinking in the face of all of that teasing, and while Azaylia's smile does get smaller, it's only to keep it from growing. This is a serious discussion. The Weyr might be doomed. Bashful, she manages to recover with a quiet, "Thanks." uttered into her mug. The cooled cider is sipped, the bite of alcohol taken without so much as a wince as her gaze follows his to the piles. "We're not doomed." Firmly stated with a diplomat's confidence, it all goes crumbling as she slumps in her seat. "We'd be even less doomed if I could..." The weyrwoman catches herself with a hitch of breath, eyes darting to that familiar, kind face. "...decide on a new Acting Weyrleader." He's the one to admit it to. It's hardly a leap in logic, and surely the caverns have been abuzz with the possibility, what with Taikrin's lack of gold support. "Aha," E'sren replies, making an imaginary gun with his hand in a very 'gotcha' sort of way. Bang. "That's the next step. Big, important step." As tired as he looks, and sounds, he obviously Gets It. "I don't envy you that. But I wish I could help you." And he's so aware of how he can't. Not like that anyway. Maybe that's why he's looking at her like this suddenly, like she has the weight of it all on her little shoulders. He looks away suddenly, into the fire instead, and cradles his skull in one hand, elbow up on the arm of the chair. "It's strange. We all depend on the choices of a few. Make or break us." Amusement escapes in a woosh as E'sren 'bangs' her, "Very big. Messy. Important. Step." Each word is punctuated by a soft tap of Azaylia's finger on the paper, unaware at just how perfectly she matches Hraedhyth's constant rhythm. Her gaze chases after his as E'sren suddenly turns to the flames, the very same she's found comfort in herself. "I wish it were up to a Flight." But it's not. It's up to her. The rest of her mug is drained, drowning one of many sudden, frightening sparks of clarity. "What would you look for in a Weyrleader? If you were in my place?" He can't make the decision for her, and that's not what she's looking for. Still, he can help, in a way. Flight. That's a loaded word for E'sren, and he squirms in his chair uncomfortably, briefly, probably without even realizing it. "If only," he agrees, or commiserates, or says what he thinks she might want to hear at the moment. Or maybe he's just distracted by the fire, and by his own weariness. When she addresses him directly he pulls himself physically, dragging his gaze away and focusing it on her, dropping his hand. He stares at her now, for a long moment, trying to come up with an answer, and then his dark eyes move again, to unfocus. "I'd pick someone who would help people. In my family we had a saying that went back before Ma, before her ma before her. Those who can, do for those who can't." Without cider to distract her, Azaylia catches the bluerider's flinch, and that's where her focus stays. Soft brown gaze is waiting for him when E'sren pulls his attention from the hearth, patient and all too curious. "Those who can, do for those who can't." Her gentle voice repeats it, slowly, letting it sink in though she understands its meaning right away. Comfortable silence fills the void of conversation, broken by a telltale inhale before, "Do you... Stability. I... people feeling safe. That would help." And if the Weyr is put in some ease, then they might be able to focus elsewhere. "Vienne-- blue Oswinth's rider? We were talking about that. About helping the smaller cotholds." Those who really need it. "But I can't-- I have to focus on our home, first." First, but not last. "Safe is a good start. Fed is another. That tithe is barely enough for us. And where did the rest of it go? The other two-thirds meant for us, they should have given it to the cotholds at least. Winter's rough on everyone." His voice just kind of drags through those words, only a little bitter. E'sren thinks with squinted eyes when Vienne's name is brought up, but it's clear that he recognizes her. It's like a light coming on. What Azaylia says next is a point of some interest for him, though the way his expression smooths over doesn't do a lot to give him away. "I think that's a good idea," he decides to say, and then suddenly he's gathering himself, drawing in his legs and tucking his mug close as he stands. "I'm sorry. I have to go, Sabella." Is waiting? He doesn't say. He does smile down at her again. "And I need to sleep before I pass out." Azaylia doesn't have the answers, and there's no hiding the resulting dismay. Turning the papers face down, she jots something on the back, a reminder to look into one of the many problems surrounding their home. She finishes just as E'sren begins to rise, disappointed only the appropriate, polite amount, "Oh." She doesn't even pout, see? "Sabella." Once again, she's not quite sing-song, but it's her turn to tease with that sweet, knowing smile. "Go rest. That's an order." The Acting Weyrwoman has spoken! Just that much authority has her bashful again, ducking her head and looking over what she's just written. Seeing but not reading. "Goodnight, E'sren." Her sing-song or something like it just makes him grin, he's never anything less than that reaction when it comes to that particular greenrider. "Yeah, yeah," he says good naturedly, and when she directs him with such authority he holds his one hand out, mug up too, defensive-like. "Yes ma'am." And he salutes, because why not, on his way out. Casually sidesteps someone to give them the right of way heading in, and continues on.
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