Logs:Not Easy
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| RL Date: 4 July, 2013 |
| Who: D'kan, Azaylia |
| Type: Log |
| What: While waiting for Giorda, D'kan and Azaylia talk about a busted up G'mli and Weyrleader candidates. |
| Where: Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 2, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'sil/Mentions, G'mli/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Sisha/Mentions |
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| Headwoman's Office, High Reaches Weyr This room is too small to really serve as anyone's room but a little too big to be relegated to closet status. Oval in shape, it has a large wooden door that grants or bars access and smooth walls carved with inset shelves that hold tidy rows of scrolls and ledgers. To the right of the door, a table large enough for six to squeeze in at is often occupied by the assistant headwomen during tithe season and a pitcher of water and glasses stand ready to serve in its center at all times. Squarely in the center of the room is the headwoman's desk, a massive affair of well-polished wood and many drawers bearing neat stacks of hides, incoming and outgoing baskets, many paperweights and a glowbasket stand with several small baskets that allow the light level to be adjusted to suit the task at hand. The rear wall of the office, behind the desk bears a vividly hued tapestry depicting a tithing scene with wagons pulled into the Weyr being unloaded. To the left a small hearth shares a flue with the main fireplace in the common room and is capped with a stone mantel that currently holds a collection of small rocks, shells and other knick knacks that presumably belong to the Headwoman. When Rukbat rose this morning, it was only to highlight the snow and other debris being tossed about by today's gusting, icy winds. This far inside the Weyr, little or none of that is heard, much less felt, but by D'kan's appearance, he was feeling it all too keenly, and not very long ago. His dark hair is about as disheveled as it can get, and his cheeks and ears are a deep, windblown pink. Then there's that smell. The aroma of cold skin that almost borders unpleasant and definitely dwells in the realm of strange. Currently the weyrling is standing just inside the door, a couple steps out of the way as he waits inside the empty office. A roll of parchment is gripped in leather-gloved hands while he idly glances at the various things belonging to the headwoman. Snow clings to Azaylia's tightly wound buns, as ineffective as the winds outside in shifting her expertly styled hair. The weyrwman's clothing is not so lucky, righting thick fabric and straightening her cloak as she breezes into the Headwoman's office. "Giorda, I have-- Oh." A quick glance reveals an empty desk. Shifting the stack of hides until it's cradled in one arm, the goldrider turns around only to find a senior weyrling. Startle, squeak, and "D'kan!" Hand over her chest, her words are even more breathless from the fright, "Good Morning." D'kan looks over quickly when Azaylia enters, then can't help but grin slightly at the unintended fright. "I'm not usually so scary," he assures her, then nods toward the desk. "One of her assistants said I'd just missed her, and she'll be back in a few minutes." With the information shared, he shifts his stance slightly, glances down at his parchment, then Azaylia's stack of hides. He then glances through the door, not exactly impatient, but watchful. He takes a moment to remove his gloves, which get tucked behind his belt. One can only stand around indoors in winter gear for so long. He frowns over at the empty desk for a moment, takes a slow breath, then lets it out in a rush before looking toward the weyrwoman again. "Ma'am? Since we're waiting, can I ask you about something?" The senior weyrling's grin earns him a half-smile, Azaylia's attempt to silently scold him failing miserably. Amused, "Terrifying. Honest." Another glance to the desk, still empty, as if expecting Giorda to simply appear despite the two bodies now blocking the door. "Did she? Well that's good. I don't mind waiting." The weyrwoman takes a few steps to the side, taking her place next to D'kan as second in line. He was here first. "Hm?" Bright and cheery as she is most mornings, the Acting Weyrwoman has yet to be worn down by the responsibilities of the day. "You can call me Azaylia. And, of course you can." Looking up at him, she gives an expectant tilt of her head. A small nod is given when D'kan is instructed to use her name, though there is no promise to do so. "Can" is not "should", after all. As he stands there looking at Azaylia's expectant head tilt, he still hesitates a few seconds before launching into his spiel, sounding as if he might have rehearsed it. "I ran into G'mli about a seven' ago. He's my mentor, while I'm still a weyrling. He was really busted up and said you implied--." Here, he falters, breaking off with a grimace. The spiel is abandoned. "I mean, I know what he's like, and most of that's emotional, but... what gives?" The final question ends on a slightly flimsy note. This, while trying not to crush the rolled piece of parchment now held in both hands. G'mli's name brings with it the faint pinch of her brow that deepens the longer she listens to what D'kan has to say. Rather than understand, Azaylia's left looking more confused by the weyrling's flimsy finish. "Uhm." The crinkle of his parchment catches her attention, reaching forward to give his nearest hand a light tap. After calling attention to what he may not realize he's doing, "G'mli... He offered himself up for Weyrleader." Simply said, there's no lingering annoyance in her voice as she continues, "In a very... Well, it wasn't very polite. So I told him that after Taikrin, another arrogant brownrider wouldn't help." It's now that she winces, guilty glance aimed back up at him, "I didn't expect him to... I didn't mean t-to 'bust him up'." D'kan's expression clears, but only by a couple degrees. After the hand tap, he opens the parchment long enough to flatten the creases, then leaves it on the nearest corner of Giorda's desk. A cursory glance would show the parchment to hold a fairly mundane list of supplies and names. A requisition request. How mundane. "He's..." The weyrling trails off and laughs quietly before looking up at Azaylia again. "No diplomat," he then finishes, a hint of a drawl coloring the words. D'kan shifts his stance again to lean lightly against the wall. There's another long pause before he pipes up again. "Durinth would drive Hraedhyth crazy, anyway. And Gim's good with his wing, but probably just because they're used to him. Arrogant he's not, but I can see it." He breaks off to grin over at Azaylia before finishing with, "Guess I'm just saying, I wouldn't have picked him either. As long as it's not just because Durinth's brown." Slowly but surely, Azaylia's expression begins to smooth. "I've had a lot of people claim they're what's best for the Weyr. I shouldn't have... I was a little hard on him." She's more than willing to take the blame, even as D'kan assures that he wouldn't pick G'mli for the job, either. There's nothing gradual about the loss of that recently gained smile, the way her eyes widen with even more guilt. Embarrassed, "I. Not because of Durinth, but..." Rather than draw it out any longer, "I'm not really considering brownridrs, no. Not just bronzeriders, either." She adds the last quickly, standing a bit straighter and searching D'kan's face. There's a slight squint to his eyes as D'kan takes in Azaylia's words and lets them marinate for a bit. Finally, with another soft scrape of boot heel on the stone floor, he lightens the mood with a chin nod toward the headwoman's desk. "Is that why you're here? Going to make Giorda your acting weyrleader?" he asks, though the amusement quickly fades. "The Weyr certainly doesn't need someone at the helm who's just posturing. But if not just bronze, then... what?" He pauses, shoulders moving, though not exactly in a shrug. More like releasing tension. "I'll talk to G'mli. He just feels... everything, really. Everything's a high or a low, and he's been around the Weyr a long time. Don't know if you don't ask, right?" There's a slim smile after that one, then D'kan glances toward the door again. Still no headwoman. "Speaking of asking," he adds a moment later, turning back to her, "mind if I ask which riders you are considering?" The humor doesn't quite reach Azaylia, who is too busy looking all sorts of uncomfortable, bracing herself against what she's sure is coming. Even when it doesn't, the weyrwoman remains tense. "I... would appreciate that, D'kan. If you... I am sorry. He seemed like a sweet man, after." After she accidentally crushed him, that is. Doing her best not to fidget, she throws a glance over her shoulder even after D'kan's checked for the headwoman. A blurt to help absolve her guilt, "B'ren, until he was being an absolute beast." Judging from the little frown she wears, that won't be tolerated. "Now, maybe... There are older green and blueriders with experience in leading. Some women. Some not." D'kan considers that for quite a few seconds as he shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and stares at the headwoman's desk some more. After those few seconds, he grimaces lightly, frowns, then lets out a pent up breath. "Not easy, I'd imagine. Don't want to start another fire. Has to be someone the riders will listen to. Someone who'll help you rather than fight you. And who can move out of the way without trouble whenever a gold flies again." "It's not... but not many things are." Azaylia's answer is slow and careful. "I don't think... Taikrin wasn't bad because she was a woman or a brownrider." The Acting Weyrwoman stresses, "You should know that I don't think that. All the dragons are important, no matter what color they are." She's watching him now, worry still there but making way for curiosity. D'kan's lips press together tightly, not quite grimacing this time as he looks at Azaylia again, but it's close. "Important. Sure," he says quietly, back thumping softly against the wall behind him. He quickly looks away again, dark eyes now boring into the opposite wall. Whatever the reason for the ire, he keeps it close to his chest for now. "I'm guessing, by how long it's taking, you're not just going to ask K'del or B'sil to fill in or something." The tone is far too clinical this time, voice too even, but he at least looks at her when he says it, even if his expression is guarded. There's no flinch, but his clipped words are certainly felt as Azaylia goes right back to tensing up again. She stands a bit straighter, jaw lifting though her voice keeps steady, "B'sil retired." It's the easier answer. The more difficult one has her giving a swallow, "K'del made it very... I think he would rather be a Wingsecond. He has a right to enjoy that freedom, and I'm not... It's not my place--" Or perhaps, it is now, at least as far as rank is concerned. "There's a Weyr full of choices. Riders who want the job. I'm not going to bother him." Though she struggles for the right words, there's nothing bitter to them, doing her best to answer the senior weyrling's question without all the gory, personal details. Details that don't seem to concern D'kan anyway, as he shrugs a shoulder and looks away again. The tightness is leaving his face, though, brows are no longer furrowed. He reaches up to rub the knuckles of one hand along a jawline that's probably never known stubble. "So... you want someone who wants it. But doesn't want it too much," he states quietly, rather than asks. This time, when he once again looks to Azaylia, the pinched look is gone, replaced by something between neutral and relaxed. "So, female bluerider, then? Greenrider? Someone who'll get the job done, doesn't mind getting the job done, and can be respected while doing it. Narrows down the choices quite a bit, at least." Neutrality is almost worse than that faded ire, and Azaylia's eyes drift to the side as she listens. More silence, during which she seems to have already lost the cheer of the early morning. "Someone who wants it for the right reasons." She confirms with a quiet murmur, gaze pensive as it drops down to the floor. Picking herself up with a slow inhale, she finds D'kan and gives a faint nod, "You've shadowed all the wings by now. What do you think of Sisha?" A glimmer of concern shows when D'kan sees Azaylia looking pensively at the floor. When she asks her question, though, it clears. One brow rises briefly with curiosity and speculation, then he turns slightly so he's still leaning against the wall, but also facing the other rider. "Avalanche's wingleader," he confirms, head turning to the side a couple degrees as the faintest echoes of footsteps begin to carry down the hallway. "Stern, but not overbearing. Doesn't get her boots dirty with BS." He finishes his assessment with a quick grin. "Which means she also doesn't stink of it. She's actually one of the reasons I briefly considered Avalanche when the weyrlingmasters started asking us for wing choices." Azaylia had begun to lean against the wall herself, though as footsteps approach she pushes off as if the cavern rock burns. Then again, Giorda might not approve of an Acting Weyrwoman who slouches. "That's her." A distracted confirmation, unnecessary. "Really?" The last comes as a surprise, however pleasant. A moment longer to inspect the senior weyrling, "I'll take that into account." And, for what it's worth, it sounds as though she really will. The footsteps themselves sound familiar, and they prompt the goldrider into approach the Headwoman's desk. A glance is tossed over her shoulder, lacking a smile but not unpleasant, "I could make sure she gets this," Fingers tap his roll of parchment, "If you need to be somewhere?" "That would be great, thanks," D'kan responds as he also straightens from the wall. He nods toward the parchment while already getting his gloves free of his belt. "Requisition requests for the month. A few of us still need to get our final riding straps done, now our dragons are just about fully grown. I was able to get all the signatures in advance, this time. She should like that," he says, in a tone possibly implying things have not gone as smoothly in the past. Snug gloves are tugged carefully into place, and while those footsteps are still nearing, D'kan pauses to give Azaylia a considering look, before saying a moment later, tone reserved but not cold, "If I'm not stepping too outside my knot, ma'am -- Azaylia... Don't take too long? I understand careful, but too careful and it comes off as..." The weyrling stops, clearly searching for a word. "Well, not to mince words, it can start to appear weak. The right decision would be great, but even more than that, what we need is stability. Even leader wannabees would shut up as long as there was a leader." He half smiles, half winces, then gives Azaylia a salute before turning for the door. Azaylia gives a faint nod, "I think she will." Sympathy, if only some, from a person who has more experience with Giorda, but perhaps less issues. Not to say that the older woman hasn't occasionally put the younger goldrider in her place. "I--" Impulse is to reassure the senior weyrling after he speaks. Instead, the Acting Weyrwoman holds her tongue and simply nods once again, "You're not. You didn't." Step outside his knot. Now, she smiles, "I appreciate the honesty, D'kan. You make very good points. Have a nice day." He's quickly replaced by the Headwoman, and Azaylia makes sure to bring both bits of business to her attention. |
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