Logs:An Interview with Oriane
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| RL Date: 6 June, 2012 |
| Who: Brieli, Oriane |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Monaco Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Oriane interviews each of High Reaches' candidates. Brieli's is last. |
| Where: Council Chambers, Monaco Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 12, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Riahla/Mentions, Suireh/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
| On the twenty-fourth day of month twelve, High Reaches sends off a group of eight girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five - all local, weyrbred girls. All except Brieli, that is. If Headwoman Giorda gives Brieli a funny look as she's gathering them together, she doesn't actually remark on her presence: she just sends her on with the others, to mount up and ride off to summery Monaco. The barracks aren't so different to the ones at High Reaches, and neither are the chores. What is different is that the next day, the High Reaches girls are called, one by one, into the Council Chambers, to meet with the Weyrwoman. For some, it's a mere formality: the twins, Riahla and Suireh, so different from each other, are known to Oriane already, having visited and even lived with their father on and off. For others, it's longer. Finally, it's Brieli's turn, called forward by a returning - and wary, unhappy - Arysanne. "Good luck," she says, doubtfully. There's fruit juice in the table, in the Council Chambers, and middle-aged Oriane sits across from it, pen in hand, her expression watchful and considering. She's quite silent. If Brieli thinks Giorda can stuff her funny look - or anything along those lines - she doesn't show it in any way, instead favoring the Headwoman with a wide smile. She's likewise quick enough to ignore anything similar from the snippier of the High Reaches girls; she's not about to cause any problems while a guest in another, much stranger Weyr. The chores don't seem to bother her, and she'll lend a hand where needed as usual - a good way to ingratiate oneself and learn the gossip more quickly. Thus, when Arysanne calls her, the tall candidate isn't entirely unprepared, nor all that nervous. With a reassuring smile for the redhead, she makes her way to meet the Weyrwoman. Brieli walks in, perhaps a bit hesitantly, standing behind the seat she'd no doubt meant to take. Still, manners win out, especially in these surroundings and company. Cultured, calm; "May I sit, Weyrwoman?" It's the right thing to do, and though Oriane's expression does not especially change, it might be possible to catch that oh-so-subtle incline of her head - an approving one. "You may," she says, in a low, cultured alto of her own, indicating the chair Brieli has already selected with one tanned hand. "Brieli," she says, then, rather as though she's trying the name on for size. "Unusual, among the group your Weyrleader has chosen to send. Seven good, solid weyrbred High Reachians... and then there's you." Sliding into the seat, Brieli lets a bit of relief slip into her expression; she's apparently breathing a bit easier to know she's at least done one thing correctly. As she settles into the chair, clasping hands atop the table, "Thank you." Oriane's musings don't change the look on her face, as it might send some girls into a panic or a defensive huff - she merely considers the words for a moment or two before admitting, "I am unusual, but the Weyrleader didn't precisely choose me on his own. I am not entirely sure that he would have otherwise. Both times I was asked to Stand, it was by a goldrider." "Does that mean," Oriane wonders, keeping her tone as neutral as her expression is, both clearly the products of many turns of political manoeuvrings, "that your Weyrleader does not know you're here? That his control over his remaining goldriders is not, perhaps, what he thinks it might be?" She's taking mental notes rather than physical ones: her hands are clasped loosely in front of her, now, resting upon the edge of the table. "You know why you are here, of course. We may be sending our daughter away, after she shells, but it seems prudent to know something of those who vie to be her rider." It's obvious that Brieli finds the question interesting; that she thinks about the different ways she could answer that would give one person or another advantage, one Weyr or another a step up on the others. Careful, so careful for a girl not yet out of her teens, "The Weyrleader knows I am here - he makes an effort to knows as much as possible about the Weyr personally, which is why I say he might not have sent me. To be candid, Weyrwoman, I believe he doubts my loyalties. I've given no reason for it, but my heritage is what it is." She offers an elegant shrug - what can't be changed can't be worried over - then nods once. "It makes sense that you would have concerns. Even if the new pair lives elsewhere, your queens will worry over their daughter. It's the way of things with family." It's equally obvious, despite how carefully Oriane conceals her emotions, that Monaco's Weyrwoman approves of the care Brieli takes in formulating her answer - it may just be as simple as this being the last of eight interviews, of course, though it could equally be something more. 'Family' makes her smile in a way the rest of their conversation, thus far, has not. "Our dragons may not have the same memories we do," she agrees. "But that doesn't mean they don't care for their offspring. It was a difficult decision." And their exact reasons for making this decision have not yet been explained officially. "Your heritage," she repeats, then, phrasing it not quite as a question, but equally, not precisely as only a statement. "And where do your loyalties fall?" With a slight smile of her own, "I've been without it for what feels for so long - I'm glad to hear the dragons value it as we do." Though Brieli has likely seen as much with a recent clutch at High Reaches, unless Ysavaeth is a completely deficient mother. She doesn't ask about the decision, likely bright enough to realize that any answer she'll get is not worth the question. Tilting her head to the side slightly, she explains, quite sure that Oriane is aware of this, "I'm from Crom Hold." And again, the last question is weighed before she'll meet the Weyrwoman's gaze and answer, tone level. "Not with Crom. And I've only been at High Reaches for a few months. So I suppose, right now, with the people I care about. And myself." At least she seems to be honest about that. "It's--" Oriane hesitates before completing her sentence, and reaches instead to refill her glass, indicating a clean one with one hand in a silent gesture of offering. "Different, with dragons, but not entirely. Particularly with queens. My Evielth remembers her own children. She would find it difficult to send away a daughter." A golden daughter, presumably, though Oriane doesn't specify. Instead, "Crom. Of course. High Reaches' travails with the Hold of your birth are well known." She watches Brieli, studying her without apology until, finally, she allows a nod. "We forget, sometimes, how important it is to be loyal to ourselves. What do you want, Brieli? Is our daughter your greatest dream?" Brieli nods at the offer of a drink, flashing another smile in thanks. Thoughtfully, "I suppose it makes sense that queens should remember their children for the most part, be attached to them. The Weyr looks to them - it's simpler to tell a child to behave sometimes than to ask a colleague, yes? Not always, but..." She shakes her head to bring herself back to the point, tucks a loose, long curl behind one ear. Oriane's remarks on Crom don't need a response - yes, everyone knows - and her usual poise in the face of such scrutiny is more than useful here; it's as if she doesn't notice being watched at all. Like every question, this one is considered, no less than the others. Quietly, looking down at her paired hands, "I'd never presumed to dream to be a goldrider. What I want is peace of mind. I think, from what I've been told, if we're meant to be, your daughter might help me find that. I know I'd be fair." Perhaps, unlike some (recently deposed) people? Oriane pours with a steady hand, sliding Brieli's glass, and a coaster, towards her only after she has set the jug of juice back down upon the tray. "Exactly so," she agrees. "If you were to Impress our daughter, Brieli, you would always be linked to us. Monaco would have your back. High Reaches is in a... interesting position, at the moment. A leadership vacuum, one might call it. We would... support you in that, should it become required." There's cool study in her expression again, as she considers Brieli, the content of her words far less neutral than her tone is. "Peace of mind. Fair. These are interesting responses. In my experience, Impressing a queen creates more problems than it solves. Of course, there are compensations." Now that Brieli has a drink, she'll slide the coaster and glass the rest of the way towards her with a nod of thanks for Oriane. After a grateful sip - it's hot and there's a lot of talking - she considers the Weyrwoman's words, but not for long. It's occurred to her. "That," she notes, in her own careful, neutral tones, "Is a good thing to know. The word was, when I left, that the hope was Rielsath should rise next, but chances were as good that Hraedhyth might before her. Ysavaeth... well." She shrugs again - the gold has just clutched, do the math. "Interesting times ahead for Monaco's daughter, to be sure." As for Oriane's last, she'll admit, "Some of the compensations are what I am hoping will help. And perhaps I can explain myself more fully one day." Not today, apparently, but... "But not today." Oriane doesn't push for those explanations, but she puts that thought into words, musing over it with a considered knitting of fine blonde brows. She lifts her glass to her mouth without dropping her gaze to it, and sips, carefully, before setting the glass back down upon her own coaster. "It would be - an interesting situation, were our daughter to rise first. Of course, who can say? Rielsath is now, I think, less than two turns since her last flight." There's something in her smile - something unquantifiable, something strategic. "Our daughter will hatch soon, Brieli. Is there anything you would ask of me, before I turn you back out to your compatriots?" With a wistful little smile, "Mostly, I miss having someone I trust to talk to." Brieli sounds sincere about that, her dark eyes perhaps made a bit darker by the admission before she drops her gaze to the glass, covers any thickening of her voice with another sip of juice. Once she's herself again, she looks up to catch Oriane's smile, and her expression shifts; what's going on there? That'll keep her busy from now until the hatching, wondering over what Monaco is planning. "I can't say. All I know about dragons I've learned in the last few months. I don't pretend to have any clue about their mating habits." But you do, her gaze seems to say. Even so, "I think anything I would ask of you would come after the hatching, but just in case - should I go home alone, please think of me if you go further afield again in the future." It's Brieli's first remark that makes Oriane look, if only for a moment, as though she understands. She's not wistful, not lonely: but she seems to remember the feeling, and it shows in her expression the way little else has. That smile, perhaps she intended it to be seen, but it's quickly gone, as quick as that moment of understanding; her expression smooths out once more. "You might consider staying," she offers, unemotionally. "If you are not the one, this time. But - we will see, won't we? The young twins, they hold the odds if our bookies are to be believed. And yet - well. Tomorrow, perhaps. We'll watch you, young Brieli. Stay safe." As she rises from her chair, unoffended, "I can see that. Mother a Weyrwoman, father a Weyrleader - all things considered, I might lay odds on them too." Brieli might have missed that moment of understanding, and it's too bad, really - it might be the most honest, unguarded thing she's told Oriane yet. As neutrally, she agrees, "I'll think about it. And we will see." There's a quiet determination there in her last, before she smiles again, easy and wide. "Thank you for the juice and conversation, Weyrwoman. Do let me know if there's anything else you need." With that, she'll leave the Council Chambers, a sharp contrast to the last Reachian to walk out - calm, collected, and perhaps a little tiny bit pleased with herself. |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Thu, 07 Jun 2012 03:50:05 GMT.
Eeeeee. e.e
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Thu, 07 Jun 2012 04:15:33 GMT.
Yes. Exactly.
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