Logs:Teatime With Vinien
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 9 March, 2013 |
| Who: Devaki, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: And Devaki's there, too! Azaylia comes over for tea. They talk while Vinien grabs. |
| Where: Empty Junior Queen's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 11, Month 3, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Braeden/Mentions, Brieli/Mentions, Hana/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions |
  |
| Empty Junior Queen's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Turns of inclement weather and use have smoothed out niches here and there for a current occupant and perhaps a companion, on this slightly downward impressed ledge. It's otherwise unremarkable: large, of course, and low to the ground, though not so low as to provide ground access from here. Being so low, the view is not especially spectacular, though it does make an excellent point from which to keep a steady eye on goings on in the bowl, from the living caverns entrance to the north, and as far as glimpses of glimmering blue on the horizon from the weyr lake. A short tunnel and a shorter set of stairs leading up from the ledge reveal a weyr that, despite being obviously unused at present, has been well maintained, much of the furniture in it still in good shape. Unusually, there are no separate chambers in this Weyrwoman's weyr, the bedroom and bath only made distinct by two walls that rise three-quarters to the ceiling. In the main area, the hearth sits near the tunnel from the ledge, decorated with a square pattern of ruddy bricks along the floor, which rise into a decorative arch above, the mantel stretching from one end to the other. While hardly new, a comfortable looking olivine couch sits in front of the hearth, on a patch of floor that was probably once covered in a rug of some kind. Towards the opposite end of the room sits a round, stone table with a set of cushioned chairs; next to this is a utilitarian bookshelf, currently empty. To the east is a tunnel that leads down towards the Weyrleaders' Complex. The bedroom section of the weyr contains a full-sized bed, void of anything other than a simple mattress, and a wardrobe. Finely polished wood has been used for both, though they are simple and unornamented, with only their delicately built curves to really indicate their quality. Just across from the bedroom, behind the other three-quarter wall, is a small, elevated stone bath that is built into the walls. Ancient plumbing makes sure there will be hot water when needed and though no vanity exists, a single built-in shelf is carved out just above the tub. Hung on the half-finished wall is a slightly warped mirror. For now, dustcovers protect most of the furniture, and the glow-lamps remain unfilled, clear signs that it has been some time since the last occupant. The weyr that the holders have set up in is largely quiet tonight, perhaps owing to the ladies' absence. This leaves father and son for a quiet night in, which perhaps doesn't sit well with the islander, given it's just after dinner when a candidate tentatively approaches Azaylia's weyr and delivers her a note that is an invitation to join him for a late supper. Inside, it's warm, and Vinien is taking full advantage of the absence of the females by crawling with determination around the floor, occasionally grabbing on some nearby object to stand for a few wobbly moments before falling over again, watched over with amusement by his father. It takes Azaylia some time before she answers the invitation with a nervous smile, just slightly out of breath despite the short distance between weyrs. One could blame it on ladies taking forever to get ready. Admittedly, the transformation between filthy, oily skull-detailer to respectable weyrwoman does take some effort. Deep blue dress and black leggings are quite a contrast to the bright smile she wears, "Lord Devaki." Her greeting may be enough to convey that pleasant surprise. In her hands is a plate piled high with sweetrolls, the young woman not one to arrive empty handed. "And, little Vinien." She moves the plate in order to gaze curiously down at the tot. Whatever else he might be -- exile, islander, Blood, Lord -- Devaki is well trained enough to immediately gesture in invitation to a seat, moving as if to assist her. "Welcome, Weyrwoman. Please take a seat. And -- given Vinien won't tell, I'd prefer Devaki." A pause, when he looks to the boy -- who regards Azaylia with wide eyes, giggles, then starts to crawl in her direction -- before he says, "He likes sweetrolls," with a half grimace that is mostly acceptance of the inevitable loss of this particular battle. "Devaki." Azaylia corrects herself, moving towards the seat and unaware of any propriety that might have otherwise have her slow enough to require help. "And please, call me Azaylia." The plate of sweet things is placed on the stone table pushed forward distractedly as she watches Vinien's progress towards her. The breathless "Look at him go." is probably not meant to be heard, lips doing their best to keep the smile polite. But then, it wasn't the boy who invited her over for supper, was it? Brown eyes snap guiltily back over to Devaki, "Thank you for your hospitality. Will Issedi not be joining us?" She asks with a quick glance towards the rest of the weyr. "Azaylia," Devaki says, in turn, pushing in her seat as she settles in. His hands rest on the back of the chair as he follows her look towards Vinien, a helpless smile soon following. Perhaps he's heard her, perhaps not; either way, he says, "He's just started walking. Somewhat unsteadily, and not for very long. But he crawls fast, so one always has to keep an eye on him." Indeed, the boy's made it near the chair, and is grabbing for the wood with one hand, and his father's leg with the other, peering upwards. "The ladies are out tonight. I hope you don't mind; I know you've been having tea with my lady, and she speaks so well of you, I thought it was remiss of me not to make the effort." It's instinctive and can't be helped, the way Azaylia reaches down as Vinien stands to hoist him up onto her lap. "Thank you." She minds her manners, head tilted back towards the man after he's pushed her chair in. She might undo some of the work, to ensure the tot has plenty of room between her and the edge of the table. With curiosity sated, "I don't mind, no. I'm glad we have a chance to talk." She's just insistent enough to be genuine, as is her surprise, "She does? Well. Issedi is wonderful to have over. Hana too." There's a delighted giggle from Vinien as he's scooped up, the blond child immediately trying to grab the nearest thing he can reach -- whether that be clothing or hair or a hand. After a beat to watch, Devaki walks to the hearth, "Tea, klah?" Then, over his shoulder, "Hana speaks well of you, too. Though I suspect she thinks you need someone to help you with your hair. She was the same with Isse, too." There's something indulgent in the statement, but lightly spoken. It's one of those rare times when Azaylia's hair is down, and perhaps damp from a too-quick scrubbing before she arrived. A long, wavy lock is ripe for the picking, or in the boy's case, grabbing. The goldrider doesn't seem to mind, head turning while her gaze remains on Vinien, "Tea please." Hana's opinion from Devaki's lips has her eyes tearing from the child, finding Devaki with a faint, embarrassed wrinkle in her brow. "I'm not very... I try to look presentable." She's so sorry. Then again, "Compared to the Lady, no wonder she notices. Issedi always looks so lovely during our teas." And, you know, always. There's the sound of splashing liquid, and Devaki pours a second cup for himself. He's walking back to the table, setting the tea down in front of her, even as Vinien's grabbing some of that hair, then after a moment of consideration, sticking it into his mouth. "Hours of preparation," Devaki confides with a laugh, "Cut down by Hana's attentiveness. I've learnt to give both ladies at least a couple of hours notice if I want to go anywhere -- in case they need to change outfits." He slides into a seat, then with an apologetic shake of head, leans forward to help free the goldrider's hair from Vinien's tight grip. "Hours?" Pardon if Azaylia sounds shocked, her gratitude for the tea murmured as she follows the man with somewhat wide eyes. "I understand for a party but..." Bewildered but not meaning to judge, she lets the rest of what she was going to say fall away. As Devaki reaches to free her hair from its drooly prison, the weyrwoman is trying to disassemble a sweet roll with one hands. The ol' switcharoo-- offering the manageable chunk to Vinien when, or if, his father is successful. "I know Issedi is so excited to be here." She's heard it many, many times. "But are you enjoying your stay? It's been some time since you left." Whatever his disappearance may imply, none of it is present in her polite questions. An agreeable chuckle escapes the islander. "After living on the island, you can imagine how much of a shock that was to me, too. She insists it's expected and having lived in the Hold for a while -- I'd have to agree. Though I still can't say as I really understand." Oh, yes. Vinien is very susceptible to bribery, when it comes to sweetrolls. He makes an almost immediate grab for it, nonsensical, delighted words spilling from him. Devaki eases back into his chair, watching for a moment. "You're good with him. Do you have children of your own?" he asks, head tipped to one side. He reaches for his tea, and takes a sip, giving him a moment to compose a response to her question. "It's been nice to catch up with the islanders who chose to remain," he says, carefully, before gaze flickers up to study Azaylia. "I think a few more might well be travelling home with us when we go, which I hope you'll understand." Once her hand is relieved of that sweet, bready chunk, Azaylia uses it to pull her tea closer and yet off to the side. There, it's too far to reach for hands other than her own. "I don't." Her answer is soft and if there's a note of longing, well... "I do have a younger brother. Two, though I'm not around to help with the second." What with being a weyrwoman and all. Not willing to risk that blond head, her fingers creep past the cup's rim to hover and test how much heat her tea gives off. "That sounds nice." Surprise colors her expression for only a second, "Will they? I hope it's because they like the Hold, and not because they hate it here at the Weyr?" No matter the answer, "Of course. People come and go all the time." Exiles or no. Vinien appears to be content to suck at the bit of sweetroll, though whenever his dad looks his way, he makes chewing motions with his jaw, dutifully, earning him a pleased smile. Leaning forward, Devaki's gaze shifts from Vinien to goldrider, having caught that note in her voice, "There's plenty of time," it's a murmured assurance. "I'm hoping we'll have a brother or sister for Vinien soon." Should that be a secret? He certainly says it with the air of sharing a confidence, anyway. For the latter, there's a smile, "Oh, no. Certainly not hate. The Weyr is very different than what we were used to on the island, though. And Lord Braeden's been generous enough to support the islanders to be self-sufficient." "Plenty of time, and work to do." Azaylia says somewhat gently, realizing that her babe-less woes are not a proper conversation. And yet, "Brothers are wonderful." Sisters are less so. "I'll save my congratulations when I hear it from your Lady." Thankfully, she knows how to keep such a harmless secret. Her hand drifts back over towards her cup, another test of heat, and she's bringing it up for a sip to saver. The sigh that leaves her is a warm one, "Self-sufficient. Just in their lives, or maybe starting another minor hold?" Nothing to hint at any dislike for either Lord or islanders. If anything, she's interested in such a hypothetical. Devaki's low laughter suggests he agrees: "I wish I'd had a brother. Having two sisters was..." he trails off, expression sobering, and he takes a sip of his tea, studying Vinien over the rim. The boy's managed to gnaw through most of the food, though a lot of is on him rather than in him, and he's staring up at Azaylia again. "Most of the islanders haven't such grand aspirations, my lady." Is his use of that term deliberate, or just a slip? "A number of us are Blooded, yes, and want recognition. But other that were exiled with us were distant family, friends, supporters -- people who were punished by association. They want their own space -- something we never had the luxury of on the Island." Azaylia's focus is not so easily stolen, and while she's still listening to Devaki her gaze drifts down to the staring boy. Vinien's attention has her looking a touch nervous, uncertain as to what he might want from her. "No?" Perhaps a touch distracted, or it could simply be her unsuspecting nature that has terms slipping by unquestioned. "You should have that, at least." Are her sympathies somehow extreme? She doesn't seem to think so, still calmly balanced between father and son. "I'm glad that you have Lord Braeden's support in it, too. It only seems fair." What does Vinien want? Well, what all Turn-old children do -- to grab at Azaylia's chin like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. Enough to earn a delighted giggle, even. "I'm glad you see it that way," Devaki says, after a moment. "Not all do. Not all the Weyrleaders did." He stretches out a hand for one of the sweetrolls, tearing off a small piece for himself, casually remarking, "I've heard there's been some fighting between riders lately. Nothing too serious, I hope? One assumes it must be serious, for the former Weyrleader to be involved." Up goes the tea! Once more out of reach of grabby hands, Azaylia taking care to place it on the table while lifting her head a touch higher. It's only so she can sacrifice her sleeve to wipe Vinien's hand clean of soggy crumbs, not much care given to the nice dress. Hana was right. After, her head steadies and the child is allowed to smack and grab all he'd like as the goldrider continues to hold her very adult conversation. "I do. I can't speak for the... Weyrwoman." The hesitation might seem natural, or that's what she hopes. There's a wince when Devaki speaks of the recent fight, "Ah... yes. I hope Issedi wasn't too bothered when she heard? I don't want her to feel unsafe. Or you, for that matter." Though he may not have asked, outright, "The, ah, former Weyrleader... K'del. He believes another brownrider was also responsible for the murder of Iolene." Another faint grimace at speaking of the exile queen's death to... another exile. "I can take him back if you want to drink your tea in peace," Devaki starts to say, setting down the remnant of his sweetroll. It's her assertion of support that makes him stop, and look at her -- and there's a nod of his head, gratitude visible in his expression. "I'm glad to hear you say that, my lady," he murmurs, with a smile. After a beat, he shakes his head, "I downplayed it to Isse -- she put it down to boys being boys. But I don't feel unsafe." Very probably because of a certain redheaded guard whose often as not lurking nearby. He sucks in a sharp breath, his expression gone fixed, as he stares. It takes a few more seconds for him to find his voice, "...do you... believe that, too?" The gentle "He's fine." is more like 'he's finamn' when little fingers successfully pass her chin and grab her lip. Azaylia doesn't look as if she might change her mind, laughing at herself and doing what she can to pry Vinien off of her face. In contrast to earlier, she offers him another lock of hair to grip and pull as he sees fit. At least now she can speak, "I really don't think it'll happen again. Thank you both for being so understanding." Besides, riders will be riders. Devaki's reaction has brown eyes snapping to his face, taking in that stare with some concern. For him, rather than herself. "No." Her answer is firm, almost hard. Make no mistake, "I found the necklace on his ledge. I know what that is supposed to mean, but I also know the..." She falters, momentarily unsure until that confidence returns, "H'kon would never hurt a weyrwoman. Ever." While Vinien's interactions with Azaylia earn a faint smile from Devaki, it's brief, and it fades away almost immediately given the topic at hand. Even after she's answered, the exile Lord is silent, studying her expression, seeking her certainty. Finally: "Perhaps he wouldn't hurt a weyrwoman, but would he hurt an exile? There were a lot of weyrfolk who didn't want us here, let alone riding a dragon or, I imagine, ruling the Weyr." "He wouldn't hurt anyone. Not like that." Azaylia is quick to defend, doing her best not to let her words become heated. "I know what K'del... what a lot of people think. What it looks like. They're wrong." Her face softens some, apologetic, "I wish I had an answer. It's true that there were, are, people who didn't having Iolene as Weyrwoman." The goldrider drops her gaze to the table, lips thinning for a tense moment. It passes after a swallow, "The man who was responsible has already been caught. He went Between." There's a slight clench to Devaki's jaw, that doesn't soften at all in her defense of K'del. "It doesn't mean," he finally says, "There weren't others. But," he takes a breath, struggling to maintain an equilibrium, "I am sure that, if you found out this man, or any other rider, was involved -- you would ensure that justice was served." While it's a statement, there's a faint lilt at the end, and his gaze is fixed on hers, even the burbling of Vinien not distracting him for once. With a nod so faint as to be missed, "No. It doesn't mean that." Azaylia's gaze remains steady and the focus behind it might come as a surprise. "We did it once. We'll do it again." No telling who exactly is involved in that 'we', but it's a promise the weyrwoman intends to keep. "But H'kon did not do it." Firm enough to be considered hard. After, the young woman eases back into her seat, surprise to find herself leaning forward with gentle hands steadying Vinien. Hard answer or not, there's still a sense of lingering doubt in Devaki's gaze -- yet it's the goldrider's promise that eases his expression, enough that his gaze drops towards his son, earning the faintest twitch of a smile. "He likes you," the islander says. "Or maybe it's just the sweetrolls. He is eminently bribeable -- for a one Turn old." Azaylia's eyes stay on the Lord's face for a touch longer before they drop down to the blond boy. It'll take even longer for muscles to relax and face to melt into something soft and sweet, like before. "I like him, and sweetrolls, too." She has a mind to tear off another piece for him before taking the rest for herself. Hopefully that'll keep him from reaching for it, "Make sure to tell Issedi. She wanted him to know that he was held by the-- a, Weyrwoman when he gets older." Her correction of the Lady's own words isn't terribly smooth. The sweetroll does serve to effectively distract Vinien from any further grabbing, for the time being. "I will," Devaki assures Azaylia, with a faint smile. "If I didn't tell her and she found out later, she'd kill me. I value all my body parts," the smile becomes a grin, clearly over exaggerating the reaction of the docile, gentle wife of his. Her correction is noticed, and it earns a tip of his head, thoughtful. "I must say, both Lord Braeden and myself were surprised at the news Brieli had declared herself Weyrwoman, to your... Weyrleader?" there's a brief lilt, as if he's not sure if that's the right term for a female brownrider. "I'm told that's not how things are normally... done." "I'm sure that even if she maimed you terribly," Azaylia shakes off the last of that tension with a quirked smile, as if surprised by her own tease, "Issedi would feel bad and put you back together. She loves you very much." The words have a fond warmth to them, spoken softly despite it being no great secret. She tries not to look as if the 'roll has gone bad in her mouth, swallowing heavily, "Acting Weyrwoman. Two golds don't normally have their flights at the same time. It leaves things uncertain and..." The rest of her roll is placed back on the edge of the plate, "Brieli felt as though the Weyr needed a solid decision. To help it feel certain again." She tells the table, though both expression and voice manage to remain neutral. "Patching me up after she's broken me down -- that's true love," Devaki says, laughingly. There's certainly a similar fondness in his voice on the topic of his wife, and if there's nothing stronger, then it's probably just reservedness. Finishing his tea, he sets the cup down with a light clatter. "And what do you feel?" The question. The question. It has Azaylia taking in a slow breath, buying her a few more seconds as she lets it out. It starts gently, but her words gain strength, "It doesn't... matter what I feel." Startled by her own honesty, "I'll do what I can for the Weyr. If having an Acting pair makes things even a little for the riders and folk..." She doesn't shrug, but there is another of those little nods. "One is allowed to have an opinion that differs from one's peers, Azaylia," Devaki says. "And given you are half of the equation, I'd think it matters all the more what you feel." He leans back, and after a moment, says, "What Io tried to do -- with the council -- was what we did on the Island. The elders talked and discussed and, let's be honest, argued," a faint smile, reminiscent, "About what was best for all of us. When a decision was made, they all stuck by it. But until then, they all spoke up. Everyone should have a voice." Vinien is safe to look at, so Azaylia does so despite how her lips thin into tight little lines. She's not pleased by something Devaki has said, though it is hard to pinpoint on what, exactly. "Because I'm one half... I should give my support. I don't want to be a reason for the Weyr to become even more divided." She's saying too much, even the goldrider knows this. But, he asked. She has to answer. "Everyone or only the elders in charge? I would like everyone to have a voice, L-- Devaki. But there still have to be leaders in place. It's how things are done at the Weyr." "I just... hope you don't feel like you have to refrain from putting forward your opinion just to keep the peace, that's all." Devaki's gaze flickers towards Vinien, too, but he's mostly studying Azaylia; her expression is much more interesting at the moment. "Everyone," he echoes. "We were an opinionated lot, but it was hard not to be -- when it came to survival." Is he suggesting the situation at the Weyr akin to theirs on the Island? Azaylia's strong hands have never had a problem being delicate when need be, and they're feather light when stroking over the boy's blond hair. Her face has become smooth once again, lost in petting Vinien and her own thoughts. After a moment, there's a glance towards the man that's perhaps a touch guilty. Of course that's how she feels. "I'd like to hear more about the island. How things worked. There are reports, aren't there?" Would he remember being interviewed, or if anyone else was? "Weyrs have survived for turns and turns doing things a certain way. Changing it, or at least trying to change too much... It's dangerous." And not just for weyrwomen. "It's hard to find the right balance." There's a shake of Devaki's head, brief, his voice neutral. "The elders advised us to tell the Weyr little of our inner workings. They took us from our homes, not once, but twice. We weren't sure if we could trust them." And now? Well, the islander settles for, "I'd be happy to have tea with you again another time. But I should get Vinien to bed soon, he'll start to fuss, soon." "Oh." It holds all of Azaylia's surprise, as well as her understanding. "I'm sorry. I wish... maybe if I had Hraedhyth when you were found..?" But that doesn't make any sense, given that her dragon is of Iolene's. The goldrider knows when she's being shooed, however politely. "I would really like that. Hopefully before you all go and leave us?" She smiles, arms shifting to support Vinien as she stands, "I guess I'll have to give him back if you're going to put him to bed..." The boy gets a soft squeeze and though she's reluctant to do so, she returns him to his father. "Goodnight Vinien." Singsong, and less so, "And you too, Devaki." It doesn't make sense -- not to Devaki, anyway -- and it makes his brow furrow in confusion as he stands. "We're not leaving until the Hatching at least, so I'd certainly hope before then," he says with a smile, as he reaches to take Vinien into his arms, though the boy stretches briefly again for Azaylia before settling against his father's shoulder. "And you, Azaylia." A moment of hesitation, "If you ever want to talk..." a pause, "...or you know, babysit." A smile briefly, in farewell, as he turns to carry the boy into the inner weyr. |
Leave A Comment