Logs:Oh, Child
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| RL Date: 24 February, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Irianke |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: The long awaited reunion. Farideh goes to see Irianke. |
| Where: Irianke's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 7, Month 2, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Snowy. |
| Mentions: Pavrol/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions, Teoma/Mentions, Miska/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, F'rain/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, A'rist/Mentions, Lycinea/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions, Wulfan/Mentions, Daroda/Mentions, Yuliye/Mentions |
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>---< Irianke and Niahvth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr(#1207RJ) >---------------<
This hollowed out bubble cavern is large. Tendrils of steam come from a
corner near the lower caverns entrance to the weyr. It's situated near a
separated cave that has hanging glass beads obscuring view of it, likely
the bed chamber. The outermost room is decorated in bright colors and a
lot of interesting pieces of art hung on the walls. A large stone table
sits in the entrance from the ledge atop a yellow and teal rug. The
furniture is chaise lounges on other sectional carpet pieces and a cabinet
of liquor. The glassed-in bookshelf is filled with volumes and volumes of
books and scrolls and locked from prying eyes.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 19 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
Irianke F 36 5'7" slender, dark curly hair, stone blue eyes 4s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Complex Ledge A few days have passed since Farideh learned of the unfortunate news, and has taken to hiding out in the myriad tunnels of the Weyr when she's not busy in the laundry. It's on the sixth day of the new month that she makes the trek across the snow-filled bowl, aiming for the Igen gold pair's ledge. She climbs the stairs like a woman heading to her end, and just within the outer weyr, stops, wringing her hands. Her footfalls pick up a step or two, then stop, again, her troubled gaze pinned to the opening that leads into the inner weyr that Irianke now claims. Breathing in falteringly, she turns and makes back for the ledge, but comes to a halt and grimaces vividly. With resignation, and a fair amount of steeled nerves, she speed walks - lest she waver again - through Niahvth's weyr and into the goldrider's portion, her expression anxious, her fingers linked. "Iri-- Irianke?" she murmurs, peering inward. Without a spy to watch her ledge for her and inform her of those arriving through that back entrance, Irianke is unprepared for this breach of her residence. Her inner weyr is set up with large hides stretched between poles on wheels, four of them, each with different diagrams of what those in the know would realize is weyrling lessons. She has different pots of paint available to her and there is some elaborate color coded system at work, a thin paintbrush with blue dabbled at the ends whirling with her twirl and fling small spots of paint around the canvas draped floor. "Yes?" Irritated at the distraction, the curt response immediately shifts into one of wide-eyed... something. "Farideh." Is she pleased? Pleased is probably not the right word, but then again, neither is displeased. Uncertain, for sure. Reconciling the prettily dressed, slim girl whose curls were always disarrayed at Big Bay with the young woman in worn clothing and simple top knot hedging her way into the goldrider's weyr might be a task, for Farideh herself even. Her fingers reaches up to brush back any wayward strands of hair self-consciously, her hazel eyes more green than brown when they're filled with trepidation. "Yes," Farideh says simply, smoothing her palms down the sides of her pants, as if to wipe away sweat or grim. She keeps moving inward, though her focus is on the Igenite woman rather than the hide apparatus and paint pots. "I-- hi," because really, what is there to say. Still, frankly, dubious, Irianke's paintbrush hovers, tracing this outline of Farideh before her in the air. It pauses at the clothing, the knot, the hair, and ultimately the face. A mantra within, that's seen briefly in a soundless movement of her lips, finally has her shoulders ease and her expression relent. "Come here. Let's see you from all sides and see what sort of trouble you've wrought now." Arms open wide, the paintbrush still in one hand, she steps off the canvas to try and envelope the Big Bay teenager into an embrace. Initially, that paintbrush causes the girl to freeze in place, but she thaws with Irianke's arms opening, her face easing into relief as she starts for that embrace. Farideh's slim arms seek to wind around the goldrider's middle, head to rest on shoulder; it's comforting, familiar, home. "I've made a complete mess of things," she mutters desolately, not yet letting ago enough to have a look at Irianke or have Irianke see the shame on her rounded face. "No," decides Irianke during the long hug, pushing the girl away, hands to the teenager's shoulders and her face looking intently on Farideh's features. "I'm cross with you. You knew I was here. You must have heard after some time. You never came to tell me. I'm cross, do you hear me?" The words do not jive with her intonation, the same sort of emotion that someone familiar and of home heavily laden in it. Even those gray-blue eyes drink in Farideh, noting any changes to her features, slimming, chubbying, anything, before she's wrapping the girl in another paint-splattered hug. "Oh, darling, here, let me put my work aside and you can sit and tell me all about it." Irianke's inspection is met with a faint pout and widened eyes, akin to a little girl being caught in a forbidden act by her parents. "I didn't know what you would think of me. I thought you would hate me forever and send me back. I was going to come and tell you myself before-- before--she told you." That statement causes a flicker of a frown, that's gone as quickly as it surfaces, replaced by more relief, at the continued embrace. "I can help you, if you need help with-" whatever it is that hide-on-wheels thing is, Farideh's befuddled look says. Irianke departs Farideh's side to put the caps on her paints and put that paintbrush into a bucket of water. "No," she says, "Leave them. I'll have to work on them again later, after." After Farideh leaves, presumably. The smock she's worn over her clothes is pulled over her head and tossed onto the canvas and she gestures, with paint streaked hands, to the chaise area. "Don't be so dramatic," chides the weyrwoman, taking a seat for herself and patting the space right next to her. "I would never report you to your parents," except she most definitely twitched at the word report. "Do they not know you're here? Does anyone know you're here? I hadn't even heard... they hadn't told the Weyr that I knew o..." The goldrider stops mid-sentence, her expression souring at some unfinished thought. "No matter," there's a brisk shake of her head and a smile, "Sit and tell me what happened and how you ended up out... here of all places." Largely hesitant steps carry Farideh to the chaise, where she sinks next to Irianke, her hands folded in her lap for the moment. "No. No one knows. I don't think anyone knows." These process from uncaring to mildly concerned, and she chews on her lower lip in between sentences. "You know mother just couldn't wait to get Teoma married off. Not that she minded, of course, but after they were, and she'd gone--" She fidgets with the folds of her pants, glancing aside to the goldrider. "I don't want that. I want to decide my own life," earnestly. "My mother wasn't having any of it. Why would she? So, I-- I left." Her wince is minute and followed by a sigh. "I've not been in contact with them since. I don't know what they know, or what they're telling people, but I want to stay here," as she points to her own chest, emphasizing her, her decision, her choice, her heart. Oh, child. It's not uttered. Irianke doesn't say such patronizing things, but the way she looks at the teenager says it all in a mix of sympathy and something else. She, too, is the parent of a child who is far far away from her in many levels. "How long has it been? I cannot think your parents did not contact the Weyrleaders to be on the look out for you on wing sweeps." And if that were the case, as the goldrider seems to think from the hardened look creasing her brow, she is not happy. The other woman's response has Farideh looking that much more miserable. "I know," she mumbles dejectedly, splaying her fingers in her lap. "Almost two turns come the summer. I don't know. Perhaps they did? Perhaps they didn't? I thought they would have for sure found me by now, if they scoured all of the Weyrs and Holds one by one, but maybe they didn't think I'd come here." She sighs and shakes her head. "And is it even safe?" Her eyes probe Irianke's face, seeking answers. "After Wulfan's decline and Lord Joremy's--" but she can't finish the sentence. Irianke reaches for and claims one of Farideh's hands. It's placed on her knee and pressed with all the reassurance of a mother for their child, or surrogate child. "It's safe. Safer now than it was before Joremy." The goldrider says this with the air of absolute knowledge, though the darkness at possibly being deceived about Farideh's lack of presence at Igen still lingers in her clouded look. "Can I ask what you hope for here? At High Reaches? I was sent here, you... chose this place." "Truly? Safer? Do you-- do you support Joremy?" Conflict arises in her voice, a struggle of wants and needs, that's at contrast to her confused expression. She stares down at their hands, then flicks a look back up to Irianke. "At first I chose it for its distance. It is a far, far way from Igen, and I thought if I picked somewhere cold-- you know, I've never been a fan of snow," her nose wrinkling. "Now? I cannot be sure. I know that I've learned things and I feel more whole, somehow. I miss my family and friends at Igen, and you, but-- I have friends here too. It's becoming more and more comfortable as time wears on, and the thought of leaving--" Her brows come together at the end. "Maybe I'll be the Headwoman one day, or a cook, or--" She can't help the laugh that catches in her throat. "A dragonrider. Of a brown? A wingleader," her lips twitching. "Child." She's long called Farideh this as an endearment more than condescension. She has known the young woman since she was a child, after all. "Wulfan bled the Hold dry. If not for your uncle's prosperity, Igen Hold would be completely destitute, so yes, I do support Joremy." This is a momentous occasion. This might be the first time since arriving at High Reaches Weyr Irianke has answered something so forthright. The rest will be addressed later, the weyrwoman pausing to place more pressure on that hand, both reassuring and trying to reinforce the magnitude of what she says. Blankness meets the news. "What?" comes the soft question, mere seconds before Farideh's eyes widen. It's almost as if what's going on in her head is being displayed on her face, from confusion to realization, to undiluted horror and the shine of tears in those verdigris eyes of hers. Shaking her eyes extremely slowly, her fingers clench on Irianke's knee. "What? That's-- that's impossible, Irianke. That's just-- Wulfan was a good-- he wouldn't-- those are his people," where her words start off strong and dwindle into a whisper at the end. There's regret for bursting the fantasies and bubbles of a child she's long grown fond of. "He was a decent man. But decent men do not always mean good leaders. And horrible people dont necessarily mean bad leaders. Not that," Irianke's opinion of Joremy is visible, if Farideh is looking up at any rate, before her words are spoken, "Joremy is much better, but maybe he'll have learned from his brother's mistakes. But you've left that world." There's emphasis in that entire last sentence along with hand pats. "You have other concerns here in this cursed Weyr. I sometimes wonder if I should have been less cavalier about accepting the transfer. Fought more. Argued more." Argue with Nimae? The laughter of gossips round Pern are ringing in her ear. "No," Farideh grudgingly agrees. "I would have never-- he's here you know?" Her eyes lift to the woman's face again, lingering. "Wulfan is with Lord Devaki at High Reaches Hold. I'm not sure why. I'm not why how long they'll stay, but he's--" She sighs, relaxes her fingers, and sniffles a little, drying up those unshed tears. "I hope Lord Joremy will do better. He, at least, is doing right by his mistakes and marrying Lady Yuliye." Thank Faranth for small favors! "Oh," she shifts, turning slightly to face Irianke. "I was so selfish and talked about me this whole time. How is that? How are you? Are you settling in well? Everyone is talking about you," not in a malicious way, but as a friend would their confidante. "I saw." Irianke's curt response as to the whereabouts of the former Lord Igen says enough of her opinion. But the girl's next has her mouth twitching. The words she does not say gleam bright in her amused bluish eyes, deepening in hue and amusement when the laundress switches the subject to Irianke herself. "I'm sure. I've caught the odd stares and outright discussion of myself before people have noticed I'm there. It matters little to me. I am what and who I am. I am Igenite. I am Nimae's. I'm overly interested and involved. But I don't apologize for that. You mentioned thinking of Impressing?" "It really is odd though. They have no concern for a laundress from Igen, but you, you come here, and they have so many things to say about Igen and what it's lacking." Farideh's loyalty to their desert home - even as dwindling as it seems to be - is still present in her voice, shading her words with ruefulness. "I find them wildly jealous," the brunette confides, helpfully. It's Irianke's later question that draws a reserved expression and compressing of the girl's lips. "It's not something I've given great thought to, but if-- if a dragon Searched me, who am I to say no? Perhaps that was in my plan all along, right?" Hopeful. Involuntarily, at the word jealous, Irianke's hand departs Farideh's to play long, calloused fingers in her own curls. Jealous is such a tantalizing word. Of her looks? Of her work ethic? Of her or Igen? Lightning thoughts dart from this to that, but turns of training sink in and she starts with, "As a Weyr resident, you don't need to be Searched," states the goldrider. "You can ask. It would be within your rights to if you wanted. But..." Trouble furrows her brows, the look she gives Farideh appraising. "If you Impress, you may be asked to return to Igen Weyr when your training here completes." What she doesn't say is deeply writ in the concern on her face: could the teenager handle it? The older woman's spate of thoughts doesn't alarm Farideh, but she's busy having many of her own, flashing various sentiments across her face: anxiety, confusion, doubt. "I don't-- why would any of the dragons return to Igen? I thought they stayed where they hatched?" She's bewildered, to put it simply, and blinks rapidly, even as she's staring at Irianke, waiting for some sort of answer. Irianke throws caution to the wind, for her at least. "It was part of the deal brokered for my arrival here. Niahvth was the closest gold to rising at Igen and Nimae," you know Nimae is her significant look to Farideh that balances out the political delicacy of what she says, "Wanted to assist a Weyr with only one queenrider. Hraedhyth is not due to rise for some time by all dragonhealing calculations." Which can and have been wrong, but that's neither here nor now. "High Reaches gets my presence here to try and fill in the gaps of no other weyrwomen and Niahvth's clutch, in part. Despite," the goldrider's dark eyes disappear as she closes them and looks down at her lap, "F'rain's recent upheavals, Igen is in need of smaller, more agile dragons. Exact numbers were not negotiated yet as everyone waits to see what kind of clutch Niahvth lays, but there's the expectation that at least twenty percent of the Impressions will go to Igen upon their graduation." "The weyrleaders agreed to that?" Not that Farideh knows about political machinations between Weyrs, but she sounds surprised that they would willing let go of a bunch of dragons, regardless of color. "Twenty percent? That's--" Her hand lifts, fingers touching to her chin, while she chews at her lips, clearly in a mental upheaval about that. "And they have to? What if they," weyrlings, presumably, "say they won't? Do they have a choice?" Or will Nimae come drag them back kicking and screaming, is what her tone seems to imply, as well. "The Weyrwoman is persuasive." Not my. Not our. The. There's even a distinct note of rebellion in the goldrider's voice. Not a whole lot. Just enough incautiously thrown out there that could be heard by someone looking for or used to such emotions. It must be an answer for both of Faridehs statements. Irianke runs both hands through her hair, the paint on them long dried so they don't streak it. "I don't like what you're wearing." They are nowhere near the same size. But that doesn't stop the goldrider from getting to her feet and walking to her room where her wardrobe is and returning with something pretty, a simple lace collar that could add something to any outfit should the need arise. "I have to finish some of this work, but thank you, thank you, Farideh, for being a familiar face in all of this. Other than you and R'hin, I find myself quite friendless in this cold, dark place." The Weyrwoman is persuasive - never a truer statement has been spoken. Lips quirked, Farideh watches inquisitively when Irianke gets up and returns with the lace collar. "I can't dress like I would. I wouldn't blend in then, and imagine the rumors." She scoots to the edge of the chaise and stands up, finding her hands suddenly useless, leaving them to fidget fretfully at her sides. "I'm glad you're here. It's been-- hard. Getting used to everything on my own. If you ever need anything, I'm here to help. I might not have any skills to do so, but I'll do what I can." Her gaze falters somewhat, but she takes a tentative step forward, like she's aiming to give the goldrider another hug, in goodbye this time. "R'hin. You know R'hin? That's good. He-- he knows," about her; there's some embarrassment in the statement. She knows R'hin too. Something sharper brightens the blue of Irianke's gray-blue eyes, but it must have been a passing glow light. "He's an interesting man. I've known of him for turns, possibly as long as I've known you." Irianke presses the lace collar still, giving the girl a one-armed hug while trying to slip it into a pocket. "Take it. You can say it was a gift for some favor you did for me. Unless you want to be daring and tell your friends you're borrowing it from the laundry." A sudden Irianke-esque grin lights up. "I didn't realize how alone I was until I saw you. Come visit when you can." "Interesting," the younger girl acknowledges, leaning into the hug, a little less zealously, but needing it just as much as the first embrace. "You're not alone." It's a steadfast reply, serious, coupled with a somewhat severe look and a frown from Farideh. "I'll come again. Soon." Her hands reaches to squeeze the goldrider's, her cheek pressing into Irianke's, before she releases and takes a step back, then a couple to the side. One prolonged, pensive stare is given the woman - as if she doesn't want to go - and then she's heading for the ledge. Niahvth still has not returned. Rumor says she's finally sitting on the sands with Lythronath of all dragons. Irianke watches Farideh until she disappears and sits heavily on the chaise. "This Weyr is enough to drive anyone to drink." |
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Comments
Edyis (02:17, 25 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Aww. I loved this!
Edyis (02:17, 25 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Aww. I loved this!
K'zin (14:54, 25 February 2015 (EST)) said...
Awesome! :D I really loved the relationship dynamics here. Farideh's uncertainty and Irianke's pretended crossness, and then them seeming to need each other so much, connected through their love of Igen.
Also super interesting about Wulfan and the Hold! I hope Farideh or Irianke tells EVERYONE so we can gossip about it. ;D
<3
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