Logs:He Belongs
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| RL Date: 21 December, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, Hattie, Morvyn |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Word from the Benden Gather, concerning Ruatha, Boll and Ista, and discussion of Weyrleadership. |
| Where: Council Chambers, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 8, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jenilynn/Mentions, Onyka/Mentions, B'rant/Mentions, Giarnon/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
| Though Hattie is, on most days, in the caverns by early afternoon, today she's still in the council room, and, by the state of the table before her, looks to be quietly drowning in hidework. It's very /organised/ chaos that sits atop that table, all sorted into different departments and topics, but it looks pretty intimidating and less than inviting all the same. The Weyrwoman herself looks /less/ presentable than her work, with a pen lodged in hair that has been pinned up into tight half-curls, away from her face, though this also means she has no curtain to shield her face, which plainly bears the darker marks of lack of sleep. Hattie sits hunched over slightly, not actually working, but... head propped on one hand and... almost asleep. "Weyrwoman?" Morvyn's voice proceeds his body's entrance into the council rooms. He's got two rolled hides tucked under his arm and he is all business. Hattie's drowsing ends his movement further into the room as he stands near the door and eyes her. The Harper's face is set in a frown and he shakes his head. He makes his way forward to set his burden down on the table beside her neat stack. He has no intent on waking her and turns as soon as the hides are down to head towards the door once more. Maybe Elaruth gives her rider a mental nudge about Morvyn's arrival, or perhaps Hattie just isn't that heavy a sleeper, since she wakes, more or less, when those hides are added to those already in-front of her. Maybe she's just got a sixth sense for hidework. "...What?" she starts to murmur, pushing away from the table to survey the work there, to try and figure out what exactly is different about the layout. It's in time to catch Morvyn turning to leave, and, noticing him there, she sits up straight, though not without angling another look at the table. Is something /missing/ instead? "Journeyman?" she queries. "I was trying not to disturb you," Morvyn answers that query as he turns around though nothing about his demeanor suggests he was doing that out of kindness or consideration to her. "I have given you reports of what I heard while I was at Benden Hold for a Gather a few days ago." His fingers flick in the direction of those additonal hides. "There is nothing really that stood out to me. Nothing you wouldn't expect, I don't think." He shrugs and then makes an abrupt bow. "I'll be leaving you to your nap unless you have questions for me?" Something about the word /nap/ brings a steely edge to Hattie's gaze and a self-loathing determination to the set of her jaw, sickened by her body's betrayal. "Sit," she 'invites', though it's clear from her tone that it's not really an invitation at all. "I think we would do well not to anticipate what the other expects, don't you?" And that's when that pen drops out of her hair and further robs her of her dignity. "Humour me and... summarise what you heard, please. Nobody was kind enough to gossip quite within my range of hearing for what little I attended." She grabs at that pen and lines it up next to the hide in-front of her. "Very well," Morvyn replies to her prompt to sit without further comment, settling his long limbs across from her. "It comes as no surprise to you, I am sure, that Lady Jenilynn's Ruathan husband was heard loudly declaring to other Lords that the leadership here at Fort should be changed. I heard some agreements to that idea, others were less inclined to discuss it at all. The Weyrwoman of Ista got rather drunk near the end of the night and tried to convince a group of riders that they should be more aware of /who/ they are being led by. I couldn't see any knots, so I'm not sure if they were Fortians or others." He steeples his fingers on the table and looks to Hattie. "The crafters were too busy selling their wares to bother with any gossip that I could tell." Hattie wrinkles her nose in disgust, sitting all the straighter in her seat. "He /what/?" Evidently, that /is/ a surprise. "...Well, it isn't as if he is the one with the power in that marriage," she murmurs. "I would like to think that Jenilynn is /not/ led by her husband, but if that turns out to be so... For the moment, if he's anything, he's a Lord in name alone. By marriage." She gives a little twist of her lips that turns out to be more grimace than smile. "Then, my former assistant is Ruathan..." From the back of her throat sounds a noise too tired to be laughter, but it's a bitter thing, whatever it is. "I confess, I would have thought better of Onyka," she sighs. "Funny that Ruatha and Ista should be so much on the same page now." "I suppose it is; though to me I wonder if they intend to try and continue to sway people to their cause. It's just as well they have no real say about leadership no matter how they complain or create issues, right?" Morvyn replies blandly, "I personally see no benefit to either of them for their complaints. It could be the same old issue, just a means to provide proof as to why supplies should not be shared with a Weyr." He shrugs and glances at the hides beside her. "I wasn't surprised by any of it. People love to complain.. And create issues. Add alcohol and a sense of freedom..," he splays his hands out and shrugs. The gentle touch that reaches for Isyath is weighted from afar by something or someone weary, making wisps of mist clumsy where they are usually so careful. « It might be best for her, » Ali, « to hear what is being said behind our backs. They are in the council room. » Not the Weyrleaders, but Hattie and what /looks/ like Fort's newest Harper, from the shadowy image that Elaruth pulls together of him. (To Isyath from Elaruth) "I think we must hope that it's /elements/ of Ruatha who are deciding to try and turn a situation into the one that they would wish, and not Lord Giarnon himself." Hattie's shoulders slump and she lifts a hand to press fingers to the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. "Giarnon's no fool. He wouldn't wade into something that would slander his name /or/ affect his Hold's standing with us." Or so she hopes. "...Onyka's issues are... more personal, I believe. A misunderstanding, going back at least a turn now. If this is how she chooses to deal with them..." She shrugs one of those slumped shoulders. "As for the husband, perhaps this is simply how he chooses to find his voice. His wife hasn't been exactly vocal, thus far." Her dark gaze is cast among the piles of hidework that litter the table, those documents now found infinitely less interesting than before. Even less interesting than whatever put her to sleep. As ever, the younger queen circles high above the Weyr, the warm thermals keeping her aloft with almost no effort. Within Isyath's thoughts are that ever-present sense of delight and freedom, shared with her dam the second she feels Elaruth's touch, rippled only minutely by the words the elder queen shares. « She will come. » There's a brief quizzical note: perhaps wondering at the presence of the harper, but she doesn't linger on that thought, likely because it's Ali's and not her own. (To Elaruth from Isyath) "That is a decent enough interpretation," Morvyn agrees with her, choosing to keep his own opinions, if he has any, to himself. "I think you and the Weyrleader have time to figure out how you want to handle their.. vocal.. complaints. But there are only two or more Gathers left in the season in which to do it with a large group." He taps his fingers on the table and shrugs. The sounds of someone approaching can be heard- and whoever it isn't at pains to hide their approach. It's probably the heat that has Ali's cheeks colored so, but then it might be her quick steps across the bowl, pausing in the doorway to catch her breath as she takes in those present and perhaps catches the tail end of the conversation to hand. There's a brief nod of acknowledgement and recognition for the harper, but it's to her senior that the junior's gaze settles, chewing her lip briefly before she crosses into the room. "Weyrwoman. Journeyman." She moves towards a seat at Hattie's side, sinking into the chair with an exhale. "I- Issy didn't say much, just that I should be here...?" it seems to be a query for elaboration, green eyes finally studying the harper, now, curiously. "You should be aware of what those outside the Weyr are saying of... recently revelations about our Weyrleader," Hattie says slowly as Ali claims her seat, and in the same breath she tries to sit up straight again and folds her hands in her lap. "I've asked the Journeyman to keep me informed of what he hears when he attends the events of the season," she moves to explain. "And it would appear that Lady Jenilynn's husband would have us have a new Weyrleader. Weyrwoman Onyka has been reminding people to be aware of those they look to, but Morvyn here has claimed that it was impossible to tell whether it was her own or /ours/ that she was addressing." Only then does she remember to track her way all the way back to the start: "At Benden Hold's Gather, this was heard." Another sigh, then she scrubs a hand through her half-pinned hair. "But I'm inclined to agree that we're running out of time, whatever counter measures can be taken." Morvyn rises from his seat to offer Ali a half-bow and waits until the other goldrider is seated before he sits once more. He inclines his head towards Hattie as she sums up his report and then looks between the two women. "Have either of you heard anything further? Do you have suggestions on what you'd like to be said or spread at the next few Gathers? It's easy enough for me to fall into idle conversation with the .. right sorts .. and suggest some thoughts they should have." He rubs at his jaw and glances towards the door and then back to the two women. "But that is just one thought. And likely not what you want to do, anyway." While Ali's fingers are resting in her lap, the way they tighten when Hattie speaks might not be that obvious to all, but her expression- the furrowing of brow and pressing of lips- is obvious enough. "The Holds do not dictate to us. The senior queen decides who our Weyrleader is." Neither statement in any way a surprise to anyone in the room, and yet the junior seems to feel that bears repeating. She shakes her head briefly for the mention of Onyka: "Even if she did- what advantage would it be to /her/?" For the answer to that she looks at Morvyn, as if he might already have it to hand. As to his question, it's a moment before the dark-haired woman murmurs, "Perhaps Lady Jenilynn has different ideas than her husband?" "But the Holds can make things very difficult for us, should they choose. Whether their opinions have any sway or not, I feel it's better to know them than be unaware," Hattie answers her junior, her eyes fluttering closed for another second or two. "I think Onyka just likes to /meddle/," she remarks. "Or maybe those rumours of her having a bronzerider bedmate here /are/ true and she favours him for leadership. Influence." As for Boll's Lady, she murmurs, "I hope so," her focus wandering from Ali and over to Morvyn again. "Either of us approaching her would be obvious. She seemed enamoured of B'rant, last I saw her." Just the memory of returning to the Hold makes her pause and swallow hard. "Could you," Morvyn, "fall into conversation with her, should she attend the next Gather?" Morvyn has remained relatively neutral and uninterested in the entire conversation, outside of making his statements and vague opinions know. He leans forward at Ali's choie of phrasing, looking sharply to her before he manages to smooth his reaction over. "Ah, so. If the Weyrwoman is the one who chooses the Weyrleader, really, what is there to contest? Clearly it's not even a contest like some believe it to be," that he focuses on it at all shows his interest though he rushes forward into agreement with Hattie's request, "I will do my best too, Weyrwoman. She seemed fond of my performance, I will personally ask her for a song request and see where it leads me." Ali's far too expressive for her not to react to the mention of Onyka's bedmate being /here/- a ripple of disapproval that fades a moment later. Hattie's mention of B'rant draws her gaze, clearly surprised by this, and thoughtful, too, if a little unsettled- she readjusts herself in her chair, as if trying to get comfortable. Chewing her lip a moment, she darts a sidelong look to Hattie, then murmurs as if in response to the harper, "There's- some who believe the senior queen's choice can be influenced by the mood of the Weyr, or the need of the Weyr." Whether she's one of those is hard to say; she's looking down, now. "What? No, it's-" Hattie starts to say, trying to counter Morvyn's understanding of flights, only she's distracted by glancing over at Ali; at Ali's looking /down/. "If I had /chosen/ who wins Elaruth's flights and /I/ installed whichever Weyrleader I wanted, I might as well have chosen my weyrmates of the time. Which I never have." Which is technically true, though the twitch of her lips might be enough to suggests it is a /mere/ technicality. "If /I/ choose, why keep letting flights decide at all? Why wait between them?" Someone's struck a nerve; she's now plainly on the defensive. It takes her more than a moment to head back into neutral territory and school her expression to such, which could make for an awkward silence before she says, "Lady Jenilynn seems to be a... gentle sort. I would be careful with her. Not too... overbearing." Morvyn is not going to comment on the subject of flights, having relatively no knowledge of them in comparison to the two women in front of him. "Weyrwoman," Morvyn answers Hattie plainly, lifting a brow at her slightly. "I promise to do my duty. I know how to interact with people in a manner that is not.. suspcious. Or so, I hope. But yes, I will not barrel in on her like some ren- barbarian." He catches himself before he can slip on the word 'renegade'. Could it be possible he meant to? He scoots his chair back and stands. "I believe with my information you both have things you'd rather discuss in private. So if I may.. I will take my leave." Even Ali can detect the defensiveness in Hattie's words- it makes her look up- sit up straighter, reaching over to touch fingers briefly to Hattie's arm in a silent show of support. "There's some- some Bollians who patron Dice. I'll- I'll keep an ear out there, too." It's likely the dark-haired woman misses Morvyn's slip of the tongue, if that's what it is; as he stands, he draws her gaze with a nod and a murmured, "Thank you. Have a good afternoon, Journeyman." Hattie can't help but narrow her eyes at Morvyn's 'slip', and it's that darker mood that consumes her despite Ali's touch, and leads her to dismiss him more sharply than she might have, especially given his 'promises'. "Thank you, Journeyman," is mannered; too mannered and clipped and already distant. "Should you need your report returned to you, I'll have it delivered by the Headwoman herself." And so it goes without saying that it won't be left somewhere for anyone to find. There's no 'good afternoon' from her - only a curt nod before her focus slides to her junior. "Whatever pleases you, Weyrwoman," Morvyn replies smoothly, dipping a bow and offering Ali a small smile before he turns on his heel and walks out the door. Others might've noticed the discord they'd created; perhaps the Harper knows it and meant it to be there. Either way, he's out the door without further comment. While Ali's gaze tracks the harper's departure, she doesn't speak as soon as he leaves, or even as soon as the sound of his footsteps retreating down the ledge have faded away. Finally, though, with a breath, she looks at Hattie: "Elaruth pick whomever she wants to pick, when she's ready. In the mean time, if you want me to take Lady Jenilynn's husband and spank him over my knee, I'm more than happy to do so." It's said blandly and only a little flicker of a smile. Hattie hesitates, letting that first statement sink in, and it looks like it's going to placate her and silence her on the subject of Weyrleaders and flights, until she darts her focus to the far wall, then levels a even, tired look at Ali. "Do you want it to be someone else?" she asks, blunt as anything, whether she believes she has any power over the outcome or not. The remark about the Ruathan gentleman does draw a wry pull of a smile from her a few moments later, and she agrees, easily enough, "Please. I only hope he wouldn't enjoy it. He's a bit young in his station to be sharing his thoughts so freely." A long moment of silence follows that question, though because it's Ali, it's likely not that she's taking care to select her words as it is giving it serious thought then-and-there. "I- I can't deny it will make it difficult for us, if it's him. The Weyr is- fracturing. But if it is, we'll get through it." She lets a few moments pass after that, before she breathes again. It's with a flustered expression that she reacts to Hattie's suggestion that he might /enjoy/ it: "Then the naughty corner it is." A brief chew of her lower lip, before she murmurs, "Maybe he's let it go to his head. Or he's heard about Lady Jenilynn and B'rant- I guess- that sort of rumor would- it'd unsettle a holder." Those shared thoughts are likely not so far from what Hattie already knows, for they're processed with a quiet, resigned thoughtfulness, until she refocuses and... asks exactly as she did before. "...Do /you/ want it to be someone else?" Only it's not the same question. Not with that emphasis. It's not interrogative, and enough of that dark mood has slipped away for her just to be seeking an answer as one woman to another. "Oh- Shells," heralds agreement with Ali's idea about Jenilynn and B'rant. "I hadn't considered that." Odd that she hadn't. "I don't think she was... flirtatious. Grateful, yes, in a... quietly effusive way. Maybe /man/ scorned is worse than /woman/." Even Ali hears the different intonation that makes it a different question, and she goes still, inadvertently. Softly, "I- you said once he'd do anything for Fort. I- I think that's true. I think if Fort needed him not to be Weyrleader, he'd do that, as well. But- I wouldn't dare suggest that to him, because- we've been through too much, all three of us, together. He /belongs/." Her gaze is kept down, all throughout that, as if needing to focus to figure out her thoughts. Finally, it's the latter that brings the dark-haired woman's gaze up: "But- the rumors have made it more. Especially with- B'rant's going to Boll, with you." By the time Ali has finished speaking about N'muir, Hattie is also looking down, into her own lap, where she twists her fingers together, first just into any old knots, but then she's clamping fingers around the gold band stark against her skin, like it could tell her what to do. "...He would," she murmurs. "I just hope... people realise that much sooner than I did." She glances up just the tiniest bit. "I should say thank you. ...For... not telling people, when you could have. I know the three of us didn't have the best of starts - none of us did - but he'd do anything to protect you. And me. I truly believe that." Talk about /feelings/ is still not her forte, but she tries, taking slow, measured breaths. "...And, well, she /asked/ for B'rant. If not for him, I think I would have made a right stammering mess of it too." "I didn't tell because- you were right. He came for us." And that's all Ali feels that she needs to say on the subject, to the only other person who would understand. With a measured exhale, she pushes to her feet, "I think I could do with some cold juice. How about I get us some bread and cheeses, and then I can help you attack this lot," her sweeping gesture takes in the piles of hidework. Hattie takes another deep breath and quietly agrees, "He did." And that's enough, her ensuing silence confirms. As Ali's gesture draws her attention right back to the hidework that's sitting there, all intimidating in its too-precise (or pedantic) organisation, her shoulders sink at the reminder that it's still there, for she seems to have forgotten it in the last few minutes. She's already readying herself to face it again when Ali makes her suggestion, which makes her pause and then gratefully submit, nodding in answer. "Thank you," she says softly, reaching to steady a gentle touch against her junior's arm. Hopefully, she won't fall asleep again in the meantime and let two people in one day catch her napping. A smile, but no verbal response, and soon after Ali's steps can be heard retreating into silence as she heads off on her errand. And if the Weyrwoman does happen to be happen when she returns, well... surely that rattling of the tray as she sets it down will wake her, and her junior will pretend not to notice. |
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