Logs:People Skills
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| RL Date: 22 May, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, R'hin |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin schools Farideh on how to be a good weyrwoman. Obviously, he missed his true calling. |
| Where: Kitchen, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 15, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Nimae/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions, Josilina/Mentions |
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| The kitchen is full of activity and warm bodies, from the cooks and their aides putting the finishing touches on the dinnertime meal, to the drudges that are getting ordered around to odd and end jobs, and there's even an assistant headwoman standing by the storage. She's chatting with the head cook, paperwork clutched under her arm, and being shadowed by a less-than-thrilled Farideh; the latter has attached herself to one of the spritely cook assistants, who is currently rattling off a merry tale in an accent that can only be described as Bitran. Farideh has the look of someone not completely listening to the words being prattled at her, though she leans back against the nearest wall, her fingers wrapped around her own paperwork and held down in front of her hips. If she didn't occasionally offer the mildest smile or arch of brow, her expression could be termed uninterested, but she's making at least a minimal effort, all the while keeping one eye on the headwoman. For one that makes a habit of avoiding the busiest time in the kitchens, it might well be surprising that R'hin has set himself up in one of the breakfast nooks. Then again, the fact that there's a near-completed meal at hand suggests he's been here for some time. He sets spoon aside and leans back, pale eyes inevitably finding the head cook, and the girl with her. There's a twitch of lips, and while likely soundless, from where Farideh stands, it's clear the bronzerider is laughing at her. To Roszadyth, Leiventh's presence is marked by an abrupt stirring of cold, winter winds, such as the young queen has not yet experienced. « Rosvelth. » Do dragons get crossed wires? The bronze's tones are mild curiousity. « What are you doing? » Bitran though she may be, the red-haired cook's assistant has none of the quick wit and restraint that those people prize, and as she tells whatever tale she's spinning for the weyrling, she blushes all the way up to the roots of her orange-y red hair. It's here that Farideh's strain shows and she casually rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, her gaze pulling from the girl not much older than she, and in the process, skimming the tables along the wall. R'hin, of course, stands out with his humored look. Her eyes narrow, her lips pulling down in displeasure; her chin even jerks up in challenge. She's not yet disengaged from the other girl, but she's definitely going to try and stare the old bronzerider down from across the room. Whoever looks away first loses, obviously. Oh, that's the game? Clearly R'hin doesn't realize it, because as soon as one of the cook's very pretty assistants strolls past, his gaze roves to her instead, all appreciation. It takes the young gold a moment to respond, the bronze's winter winds met by resilient, subdued sunshine and effervescent warmth. « I do think you are mistaken, » she is pleasant, understanding. « I am not Rosvelth. I am Roszadyth. » (To Leiventh from Roszadyth) The winds die for a moment, shifting and changing as they are want to do. « Of course you are, » with a hint of a haughty irritation, quickly and abruptly withdrawing. (To Roszadyth from Leiventh) A low, strangled sound erupts from Farideh when he breaks the stare-off first, and it's that sound that prompts the redhead to finally look up from her kneading of dough to shyly glance at the weyrling; her own dark eyes follow to where the goldrider is glaring. "Shards, I th--" But her statement doesn't get finished, or heard, as Farideh simply walks away, towards R'hin's table, where she pauses, staring after the cook's assistant he is busy appreciating. "Don't you think you're a little obvious?" It's not until the last minute -- until she's blocking his vision of the assistant -- that R'hin actually turns his attention to the weyrling, with a rise of brow. "Mm?" He's playing up the ignorance, though the glitter of pale eyes might well belie that. Not even the bronze's change of temper changes the shimmer of the gold's light, but not one to press, when he recedes, Rosazadyth lingers only so long as to offer a chance for him to change his mind, if needed, and then her sunshine, too, disappears, long before the impression of her concern does. (To Leiventh from Roszadyth) "You have a little something--" Farideh taps her own chin, a little below the edge of her mouth, to indicate to him where she's "seeing" something. "Just there." Her smile is less than kind, stretched thin, but despite her obvious irritation, she sets down her short stack of notes on his table; invited or not. "Do you always come to the kitchen to ogle the women?" "Only the pretty ones," Women, presumably, rather than kitchens. R'hin lifts his chin as she gestures, "What, not going to offer to wipe it off? Service has gotten terrible around here," he says, as he reaches for a napkin to brush across his mouth and chin. If he's upset by her self-invitation it isn't apparent; he's chuckling at the sight of the hides, with a brief nod towards them. "What a glorious future awaits you, Farideh-of-High-Reaches." "What? And let you get used to being coddled this late in your life?" she chides him, an odd emphasis on the late part. Heedless of what manners dictate, Farideh slides into the seat across from his, her eyes dropping with his gesture to her hidework. "It could be worse. I could be married and popping out one fat baby after another by now." Her eyes lift, one eyebrow cocked. "As it is, I pulled the card that will have me handling cooks with a flair for the excessive and bronzeriders who have roving eyes soon enough. I hope you can keep your hands to yourself, at least." R'hin's response is a snorting scoff, brushing off her poking at his age. "You think being a goldrider makes you more attractive?" He leans forward, his voice lowering: "Gotta tell you, kid. It makes you less attractive. Who would want to touch that pile of power, naivete, and death?" He taps a finger across his lips now that he's set away his napkin, and self-corrects: "No, wait. There will be plenty, who want you for what you can give them. And trust me, it isn't for the sex." "And yet," Farideh's eyes narrow again, "you were Weyrleader more than once. If it's not attractive to you, then why did you want it?" She looks like she wants to say more, perhaps to cast insults at him, but instead she pulls on her tunic, smoothing out the lines and imaginary wrinkles. "I am sure," she avers with a forced, pleasant smile. "Isn't that the way of things? Men using women to get what they want, especially the power they crave. It's not new." She waves her hand to the side, as if waving away his questionable advice. "I didn't," R'hin replies, blandly and honestly. "The morning after I won, I tried to quit, just roused from my Weyrwoman's bed. Josilina refused to let me. And Satiet..." he goes silent a moment, lips twisting. "Who could ever refuse her?" He shakes his head, gaze reminiscent for a beat. "But I never wanted it. And it'll never happen again." He seems oddly sure about that. With an easy nod, he agrees with her, adding, "It's not new, to riders or to holders." Not a single rebuttal leaves the goldrider's lips, though Farideh gives great consideration to R'hin's words. "Tell me," she says, slanting a look towards the assistant headwoman and the cook, who are gesturing towards the storage as they speak. "About them." "You want to know about them, or how to control them?" R'hin asks, with a twitch of lips. "What?" Farideh's eyebrows draw together, her lips taking a turn into a frown. "I want to know about Josilina and Satiet. They're dead. I can't ever know who they were, but you--" Her expression softens, a tiny bit. "Did." There's a low laugh from R'hin, though it doesn't seem to be fueled by amusement. "Better off learning about the cook and the assistant. They'll be useful." A beat. "Dead Weyrwomen will not be." That seems to be a no, then. "Why must you always be so mule-headed? You can't humor me the once? What would I learn from an assistant headwoman Irianke is likely to fire and a cook who is rumored to not be able to keep to a budget?" Farideh sits back, annoyed. R'hin certainly isn't about to deny the accusation, given the mute shrug he gives. A tap of finger on the table, as he says, "You learn about people. People who might be one day upset that they got fired by an acting Weyrwoman, but grateful for a second change you might give them elsewhere, and extremely loyal to you from then on, or a cook that is bad with the budget but has so many more useful skills that could be used elsewhere. But -- you'd prefer to talk about dead people," there's a hint of heat, and dismissiveness in that last, as he presses hands against the table. "That's on the assumption that either of them would be good at something else, or that I would ever be in a position to offer them another job. Do you think Irianke would look kindly on me if she fired the cook and, in the transition period, I hired the cook back, and then she became the Weyrwoman in truth as much as title?" Farideh clearly doesn't think so, and even crosses her arms defensively over her chest. "They both shaped this place. I want to know what they did, how they did, and why Satiet is someone you could never refuse?" Her head tips to the side, and she adds, "When you die, you don't want to be remembered, ever? Talked about?" "You think too far too short term. A person isn't only useful for the next week or month or Turn." R'hin clucks his tongue, as if disappointed at Farideh's short-sightedness. "Why can't it be that Irianke fires the cook, and you become senior, you don't reverse the decision, but you recognize the cook is singularly skilled at marshaling and managing a team of people, if less so at the budget, but that there are other places in the Weyr her skills could be useful to you?" With a flicker of fingers, "Just because someone finds a person's skills to be of use, doesn't mean they can't be of use to you." He shakes his head, both for her questions of long-dead Weyrwoman, and for the latter, it seems. "No," he says, simply. It's not hard to see that Farideh is frustrated by his lack of answer. "Why do you care about this," both hands flying to the side, to denote the cook and headwoman, "but not the other? Aren't they equally as important? Why are you so--" She bites her tongue and presses her lips tightly, and remains mute for several seconds more, before offering, "I am not disregarding what you are saying, but I don't understand how one can hold more weight than the other, when tradition is as significant as innovation." There's definitely amusement as R'hin catches that check of Farideh's, though it goes uncommented on, as he answers her question, this one, at least: "Because one is a skill that, once learnt and executed correctly, will earn you loyalty amongst the Weyr. That is a currency more valuable to you as a potential future Weyrwoman of High Reaches than a dozen stories about Weyrwomen past. You are not them, nor should you be. Better to pave the way of your own future, then rest on the laurels of another, no?" The Wingleader's head tips, pale eyes amused. "Wouldn't Irianke have the whole Weyr in her palm by now if competency was the only thing it took?" Farideh hugs her arms tighter across her chest, her chin dipping down, though her eyes don't leave the amused rider seated across the table. "That is if I knew where to start. I have little by way of understanding how these places operate, even if I'm beginning to, and plenty hoping I don't turn out to be another mini-Nimae. Not," she's quick to specify, "that Irianke is, but most of the people here can't differentiate. Do you blame me for wanting to be informed?" "It's not the only thing; it's a tool a goldrider should have in her arsenal." With a wave of his hand, R'hin says, "Irianke thought herself a temporary junior at best, as did the rest of the Weyr." With a tip of head towards the assistant, "It seems you're learning. If," with a thud of knuckles to the wood of the table, "Getting distracted by, admittedly, overly distracting bronzeriders," he's chuckling, unrepentant in his amusement. "And what's so bad about ol' Nimae, anyway? The rumors you heard about her?" A beat, as his musing eyes go skyward, "I wonder what rumors they say about you, Farideh-of-Igen?" "Overly distracting? I would think of a few better description but I--" The assistant headwoman is moving, making her exit from the kitchen, but not before looking around for Farideh, and once found, giving her a disapproving stare as she slips out. "Oh, crap," the weyrling mutters, slumping forward with a dismal expression. She unwraps her arms and scoops up her papers, leveling R'hin with a dissatisfied sort of expression. "Nimae is a force to be reckoned with, the likes of which High Reaches couldn't fathom-- not even Irianke is as formidable." Of the latter, she sniffs and starts to stand, using the chair as a prop. "It would be best for everyone if I was just Farideh-of-High-Reaches. A lot less complicated." Her opinion of Nimae earns a snort, though isn't challenged. The flicker of hand in response appears acknowledgement on R'hin's part, to the last, at least. "Complications are, in the end, what fuck us over." A beat, as he fortune-cookies once more by way of farewell: "A Weyrwoman who knows people, not just her people, is a force to be reckoned with." "For Faranth's sake, R'hin," Farideh snaps, but ends any further discussion on hat discordant note. She could walk into another argument or just walk away, and it's the second, wiser option that she chooses, albeit with her irritation plainly wrought on her face. |
Comments
Alida (03:05, 23 May 2015 (EDT)) said...
I enjoy it when these two get together. ^^
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