Logs:Support
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Laine |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Irianke seeks out Laine after Niahvth reports on the concerning state of Lifreyth's mind after the Fort hatching. |
| Where: Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 12, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
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>---< Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr(#290RJs) >-----------------------<
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of
carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground
-- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers,
and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from
falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into
the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off
some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even
feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.
The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire
cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the
expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is
easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a
broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels
that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks,
however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
Commands: +list/eggs Sought out is the best way to put it, because it's not quite summoned but a very deliberate attempt to cross paths with Laine. Mentally, since the Fort hatching, Niahvth has kept unobtrusive tabs on the weyrling pairs that have seemed more impacted than others, and just now, as Irianke seeks out Lifreyth's rider, the gold dam stretches forth pale green tendrils of vines to wend their way about the brown's mind, tiny little blossoms emerging the longer she's allowed to weave this net. Claiming a bench as near to the sands as she can, the weyrling has stationed herself in a puddle of wan yellow glow-light, sheaves of hides untidily stacked on the bench on either side of her. She's not working; her chin's cradled in one cupped hand, elbow on her knee, and she's staring without seeing out at the empty sands. Her lifemate been is unusually reserved, as late, and his response to his dam verges on sluggish: a single bulb, flickering dimly in a dusty room, crackles to life. There's a sigh from both Laine and Lifreyth. It's a sigh echoed by Irianke, her eyes not yet spotting Laine, but something of what Niahvth shares of Lifreyth's state seems to sink into her very bones as her arms lift to mask a shudder. Else it's so cold outside even the furs draped over Irianke's shoulders can't keep the chill out. Searching gray-blue eyes drift to the wan puddle light and spots Laine's short-cropped hair, less distinctive after everyone's gotten their hair chopped but still noticeable in how it defies gravity. She walks over, her booted steps audible, a warning of her approach, along with a gentle verbal intrusion, "Hey." If Laine notices Irianke before those bootfalls stop and she speaks, the weyrling doesn't give any indication. No surprise registers when she turns her head, but the former tanner looks... Tired. "Hey," she finally acknowledges. There's a cursory effort to tidy her homework, but the motion falls short and her hands falls to her lap, still. She's silent for a long moment, then, as though Irianke had asked for an explanation, Laine offers: "I thought I'd find some quiet in here." A fleeting, pained expression furrows her thick eyebrows. "I forgot that-- he'd forgotten. Then I remembered, and he remembered, and..." Here we are. A kind hand falls to Laine's shoulder, aiming to halt the half-hearted tidying, though it isn't ultimately warranted. Irianke picks up a few sheets herself, places them on the other side of her as she takes the seat next to the brown weyrling. "I sometimes think Niahvth has a better memory than I do, but then I realize she likes haunting my subconscious and seeing what is in there that I push away. She remembers the things I'd rather forget." It's such a trial, says the crooked not-quite smile on the goldrider's lips. Niahvth recognizes tired in that sluggish dim blub, and utilizing the skills particular to her, reaches forth to ease some of that despair, each of those tiny little flowers growing, gathering that despondance slowly, and wilting to die though another tiny little flower springs up nearby. In her own way, she attempts to share his feelings in a tangible way. Laine's shoulder slumps under Irianke's hand, as though all the energy put into holding upright escapes at the kind touch, and the weyrling props herself up on stiff arms and hands pressed into the stone bench. She laughs, then, but it's quiet and distinctly lacks mirth. "A subconscious given form and personality. That sounds-- horrible, frankly." Laine tips her head back and bites her lip. "Sorry." For Niahvth, there's a warm wash of stale air, the heavy scent of shelves not recently dusted--the relief is welcome, embraced, even. A few more bulbs crackle alive, sputtering. The electric current that feeds them pulses, and they flare brighter. « I don't understand why, » he speaks, finally. And it's not grief in his voice, but a dull, profound anger. "You learn to cope on both ends. She's learned to remember and reserve her judgment or her reminders and I have learned to not try and push things away. It's led," Irianke starts, then stops to consider with her gaze drifting from Laine to the sands with the glittering shell fragments that, with time, become more sand, "It's led to a very pragmatic take on life in some ways." The once Igenite exhales heavily, the weight of those kinds of personality adjustments finding some outlet in the sound. For each flower that takes in and wilts under the weight of Lifreyth's emotions, another springs up, but the with time, the replenishment of flowers is slower. « What would you understand, little one? » the term an endearment, one that keeps him a part of her rather than a diminutive that doesn't respect he's grown. "In all things, balance and compromise." Laine repeats the phrase, dully, something rote she's picked up from a lecture or a book. "It's the learning how that's the hard part. And the applying it. And the living it." So: all of it, really. Irianke's exhalation is echoed by one of Laine's own, a stiff-held breath sighed all at once. "Does it get easier?" She doesn't sound hopeful, gazing down, now, one hand toying absently with the curling corners of her hidework. Lifreyth's frustrations, repressed again by his force of will and not without some bolstering from that spray of flowers, dim to a distant (if urgent) electric hum. « Why. » It's almost plaintive. « A dragonet died, and there was no cause. And she was... » He searches for a word, the right word, for the source of his resentment. « She was innocent. » « She was. » is the finality of what Niahvth says. She existed. But no more. Innocence is not something the queen deigns to designate. « She could not find someone to match her mind in the way you found your Laine or I find my Irianke. » The queen's vines slow their creep, having created a little bower somewhere at the virtual bottom of his mind with flowers slowly reclaiming some area from the wilt and remaining steady for a short spell. « Irianke does not believe there is only one rider for each dragon and that I might have found someone else had she not been there. » The queen, herself, is doubtful of this as the only truth in her existence is Irianke is hers, though she reasons this aloud to Lifreyth to consider as well. "It gets better." It's no empty reassurance, the goldrider's gaze straying from the sands to Laine with a brief, not entirely happy, smile. "It can't do anything else but get better because whether some days you wish it or not," the way she says this implies there have been some days where she wished it otherwise, "You are together in a way that's closer and more intimate than any relationship or friendship you will have." Lifreyth is silent, that pale yellow light casting long shadows through dark corridors and into dim corners, brightest where they sway above Niahvth's grove of flowers and vines. Save for the steady, ever-present ticking of a clock from some distant, faraway study, his mind has grown still and hushed. Whether he accept or rejects this explanation, he gives no indication; instead, there's a muted sigh and he presses himself into the support of his dam. Laine presses her lips together, nodding a slow acknowledgment, although she doesn't quite manage to return that smile. "Nowhere to go but up, huh?" The weyrling straightens, pushing herself upright on the bench and folding her hands in her lap, eyes falling to her laced fingers. "Then I'm lucky. There's no one I'd rather do it with, than him." "You also have me, and anyone else in the Weyr to support you on the way. That's what the weyrlingmaster team, K'del, myself, and anyone in the Weyr you would trust is really here for during your training." Irianke places her hands on her knees and rocks backwards and then forward and considers her next words, after having just dismissed all the practicals of weyrling training. "My own training was a difficult time in my life. Between the culture shock, my subconscious made real, and a rank I had not thought to seek, and the endless drills and training... I'm glad none of Niahvth's children nor their lifemates will go through such ordeals. My door is open to you, I hope you know that and Niahvth is open to whenever Lifreyth might need a brief maternal moment. Even when he's old and gray." "Mmm." That first is met with a firm nod, and a stiff set to her jaw that speaks to conviction (or stubbornness). "I know. As hard as it is to recognize. When it feels like it's just us against everyone else." The weyrling's eyes narrow in thought as she runs her thumb across the pad of her opposite hand. "But... I know." As Irianke speaks, then, to her own weyrling experience, Laine listens with a twist to her mouth. And another slow nod, engrossed in some preoccupied thought. Eventually, without looking at Irianke, she utters, quiet and earnest: "Thank you. And Niahvth. Again. For everything. And everything to come." |
Comments
Edyis (11:26, 4 June 2015 (EDT)) said...
I love Lifreyth's imagery, and also the way Irianke is stepping in. Sure it's possibly what is expected of a weyrwoman, but there is something warm in the way she does it.
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