Logs:Weyrharper
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| RL Date: 22 June, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, M'vyn, Elaruth, Elsyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: M'vyn makes his case for becoming Fort's Weyrharper. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, Nalyn/Mentions, Grace/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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| Elaruth's location is often a good indicator of where her rider is, and, this morning, the pale little queen is out on her ledge, nose tipped upward to the winter sun, wings slightly unfurled from their usual tight hold as she soaks up what light and warmth the skies see fit to cast down upon her. Her half-lidded eyes whirl blue, her paws tucked away from the harsh brush of stone; she's the picture of contentment. Her rider would look much the same, bundled in a warm cloak and sat at the head of the table in the council room, if her features didn't betray a heavy, aching exhaustion. The hidework is in order, the tea in her mug fresh, and she steadily jots down number after number on the page before her. It's likely Hattie is content, only her body wishes to betray her. Elsyth's touch to Elaruth's mind is frosty and sharp, icicles quickly freezing outward as she lands upon the bowl. « He would wish to speak to the Weyrwoman if she is able to speak to him. » The time between conveying of messages and permission Elsyth remains polite. M'vyn must have felt certain of being permitted to meet with Hattie as he enters the council room. He's dressed neatly in an all black and gray outfit that looks new and fresh. His hair is pulled back into a tie at the nape of his neck and he's got a small stack of hides underneath his arm. He approaches her and notices the exhaustion upon the Weyrwoman's features without comment. "Thank you for meeting me, Weyrwoman," he begins, stepping forward to slide the hides her way. "I've come to seek.. well. I don't know how to say it best. Those are recommendations to my part as a Harper. I was hoping you and the Weyrleader would take it into your consideration to let me be weyrharper." Elaruth spares a, « Yes, » and a soft wisp of warmer affection for her daughter, before her attention drifts back to the sunshine she's so absorbed with, or would be absorbed by, and so Hattie's attention is more or less drawn towards the council room door now and then. She watches M'vyn without comment and doesn't seek to interrupt him when he speaks, though her gaze darts to the proffered hides and back to him after a long moment. Silent in the face of his request, she observes him rather impassively, then asks, "Sit." It's really not so much an invitation as a demand. Then, the real question: "Why?" M'vyn sits when told to, pulling out a chair to settle into with tight posture keeping him looking intent. "Music, or returning to it, is ultimately what got my head right," he answers her, knowing some aspects of his personal life may need discussion. "I've been teaching Ebeny to improve her own voice and I've worked with the nursery a bit when time allows to teach music to the younger children." He shrugs and looks at the table briefly before returning a solid gaze to hers. "I'd be good at it." Hattie's brow crinkles a little as she considers, "...I didn't know our Weyrlingmaster was musically inclined..." aloud, the admittance a careful one for all that it is still a confession of being blind to something. "Nor, I suppose, do I have any proof that she is, or that she's any good. I could teach Nimarie's feline to yowl on cue if I tried hard enough." She does seem to realise that there's an unnecessary sharpness to her there, for she softens a little, sighing, and asks, "...Can I know for sure that one day, it won't become too much again and you'll... go off on one, for need of better phrasing, one day, in the living cavern or the commons, in-front of people?" M'vyn frowns at Hattie's chosen words. "It isn't a matter of training a screeching animal so much as encouraging natural talent and giving someone confidence," he has only a slight undertone of sharpness to his tone that he tries to remove with a shake of his head. "I'm not the same," he tells her, hands steepling together on the table. "I don't have the same pressures as before. And I have come to terms with Elsyth." He looks to her, tilting his head slightly. "Have you never encountered someone who had a mental struggle? I would hope it wouldn't be used as leverage against me for the rest of my life." He must realize there's no diplomacy in his approach so he adds, "I would appreciate the opportunity to try. Please." "I'm not using it against you," Hattie hastens to insist, something earnest there in the speed of her words. She glances down at the table, then reaches for her mug of tea, so that she can stare down into it. "...You came to me once and all but asked me to shove you Between," she murmurs. "You may not have appreciated it at the time, but I did what I thought was best for you then. I hope you understand it now, if nothing more. And if, now, I let you get to that brink again..." The Weyrwoman shifts one shoulder awkwardly. "I have people to protect. You worked against us, once. If I put you in the caverns as a figure to lift spirits and be admired... will you work for them? Or your own agenda?" "I haven't worked for Harper in that capacity since the incident when I asked for a way out from you," M'vyn replies, having prepared for it. "The letters you have there are from old teachers, not my master. I've done nothing but been a solid rider here at the Weyr." He shrugs and looks at his hands for a moment. "It is ultimately up to you on how much you'd trust me and how much you'd be willing to use my talents outside of riding." He smirks at that, looking up at her briefly with a lifted brow. "Not that any would say I am talented rider," he admits drily. "The nursery could also speak well of me helping them out. I do more than I thought I would here. To be involved. I want my children to have a good upbringing. This Weyr allows that for them." "I don't want to read those letters." And yet Hattie reaches out a hand to pin them to the table, lest they be swiped away from her at that news. She lifts her mug and takes a long drink, then sets it back down. "I'm sure that your musical credentials are worth the writing, or you wouldn't have been of a mind or able to gather the references." Tilting her head the tiniest bit, she questions, "Can you promise me faithfully that you'll see a healer or come and talk to me, should you feel yourself slipping down that... darker road again?" Her hand shifts, dragging the hides back towards her. "If you're not to dedicate your life to the wings, you ought to dedicate it to something," she supposes. "If you felt the need to, I wanted to be prepared," M'vyn offers as he slides his hands off of the table to settle them on his thighs. "I got tugged into what I did with Harper, outside of my music, in a pursuit of helping my sister. I've always been proud of my musical ability. I think it'd be wonderful to have that purpose restored." He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I apologize that I can't be one of the riders who find passion behind the drills, sweeps, and rider lifestyle that follows it. I mean no disrespect in admitting that." He nods his head once, looking to Hattie. "I will seek a healer," he tells her, eyes narrowing briefly on her face and then he smoothes his features. "You seem to have enough burdens to carry. You needn't be responsible for me." "I lead and drill a wing as often as I believe is necessary, perhaps more than, but I can't say that it's where my interest lies, either," Hattie confesses, continuing to drag those hides closer until they sit alongside her work. "I'm responsible for everyone here, M'vyn," she states, not a hint of complaint to be found in her voice. "And in agreeing to appoint you," which it sounds like she is, "perhaps I'm even more responsible for you." She looks him up and down again and lets another soft sigh slip past her lips. "Within two months, I want public proof that you've made whatever you have of the Weyrlingmaster. And I want you to be in the living cavern this evening, playing. Should the Weyrleader need proof I've not lost my mind, you had better provide it." M'vyn's only sign of hesitation comes when Hattie makes her request of his pupil. "Out of respect to Ebeny, I will have to ask her permission first. If she chooses to not do a public performance, that is up to her. If that means I am not able to have the knot, then so be it." The rest, he gives easy agreement too. "I will play tonight. I've written a song for the little green and a few others. Mostly, though, I will play what is popular and hopefully people will want to linger in the living caverns to hear it." He shifts the chair back and seems prepared to leave with her dismissal. "I thank you for your consideration." Hattie tries to hold her gaze steady when he speaks of the green, but a shine to her eyes rises unbidden and she has to look away to most efficiently blink it back and swallow down that stab of pain. Still, she doesn't deny him, and only inclines her head in acknowledgement. Better for the both of them, perhaps, for her not to speak. That nod must too be the dismissal M'vyn is looking for, but if and when he's almost out the door, she finds her voice again, raspy though it is. "...M'vyn? Write me a lullaby too." That sounds like a request, if only owing to the fragility of her words. The knot, he'll find in the morning, delivered by one of the Headwoman's assistants. |
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