Logs:Matters of Fact
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| RL Date: 19 January, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, Jocelyn |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jocelyn learns that she's to go with Farideh to meet with Lady Nabol. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 13, Month 11, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Gelstad/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions |
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>---< Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr(#364RIJs) >------------------------<
At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood
oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis
and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an
embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort --
meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's
head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.
Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries
depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral
fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts
sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its
several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well
as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever
hidework requires particularly frequent attention.
A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that
extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk
abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.
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-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 21 5'5 slim, brown hair, hazel eyes
Jocelyn F 25 5'5" lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Records Room Weyrleader Complex
>------------------------------------< 13D 11M 39T I10, autumn afternoon >---< The senior weyrwoman has been gone for over a sevenday, but everything has proceeded as normal, down to the innocuous things like meetings. Farideh has made a point, quite tenaciously, of keeping everything exactly as is without the slightest deviation from Irianke's usual schedule; some might call her superstitious or overcautious, or worse: scared of screwing up the job. It's been another uneventful meeting this morning with the lower caverns staff, but as the headwoman and her assistants shuffle out to go about their daily routines, Farideh lifts her head from her notes to call out to the weyrling: "Jocelyn? Stay, please." Several pairs of eyes glance around, and there's no doubt to be gossip later, but for now she waits for the other women to leave before addressing the redhead directly. Jocelyn has, predictably, not deviated from her standard behavior when it comes to partaking in the duties that by now have become routine. In meetings, she remains a thorough note-taker, keeps her input when called upon brief and brisk, and rarely has trouble with keeping tabs on what's going on in the lower caverns. She's still finishing scribbling another line into her own notes when the sound of her name briefly stills her pen; so, too, does the rest of her posture automatically straighten from where she's leaning over her pages. Carefully, she releases her writing utensil, and doesn't bother to spare the departing headwomen even a glance. "Farideh, " she says levelly, folding her hands atop the table space before her, expression expectant: Yes? It's only after the headwomen have cleared the council chamber that Farideh puts down her writing utensil and relaxes into the back of the chair, fingers folding in her lap. She considers the other goldrider briefly, taking in her whole posture and appearance. "I'm going to meet with Lady Tevrane, to explain the tithe situation and what happened with Holder Gelstad. K'del agreed that it would be best to bring the news directly to her, rather than let her hear about it. I can't imagine that she doesn't know, but-- I'd like you to go with me. There's never enough exposure to these types of things. Do you think you can handle it?" If Jocelyn is surprised by the invitation, she doesn't show it above the table save for the smallest lean forward to calmly return Farideh's regard. Below, her feet shift subtly so that one boot crosses behind the other, keeping her poised near the edge of her seat. "Whether or not I think I can, I'm going to have to, sooner or later, " she answers practically, features smoothing. "I'll go with you, of course." More crisply, "You've the advantage of me when it comes to these scenarios. I've only ever practiced what to say and do in some hypothetical situations during all of those harper lessons. You've said we're going to explain what happened with the tithe and that holder. How do you plan to present the explanation? I assume you'd rather I learn from this experience than - take an active role, " tinges wry near the end; she's aware that her readiness could be cause for some concern. Nothing changes in Farideh's expression, but she dips her chin in a nod for Jocelyn's acceptance of the invitation. "It's important to look the part as much as you know the right things to say. I'll help you choose something appropriate, and I suppose-- since you don't have your own assistants, that Zoas can fix your hair for the event." She's obviously thinking about more superficial things, with her assessing look for the redhead. "I'd rather you use it as a learning experience. It's a delicate situation, and any one word could make it worse." She purses her lips, before continuing: "I plan to tell her what happened and our only recourse was to take it, otherwise it would burn. I don't expect any retribution for that. I'm more worried that she takes insult to-- the implication that her holders are unhappy, which-it seems as though they are." Jocelyn's nose wrinkles faintly, but that might be a look of relief that follows for the offer of assistance. "I would appreciate your advice. I may be able to find someone who can work on my hair, if it'll free up your - Zoas - for whatever else you might need. And your - the S-girl. She also does your hair, doesn't she?" Then there's a considering look as the other goldrider describes her strategy, lips pressing into a thoughtful line. Frankly, "It's hardly an implication, is it? By forcing us to take their tithe, they've made a statement of fact. They are unhappy with her, or they'd have left well enough alone. Whether or not she's insulted by the revelation being handed to her with their harvest, she'll have to face it and make a decision." "Sevesa?" One hand lifts and waves in one of her infamous dismissive gestures. "She's no longer my assistant. It didn't suit her." Farideh is unconcerned with that, though she sighs and lets her head loll against the back of the chair. "No, Zoas will do wonders if your hair. She can do both of ours, but she may need to start earlier." Sitting up again, she stacks her hands on the table, and her expression gets more severe the longer Jocelyn speaks. In the end, she's frowning, brow furrowed as she stares at the weyrling. "That's exactly what I mean. You can't say it like that. If they're unhappy with her, that's her business, their business. We want to stay out of it, and by committing to those words, as though we understand what they're saying-- no. Not everyone appreciates being told, so baldly, that their holders think they shouldn't be in charge." Drily, "Unfortunate. You did sing her praises so at one point, " but Jocelyn's willing to drop the subject with a little shrug, rolling her shoulders back into a straighter position. "I'm fairly certain that I can procure someone else with equal experience, perhaps even someone who may want the unenviable job of working for me in a few months. I'd be uncomfortable around your assistant, and she no doubt would be with me. She's used to working with you. We're both unknowns to one another." For Farideh's expression, her frown, there's a slight lift of eyebrows which remains for the weyrwoman's critique. "Since when is stating a fact an expression of understanding where someone else is coming from? The very nature of your - our - visit will make it quite plain how that particular holder feels. 'They forced us to take the tithe, we're sorry, here's what they would have sent to you' communicates that something, somewhere, must be amiss. I agree that it's Nabol's business, but we can't pretend that their business doesn't have the potential to affect ours." Farideh looks dubious, at best, about the other woman's refusal, but she shrugs indulgently. "If having an emotional connection with your hairdresser is such an important quality to you, then you may find your own. I'll be happy if you don't show up in braids or pigtails," she returns. It's infinitely getting harder for the goldrider to keep her manner restrained, though she manages to only have her face somewhat pinched in irritation. "We do not want to become embroiled in Nabol's affairs. It is that simple, but you have to have some finesse, Jocelyn. What would you have us do? Demand that she fix it immediately? Hold her accountable for some silly holder making idle threats to burn the tithes?" She, clearly unamused, makes a face and sits back, again. "No braids or pigtails, " promises Jocelyn solemnly, a wry curve playing at the edges of her mouth. "I think we can both agree that if I haven't learned that by now, I must be deaf." The redhead's demeanor manages to stay matter-of-fact; interestingly, she seems to look calmer in the face of Farideh's not-amusement, likewise leaning into the back of her seat. For the presented courses of action, "Neither. You said that our - sorry, your - task will be to tell her what happened and what we did. I've never dealt this closely with a holder of her rank, but it seems that it'd be sensible to give her the facts in their entirety that she would need to make an informed decision." She doesn't say all of the facts. "The solution is up to her. We're - what are we, in this case? Messengers?" She shrugs. Unfortunately, calm means Farideh keeps getting more exasperated, and even touches fingers to her temple, sighing, "We can give her all of the facts without being crass about it, Jocelyn." And then, because the conversation has mostly run its course, she flicks her fingers, from her forehead, towards the doorway. "I've got a headache now. Just go." Not that she's dramatic or anything. There's a flicker of concern in the wake of the younger woman's dismissal, and Jocelyn's expression softens momentarily from practiced smoothness to something almost apologetic before she rises, gathering up her notes quickly. "You should take something for that, " she says quietly, dipping her chin to the brunette. Heading to the entrance, she pauses, as if about to turn around again - and then continues out to the weyrleader complex, steps measured. |
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