Logs:Biases
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 13 January, 2016 |
| Who: Roszadyth, Farideh, Jocelyn, Aidavanth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and Jocelyn go for a jog. |
| Where: Outside High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 10, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today. |
| Mentions: Ethran/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, B'ren/Mentions, N'chi/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions |
    |
>---< Outside High Reaches Weyr >--------------------------------------------<
Impressive enough at a distance, up close, the sheer size of the mountain
is imposing -- to the vulnerable, overwhelming -- the more so as its crown
of spires, distinguishing High Reaches from every other Weyr on Pern,
thrusts long fingers of rock into the sky.
The plateau just short of the Weyr's shadowy entrance can seem very small
and very flat at the best of times, pinned as it is against the side of
the mountain, but at least it's a refuge from the narrow, tight-kinked
road that has to twist its way through the rest of the mountain range to
reach the rest of Pern.
Heavy, driving rain makes everything a wet and muddy mess today.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 21 5'5 slim, brown hair, hazel eyes
Jocelyn F 25 5'5" lean, red hair, blue-gray eyes
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Weyr Entrance Stables High Reaches Area
>------------------------------------< 23D 10M 39T I10, autumn afternoon >---< Intervals of heavy rainfall throughout the day have muddied the outdoors and raised the unpleasantness factor of working outside. For those riders going back and forth from the weyr to Nabol, it's hardly resulted in good working conditions - and with some roads rendered next to impassable due to the inclement weather, there's a fair amount of grumbling as they return near the end of the day. There's a small contingent of muddy weyrlings flying back an hour or so before dinner; most begin branching off to head for the hot springs, the lake, anywhere with clean water to take advantage of a break in the showers. Among them, Aidavanth is easily distinguishable by her size and fiery hide, bringing up the rear of what's left of the little formation continuing on toward the weyr proper. She's as covered in grime and silt as the others, flight steady but even from a distance, seeming tired. Roszadyth is languishing on a ledge far above hers, her buttery hide at contrast to the dark cerulean shades of the blue's next to her. She is not unaware of her children's flight, though she has yet to grace the countryside of Nabol for the rebuilding and harvesting efforts. Her sunshine reaches to embrace them all, and in particular Aidavanth. Out of the tranquility of sunshine and warmth comes the din of a whirling, swirling, cacophony of hushed voices and the lilting strains of a piano. « Darling. Mine kindly requests an audience with yours. » And more of a sense than a true image, she projects the where: at the Weyr's entrance, and the path that leads both in and out. The sense of Aidavanth's usual warmth meets that sunshine, always enhanced with her filial affection for her mother. There's relief, too; relief to be home, where an echo of pent-up irritation can finally be summarily dealt with - Jocelyn's, no doubt, as it comes with a bright sweep of color that doesn't otherwise characterize her own mind's presence. « We're on our way, » she acknowledges at once, turning back just before reaching the bowl proper to land just outside of the entrance to the weyr. Jocelyn's dismount is a slow one; even so, she still gets more mud on the water-resistant jacket she's thrown on atop her work clothes - and judging by how stained her knees and trouser legs are, they haven't fared any better. Expression tired and pinched, she takes a moment to lean against her lifemate before stepping away to look for Farideh, nose wrinkled into a grimace. It doesn't take the other goldrider long to appear from the direction of the weyrbowl, wearing fitted pants and a long-sleeved sweater, both in dark colors. Hair pulled back, Farideh's already stretching her arms above her head as she walks towards the pathway out of the Weyr. "Tired?" she asks, quite obviously, as she nears and spots the weyrling. "I hope it wasn't out of the way. I thought you might like to join me on my run. One never knows when one will need their strength," she says, dryly, "so I've been trying to keep it up with regularity now, now that I'm not feeling as-- out of sorts, since-- Ethran, you know." Despite the words she's giving Jocelyn a steady up-and-down look. "You try helping a bunch of farmers take inventory of their crop stakes, " Jocelyn grouses desert-dry in response, "and see how refreshed you feel afterward." Shoulders lifting into a short shrug, she nevertheless discards her jacket, tying it quickly about her waist. "I might be jogging more than running - or walking in your wake, " she warns, returning Farideh's up-and-down look with one of her own. "I'm glad you're getting your energy back." That's at least genuine as the redhead seeks to fall into step with her, wiping her hands down the sides of her pants in an unsuccessful effort to dislodge where some dirt has embedded itself into the lines of her palms. "How unfortunate." There's no real sympathy in that statement, and the emotion attached to the words are hard to pinpoint, but the next sentence out of her mouth might be more illuminating. "I never thought that K'del would actually go through with it. Isn't it bad enough the weyrlings have to learn everything, practice betweening at the same time, and help the holders?" Farideh makes a face and then starts off at more of a trot, considering the older woman's statements. "Little by little," she says, through breaths. The side-glance Jocelyn shoots Farideh as they set out is an assessing one, accompanied by a thinning set to her lips. "He did." Obviously. Of the workload, "It's a lot to juggle, especially now that our focus or lack thereof could mean that we're done after our first attempt to between." She keeps pace with the other woman's trot, frowning silently at some length. "Do you think they'll expect us to help again next autumn?" It's an abrupt question - and one that she's at least comfortable enough to ask her fellow goldrider here, now, while they aren't sitting in a meeting. Eventually the pace will be faster, but it remains steady for now. "You could always say you're sick," Farideh helpfully suggests. "Dizziness, nausea, upset stomach." She's such a great influence on the weyrling goldrider, and unrepentant at that. "Next turn? I can't say. K'del is mad. He wants to help them because otherwise he says we'll all be wandering around hungry, naked, and cold. He's got a dramatic streak in him, can you believe it? He's as boring as milk-sopped bread. I suspect if the holds are still in a precarious position next turn, and K'del is unfortunately still weyrleader, he lobby for the same. We can only hope the tides turn and they get back on their feet. I for one don't want to be stretching myself overmuch for more time than necessary," she carries on, ponytail bobbing with her steps. Jocelyn's quick shake of her head is dismissive for that suggestion. "I don't see a point in making up an illness to get out of it. We'll probably all get sick anyway from working in the damp after drills, practicals, the stress of our homework." Optimism: This one has it. "K'del, " she opines, "is being cautious." She doesn't say that like it's a bad thing. "If we didn't help them, they could say that we're uncaring, unwilling to do what some no doubt think is right, and short us anyway. But there's a fine line between helping and giving in every time someone says they need something." An eyebrow lifts as their jog presses on. Wryly, "Some of us like milk-sopped bread." And then, nonchalantly: "Unfortunately still Weyrleader? You think we'd fare better with a change?" "K'del," Farideh returns, sharply, "is an idiot." Not enough disparaging comments about the weyrleader in her estimation, because she's quick to add: "His version of cautious earned High Reaches a lot of dead goldriders and unnecessary upheaval." Her jaw tightens and, here, she picks up the pace and adds a little extra umph to her steps. "We helped them during the plague, putting our own riders at risk. Someone died, Jocelyn, and now, because of their poor decisions handling it, we've had to offer more support. When will it end? As I told him, when the time comes for them to support us, I don't think it will turn out as rainbows and gold eggs, like he thinks it will." And, for the last, there's an intense sideways glance to the other goldrider. "He shouldn't have been Weyrleader this last time." Jocelyn absorbs the other's less than favorable remarks with a faint scrunch in her brow, following the increase in pace at least for a little while. If she looks uneasy in the wake of 'dead goldriders, ' can she really be blamed? "Someone died, " she agrees, "but who's to say what would happen in the long run if we didn't?" She's playing devil's advocate, but even her self-control can't contain the flash of surprise that Farideh's last elicits. "Shouldn't, " she repeats skeptically. "What, exactly, are you saying?" There might be no one else immediately around them, but she still lowers her voice for what follows: "Was Niahvth's flight supposed to have been - rigged?" The younger goldrider focuses on her steps, staring ahead while the other woman makes faces and defends the their much-maligned weyrleader. "I do believe if we had taken the same road as other places, who locked down trade and anyone coming or going, we wouldn't have seen sickness or death within our walls. I am less willing to sacrifice ours for theirs. Especially, now that we have a craft wing. Think of all the opportunities we will have, that we won't have to rely on a Hold or Hall for, in the future." Farideh's eyes fly to Jocelyn then, and her eyebrows furrow. "What? That's ridiculous. Of course it wasn't rigged. I meant Cadejoth shouldn't have won again. It should have been someone else. Someone with less distractions and a less--" She waves a hand angrily in the air. "It's possible there could have been fewer cases, " Jocelyn allows reluctantly, "but there still would have been no way of knowing if someone had already been exposed before the deaths started adding up." There's another grimace; on the topic of their future opportunities for furthering their independence from the relationship of hold-hall-weyr, she's apparently content to remain silent. The other goldrider's angry gesture gets her attention instead. "With less distractions and a less ... ?" she prompts, seeming curious. "It's possible, but where he'd rather be safe that the holders feel appreciated, I would rather keep our riders safe." Farideh does not indicate which side she estimates Jocelyn is on, though from her pursed lips and still-furrowed brow, it's not hard to guess she's already annoyed with their conversation trail. "Less-- big headed, bossy, unfun, fussy, just everything he is. You don't think the Weyr would benefit from a breath of fresh air? Look what happened to Fort-- they're making strides, with their new leadership." Jocelyn's breathing gets a little heavier as they continue on; she gives all the appearance of one who needs to slow their pace, culminating in a hand raising to indicate she's going to pause to catch her breath. "Perhaps, to him, it's as much about doing what he feels is right, " she muses aloud while using her break to stretch, wincing after. "He's been Weyrleader, more or less, for - most of his life, Farideh. Do you really expect that someone who's worn that knot for that long would not be 'everything he is?'" A long exhale follows as she slowly resumes jogging. Sensibly, "Fort's leadership changed under drastic circumstances; of course, much is going to be different going forward for them. They don't have the same leaders. And they lost - " She clears her throat uncomfortably. "Who would you have as Weyrleader, then? You must have a candidate in mind, for all that you think K'del is no longer what we need." Farideh only stops a few feet ahead, breathing hard, hands on her hips as she turns to study Jocelyn. "I'm not saying it's not what he doesn't feel is right. I know he feels that it is, because he's told me so, but perhaps it's time for someone who's less biased towards their own version of right," says the kettle, about the pot. "I don't understand why he even wants to be Weyrleader when his family is at Southern, and he has children enough to fill his days. He's been at it too long." With Jocelyn's cue, she rocks back on her heels and inhales, before setting off again at that slow pace. "Me? Oh, I don't know. I'm not Weyrwoman. Irianke liked B'ren I believe. B'ren and N'chi, but they're old. I don't know what I would do with such an old--" Her nose scrunches up and she fights an ill-timed smile. "You'll be looking long and hard for that someone, " Jocelyn replies at some length. "Everyone has bias toward their own feelings. That seems to be human nature, from what I've gathered." She has no opinion to offer on the length of K'del's tenure, merely listening attentively to the younger woman's remarks on other candidates. "They're older, " agrees the redhead with a twitch at the corners of her mouth. "The flight could be awkward, " more so than usual, "but all of their turns of experience could prove helpful in decision making. Whatever the scenario, they've probably seen something like it happen before." "I don't think it matters, because it's not like it's voted. It's up the damn dragons-who can fly the fastest and--" Farideh blows out an irritated breath, which comes out louder than intended given she's already breathing shallow from the exercise. "Irianke seems content with him for now," is her final observation, even if it's grudging. "They're older and more experienced, but, like K'del, are they already set in their ways? And why haven't they ever caught a senior queen before? What's preventing their dragons from making the catch? Of course, it matters what the queen in question thinks too, which just makes me doubt." Jocelyn makes a considering sort of noise between puffs of exhalation, even while her shoulders bob up and down in a brief shrug. "You know better than I do what variables go into a flight from this end, " she settles for saying, steps beginning to flag again. "At any rate, there are turns enough between us and a chance for a natural shift to occur, " and really, as far as the weyrling is concerned, there's little sense in worrying about what could happen there until then. "If you're going to keep going, " she manages to get out after slowing to another step, "I hope you'll excuse me from joining you the rest of the way. I'm afraid I'm beat, Farideh." It's perhaps a testament to her adaptation to her training that she's managed to engage in even this much aerobic exercise after her afternoon of working at Nabol. "I do believe K'del has been Weyrleader for around twenty turns now. I don't know that if he's kept it this long-- despite that short-lived stint by what's his name-- Z'en? Z'ion? Z'ian-- that he'll be losing anytime soon." It's with a sulky tone that Farideh admits the last, and then slows her steps until she comes to a complete stop, her gaze turning to the weyrling as she exhales deeply. "I'll go for a while longer yet. You lasted longer than I thought you would. Good for you, Jocelyn," she says, undercurrents of amusement in her voice. It's with a smile, tugging her mouth to the side, that she pivots around, ponytail whipping, and starts jogging down the path, leaving the other goldrider in her wake. |
Leave A Comment