Logs:Not for Nothing
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| RL Date: 30 December, 2015 |
| Who: Mirinda, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Mirinda and Olivya have a tense discussion as they tensely wait for eggs to hatch. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Although the clouds are patchy with glimpses of sky in the early morning, they turn gray but rainless around the time the sun comes up. The overcast weather, with a hint of humidity, carries throughout the day with early evening winds starting to break up the cloud-layer. |
| Mentions: Kh'tyr/Mentions |
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The entrance to the Sands and Galleries alike is little more than an
archway and a section of flat stone that curves into a broad pathway in
front of the Galleries that are carved into the right-hand side of the
Hatching Cavern. This pathway is set with three flights of stairs that
lead all the way up to the upper tiers of the Galleries; one set near the
entrance of the cavern, one set at the northernmost end, and one set
between both. Beyond the pathway, that flat stone dissolves into the Sands
proper, a golden expanse that sits before the large, odd engraving that
lines the far wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red
Star.
The Galleries themselves are rows of flat seats carved from the stone wall
and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the
golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by
a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other
Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated
spectator's box at the topmost row. It's late afternoon on the ninth day of the ninth month, and Zaisavyth has been restless and broadcast-y all day: the eggs aren't moving yet, but there's every indication of soon in the air, and that just makes her continued entrenchment on the sands more difficult. Mirinda hasn't-- yet-- dressed for the hatching, but she sits in the galleries without paperwork, leaning forward in a pose of clenched frustration; to wound up to be of any use to anyone, too distracted to put her mind towards anything else. If the weyrlingmaster team was understaffed a seven ago, this week a temporary transfer from Ista has seen the number of assistants increase. Which means that there has been little problem in keeping assistants 'on-call' as it were to make sure that the Candidates are kept track of and that those still arriving are aware of the basics that they need to know to step onto the sands. Occasionally, one will poke their head into the hatching cavern, just to check for all that they will know when it happens. Late afternoon, that person is finally Olivya, with the weyrling barracks, files, plans, her office-- everything else possibly in order. Her knot is prominently displayed on the bright red jacket, her hair pulled up in a professional manner. And yet, she still hesitates at the entrance of the cavern, watching Mirinda and Zaisavyth both from a distance. Since their little argument, Mirinda has been polite-- formal, distant, but polite-- in her (generally brief) encounters with Olivya; work is the only thing she's been interested in speaking of. Today, it's likely the warning of her restless queen that draws the goldrider's attention towards the weyrlingmaster, a flutter of frustration and something more personal, too, writ heavy upon her features. "Do you intend to just stand there all day?" she wonders, voice lifted to carry, never mind that they're not alone in the galleries; never mind that it draws attention to them both. Olivya will mind the drawn attention, though likely only Mirinda would ever be able to catch the subtle reaction in the line of her shoulders, the slight twitch of her lips that betrays her only to those that know to look. "No, of course not," she replies lightly, a simple thing paired with a Lady Holder's smile that is held more for their audience's benefit than anyone else's. But the question works to draw the Weyrlingmaster away from the entrance, with her climbing into the galleries and making a path towards the goldrider's side. Once there, she will report politely, "Everything is ready for them, when they are ready. Blume has the kitchen staff keeping fresh cut meat on hand and my assistants are ready to fetch the Candidates as soon as she hums." Mirinda notices. Of course she does-- how many turns has she known Olivya now? In return, there's the faintest of flinches, a reaction she can't quite stop herself from making. The line of her lips tightens, and, as the greenrider approaches, she focuses her attention on a gracious, almost imperious nod. "Good," she says. "Though I begin to suspect it won't be today. Tomorrow, I think. Which isn't to say that all preparations should step down, only..." "Or it will be at midnight, making sure that none of us can sleep," Olivya says, dry edge of humor there briefly before she seems to catch herself after. She recovers herself quickly, back to that detached politeness as she assures the Weyrwoman, "Whenever it is. We'll be ready." A pause, and she adds, "Everything will be fine." "Or the early hours of the morning, right after everyone has given up and gone to sleep." This, too, is blurted out before Mirinda remembers herself; remembers that she's not really talking to Liv. "I believe you," she adds, hastily, formality taking her tone back. "I trust you. In this. Is there anything you need from me?" It might be a dismissal, or at least the precursor to one. The weight of Olivya's gaze falls on Mirinda at that question, searching for something as she studies the other woman. When she does answer, it is with a simple, "No, Mirinda. No, I don't need anything from you." If there is a dismissal there, she is at least waiting for one, not even looking away. "Good," says Mirinda, her voice low but sharp. "Because I don't need anything from you either, and I never have. As it turns out, I'm better off looking after my own interests." It may be she intends that as a dismissal, too, but her dark-eyed gaze has lifted to meet Olivya's squarely, a flash of anger so-visible there. Still mad, then. "Then send me back to Monaco," challenges Olivya with a neutrality that she's worked so hard to perfect, only the tip of her chin showing what it takes to maintain it as she faces the goldrider's anger. Mirinda makes a little dismissive sound, fuelled by frustration and anger and dismay. "If you want to go back to Monaco, you'll have to ask N'rov to arrange it. I have nothing to do with transfers like that. Besides, you were the one so determined to stay." Olivya does look away now, her gaze falling to Zaisavyth and those eggs instead even as she manages to keep the mask of her soft features. Her murmur has an edge, though, as she answers, "With you. I was determined to stay with you. If you want me to leave, you'll have to send me away, Rin." "That implies I care what you do," has only half-hearted venom to it-- it starts strong, but loses force partway through until it really just trails off at the end. "I can't go through life making decisions to make other people happy, Olivya. I can't, and I won't. Not every time. Not always. I'm no one's puppet, no one's meal ticket." "That you don't care is the problem," replies Olivya quietly, her gaze sliding to Mirinda only for a moment before she breathes out an even quieter breath. "Despite what anyone says, I didn't come with you because you are my meal ticket. I came here for you. And that it might be for nothing, that we might only be subjecting ourselves to this only to return to Monaco again--. I have the right to be upset by that." She does straighten now, without any dismissal, shifting to retreat. "Liv." The nickname is blurted out abruptly, though Mirinda has glanced away. "I came here to do my duty. I will rebuild Fort. I will put everything back together. And when things are running smoothly again, when Fort is back on her feet, in two turns, or three, or four, I can't say what will happen, except that I will have done my duty, and it will be enough. And that will never be for nothing." Olivya stops, of course, at the sound of her name. She will watch Mirinda as the goldrider speaks, even if her gaze isn't met. She doesn't even reject the answer, instead processing it with a thoughtful quiet. When she does speak, though, she says with a dry edge, "I will tell Kh'tyr that he can have the knot in two or three or four turns, then. At least he will have a reason to return to the weyrlingmaster staff." "Don't make promises," says Mirinda, inhaling a deep, shaking breath. "Three or four turns is a long time." She doesn't look at Olivya, her cheeks flushed faintly pink. The curve of Olivya's brow upwards goes unseen, then, as she continues to stare (STARING COMPETITION) at the Weyrwoman. "I know better than to make promises that are not mine to keep," she replies. "But I will keep the ones that I can, Rin." Mirinda's stare attempts to bore a hole through one of the (stupidly) unhatching eggs. Maybe the power of her gaze-- but not. She swallows, thickly. "Promise me you won't ever sacrifice what you want for me," she says, very quietly. "No," Olivya counters so simply, her gaze still lingering on Mirinda. "I've already promised that I will be there for you, Rin, and I will be. That isn't only if it's easy, if it's what I want." Finally, she looks away, a soft shake of her head interrupting her stare before she adds, "I am going to make sure that the Candidates hear the rules for the sands, one last time." Mirinda opens her mouth to say something more, to argue back-- but stops. "Thank you," she says. "I'll make sure you know when there's any news." "I know," says Olivya, and nothing else. Instead, she casts one last glance to the eggs before really retreating, this time. |
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