Logs:Duty v. Happiness
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| RL Date: 8 February, 2010 |
| Who: Tiriana, Saliqa |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tiriana and Saliqa argue their duties. |
| Where: Stables, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 12, Turn 21 (Interval 10) |
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| There's a light threat of snowfall outside, decorating the air but never staying long. But with its natural roof, the stables remain clear. Of snow. As for the rest, here's Saliqa. Far from the common room that has become her sanctuary, she's worked up and disheveled from a day's labor. She's drowning in somebody else's much too large shirt, which is somewhat tamed by her usual tight vest, and then a little more by the heavier long-sleeved covering over that. This isn't much of a jacket though, and the growing cold is surely seeping through. However, this isn't her biggest concern. Instead, she's just working on the rhythmic movement of shoveling and displacing used hay at a level of concentration that likely means if she stopped to think, she'd stop working entirely. When things aren't going well, most people know to watch out for Tiriana. But the stables, now--there they know enough to pay her little mind on the occasions the Weyrwoman visits. Today's one such day, and Tiriana herself is dressed not much better than Saliqa herself--though at least her clothes all fit. She strolls down the center aisle aimlessly, pausing to say hello to a few runners who stick their heads out for her. The people, she's more willing to ignore, though one familiar-but-not-in-this-context shape earns a longer long at the stall door, as Tiriana stops to eye Saliqa herself. Gloved hands readjust on the handle of the rake as Saliqa pauses long enough to let out a visible puff of breath into the air. With her fancy skirts replaced by heavy breeches, she's even less her usual shape, but clearly recognizable enough. It isn't for several more seconds, all filled with working that hay, that the girl becomes slowly aware that she isn't so much alone with the animals anymore. Straightening as proudly as possible, she turns to face Tiriana. That it's the Weyrwoman there has her stopping just short of reaching up to fix her hair. She's wearing those dirty gloves, after all, and her hair's at least hidden underneath a loose knit cap. "Good day, ma'am Weyrwoman." As if they were sitting to tea together. Tiriana's brows lift up as she regards Saliqa working so, and she lifts a hand in greeting a moment later. "Good day," she repeats almost reflexively; what else would you say to such a greeting. But a beat later she's recovering herself, shaking her head to dismiss the surprise; and then, "What are you doing here?" she wants to know. There's a little suggestion of a smile at the corner of Saliqa's mouth when she's greeted in turn. But the question has her stepping back up to that hay load. First she gives it, then the neighboring stalls, a cursory glance. "Well," she answers, following a sniff she vaguely regrets afterwards, "I'm digging out the old hay before the day's runners return so they'll have new to stand on during the night." "Really." Tiriana's answer falls flat, something that she could figure out for herself as it is. She crosses her arms and leans a shoulder against a post idly, her manner relaxed still rather than falling back on more formality. "I gathered that. I meant more: why are you here?" "I thought you might, but it'd be rude to assume," Saliqa replies easily, though with the general air of someone using an excuse for excuse's sake. She gets another grip on the tool, bending slightly into the work, which at least shows good form. Even if she has no muscle. "Ah, well, let's see... I could be showing my appreciation for the We-- oh bother." Coming up, she rubs the exposed bit of her hand against her forehead then waves it in the air, "I'm filling in for another girl." "You could," the Weyrwoman begins dubiously. But she doesn't much fall for that, either, as she gives Saliqa a skeptical look when the younger girl gets back to shoveling. "Put your back into it; it's not hard. --Why... would you be doing that? Filling in." Questions upon questions! "Because," it's heaved out on the same breath Saliqa releases as she hefts the next load up into the cart that'll eventually take it away. Her back is quite into the work, reflexively at the Weyrwoman's command, but also to compensate. "I got the impression that, before coming here, she'd never seen the other end of a runner before. She wasn't suited. She was unhappy." She pauses to eye the woman, "It seemed /nice/." "And?" That seems to have little enough bearing on Tiriana's feelings on the matter. "Nice is all well and good but I doubt she's getting more suited sitting around on her ass while you do her work for her. And aren't you holders always going on about how we can't do what makes us happy, and not do what doesn't, and please Faranth, think of the children!" Saliqa is forced to pause another time in her work simply to more politely stare at the Weyrwoman during her impression of holders. "Apologies but, no, ma'am. I don't particularly want anyone to be unhappy. I believe in doing your duty, and in doing so, finding happiness. I've been raised by certain standards and I've so far found them to be true and wholesome. And I happen to think quite fondly on children. They're our future." Tiriana shakes her head. "Duty's not happiness," is her opinion on the subject. "Fact is, seems like it's more often than not unhappiness. I mean, that's sort of what it means: doing something you have to do because it's 'right' even if it's not what you really want to do. If you're actually doing it 'cause you want to, then it's what you want to do and not a duty." She nods firmly: perfectly logical to her, it is. The children part earns a snort, though, still, and she mutters, "Kids." "But isn't it good to do what's right?" is posed back, Saliqa curling her fingers absently around the shovel, her thoughtfully narrowed gaze putting more stock into her answers before she gives them. She speaks with the same assurance, however. "I can want to do my duty, and do right by my family and my future home. By doing my duty I make myself respectable and productive, and therefore I am happy with myself." She does not nod but crosses her arms, palms braced against either side. "Pardon my asking, ma'am but are /you/ happy?" "Sure. I guess if you're so desperate for approval that you're willing to call that sad excuse of doing your duty happiness," Tiriana answers, blunt as she can. The latter question, though, surprises her enough that she straightens, eyes the smaller girl a long moment. "I'm happy," she answers finally. "I've got a good weyrmate, not to mention Iovniath. And it's a load of crap that everybody keeps trying to tell me we can't do certain stuff because it's too dangerous--I'd be up there fighting Thread if there was any left, and my duty to sit around and let her lay clutches one after another be damned." The hands tug at those sleeves, straightening them, as Saliqa wiggles her shoulders into a mightier pose. Whatever illusion might be that she gains any height from this is short-lived. Despite the agitated set of her mouth, she delays retorting to that blunt challenge long enough to hear the answer to hers. Now, her pose doesn't weaken but her cheeks puff out in annoyance at a different target. She forces the breath out. "As the matriarch it would be your responsibility to nurture new life. So, if she were pregnant... But the rest of it seems like a load of," there's a demonstrative gesture at where she's been working, "I mean, are Weyrs now /so/ backwards that they've skipped right over the part where women are /just/ as capable, if it weren't their solemn responsibility to see to the home?" "She's our only queen," answers Tiriana. Her shoulders lift in a faint shrug. "They don't want me getting her killed off before we can give the Weyr another. Preserve the line, and all that. I expect if we had a good Reachian junior, they could care less if I offed myself, but until then--. Iovniath doesn't care, of course: she might not like having to rise and clutch and tend the eggs, but she'd rather do that than fight and anyway, she loves the idea of establishing her dynasty. So we do our duty, but that's not what makes us happy." "That makes sense..." Saliqa admits for the opening of it, apparently using the time Tiriana talks to calm herself back out of that huff. "But that other seems odd a bit," she decides on, after a long silence following the admission, "If you want to fight and not raise a family, wouldn't that be what she desires as well? You are, I mean... all muddled about in each other's head." It's a less romantic way to look at it, but the girl's hesitance, so opposite from her proud boasting, is clearly from ignorance. It makes Tiriana frown so, her forehead furrowing up as she regards Saliqa. And then she laughs, just for a moment, and rolls her eyes. "She's not /me/," she says, as though this were obvious. "Faranth help us. We're nothing alike, really: she's all fake-nice and schemey, and me, I'd just rather punch something and have done with it. It's the only reason we work, I think. I mean, not that we don't fight sometimes anyway, but can you imagine what we'd be like if both of us were as manipulative as her, or just plain ornery as me?" "Yes, but--" her entreaty not quite strong enough, Saliqa allows the Weyrwoman finish instead, pulling her head down for that breach in etiquette. Her eyes peek out behind half-closed lids when she quips, "Well, I'd imagine you'd be twice as manipulative or twice as ornery." A wry answer, she doesn't stick to the attitude; she still doesn't bait to giving an opinion of Tiriana. Hefting the shovel up, she makes a leap back in the conversation, rather, "And, anyway, just because it doesn't, doesn't mean it shouldn't. But, if you don't mind me saying, there's a very odd way about how your leadership is chosen anyhow, and that could be it." "Exactly." And Tiriana looks a little smug at the thought, until Saliqa has the nerve to question the Weyr's ways again. Her expression darkens swiftly, chin lifting. "At least we make our leaders prove something, even if it's just that you can beat out everybody else to have sex. Your lot--/you/ just have to get born and somebody throws a whole damn Hold at you." "Leaders prove themselves with their actions," Saliqa returns evenly, waving a hand distantly in the air, perhaps towards some unseen destination. "Actions /outside/ the bedroom which, as it turns out, are also vaguely important to how the world is run." There's more there-- it's right at the tip of her tongue. But, scrunching up her nose, she sucks it all in. She rocks backwards on her heels, slipping a step behind her. "/However/, as a representative of my people... I will not enter stupidly into a debate over things which I do not know. I apologize for so gracelessly spouting my mouth off." "And? Have I not proven myself? My Weyrleader?" She'll even throw his name into the ring, so eager is Tiriana to argue the point. "You have to get the spot somehow before you can prove yourself able for it. And our dragons are good enough judges of character to handle that part; we can do the rest. Having Iovniath choose me for her rider is not nearly so--capricious, as just trusting that being born to a Lord is good enough." The latter remarks of the girl earn only a sneer, as Tiriana straightens up and prepares to take her leave. "Good," she says shortly. Saliqa stands as proud and pretty as if she didn't know she was wearing breeches and holding a shovel off manure-covered hay. A gracious bob of the head follows Tiriana's ending note. "Good day then, lady Weyrwoman," she announces, flouncing a bit as she makes to turn around and apply to the work that's due. As sweet as pie, she leaves it at this: "I'm very glad to hear that it works so well. It reflects on your people, after all." Tiriana's narrowed eyes seek an insult there somewhere, but not finding it readily enough, she instead just sniffs and offers another almost formal, "Good day," as she turns and stalks away again. |
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