Logs:Irianke's Assistant, Returned
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| RL Date: 14 September, 2015 |
| Who: Irianke, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After over a turn of travelling, Lycinea returns 'home' and seeks out Irianke and her old job before doing much of anything else. |
| Where: Weyrwoman's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 24, Month 10, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Jocelyn/Mentions, Kirea/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions |
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| Though the weyr was neat when she arrived, Lycinea still tidied what she could, light dusting, wiping off some of Irianke's little knickknacks after placing the covered dinner tray on the stone table. The food is still warm, if not steaming, when the sound of approaching footsteps draw the blonde girl, a turn older with braids in her hair, khol around her eyes and something new in her formerly unobtrusive demeanor, back to the table to begin uncovering the dishes. Those footsteps are most assuredly Irianke, the gait of them not having changed in a turn. Though the Weyrwoman is not alone, the conversation she carries with another woman, not Mielline, halts just at the entrance to her weyr, continues on for a few minutes longer, and concludes with a second set of footsteps heading back towards the bowl, while Irianke's continues through the narrow tunnel from the complex into her home. She doesn't even pay attention to the girl at the table, moving instead to shed a formal chest-cut jacket off her shoulders and tossing it onto a chaise. Her shoes are kicked off and she sinks atop her discarded jacket with a weary sigh. "Did the kitchens send up any of that mulled wine from yesterday? If not, please fetch me a pitcher of it?" "Yes, ma'am," are two words that have more emotion than the pair should rightfully. Lya struggles to be professional as she turns to follow Irianke with her eyes. "They were speaking of it in the kitchens and I remembered you like it." Mulled wine, in the general, probably not this particular batch since, while tidy enough to suggest Lya washed up her face and arms to the elbow and put on a fresh set of clothes, her hair still bears signs of being in need of a wash which hints at having just come off the road. That voice. That voice. Irianke's eyes flutter open and she sits up a little straighter, her gaze suddenly sharp and turned to where Lycinea is. Head cocked, a small smirk on her lips, High Reaches Weyr's newest Weyrwoman just sits there, half-amused and half-bemused at what she sees. Her voice is heard momentarily with a very sardonic, "I hope you've disposed of Kirea's body in a safe place no one will find her." "I picked up a few tricks in my travels," Lycinea replies with only the slightest of smiles to betray her humor. The smile has a tender layer beneath the obvious, something paired with shyness. "I missed you, ma'am." She takes a pair of uncertain steps toward the Weyrwoman; is it inappropriate to rush at one's once-and-hopefully-future employer for a hug? She doesn't yet, but the possibility is there in the tension of her frame. Irianke rises, not having the hesitancy Lycinea has and gaps the distance to envelope the young woman in a hug that smells of the warm vanilla and spiced cinnamon scent she wears today. "I've missed you too, darling. Let me look at you up close," she pulls back, holding Lya at arms length to peer into her clean face, a deeper seeking in her slate eyes. The arms that encircle the goldrider in return are strong, her joy and the extent to which she missed this woman trying to find expression in the press of them against Irianke's back. When she steps back to be looked over there are changes that are apparent and those more subtle. That which was a haunted look when she left the Weyr is gone. The girl who struggled to keep sanity in a tenuous grasp when triggered for all appearances is now a young woman with the confidence of having faced her demons and won the battle. She's grown into her shapely frame, her carriage bearing some measure of confidence, the choice of clothes though simple and patched altered to hug her frame differently. "Your family was the perfect remedy." These words are allowed their own space but not so far from the next, "I'm ready to be home again. Please, may I stay?" That question probably means more than just 'in the Weyr'. It likely means in Irianke's presence, in her service, or something of that ilk. Irianke takes all of this in, that scrutinizing look finding what she seeks and then filing that information oaway for later for she merely nods at Lycinea's self-appraisal, but says nothing of it. Maybe she's already gotten a report from her sister, or plans on her own visit later. It doesn't matter really, just that the goldrider's lips curve, a slow smile emerging and a brow arching high. Her words carry a light coating of tease, "The Weyr isn't too small of a place for you now that you've seen the vast expanse of untouched land on the northern continent?" "It was eye-opening," Lycinea allows, a smile spreading wide across her face. "I saw some... amazing things. Things I never would've seen in my time here. But this is home. And I hear I might just have an in with the women running the place," there's humor in that smile, tentative but not lost by the end. It's the sort of hesitance of one who knows they've experienced growth and change and is, as yet, uncertain of the reception of those who knew her and cared for her best. "When I heard about Niahvth... I just felt like I needed to be here, with you. Who else is going to make sure your mulled wine ends up on your tray?" She lifts her brows and makes gesture, feigning total seriousness. "Or that your tub is cleaned or your knickknacks polished exactly as you like." "Oh, Lya," this one sounds a little less thrilled to have her back, and more... something. Irianke reels the girl back in and hugs her fierce. "I fear you've grown far beyond that, but if you're asking for your job back, it is more than yours. I just," the goldrider breathes into the younger woman's hair, inhaling the dusty road-wearied scent of it and exhaling a warm, coddling sort of breath. Maternal. "I just want you to think about it over the next few months, what you'd like to aspire towards beyond cleaning my tub or polishing things the way I like." Lycinea's arms curl around the goldrider once more, with no hesitancy now. She listens and where the girl she was might have been hurt by the words that might be taken as some sort of rejection, she just nods against the goldrider's shoulder. "I'll think on it. I promise. But I would like my job back. At least for now. It's what I know, it's what I was good at, before I left, and-- I've missed you." Her job puts her, by necessity, in close contact with Irianke, after all. "Have you been well?" comes now that the matter of staying has been dealt with and as she steps back, unconsciously seeking Irianke's hands with her own to keep some measure of contact. "But you will tell me, without hesitation, if ..." There's no other way to say it so Irianke, being who she is, just states it, "You feel you have outgrown my patronage." It's not a request. It's an order. This is what Irianke expects of Lycinea before she'll move onto the niceties of catching up, though she gives that hand in hers a squeeze. "Yes, ma'am," is the appropriate way to respond to an order and so she does, but Lycinea seems to mean it. "Ma'am, I don't suppose now that you're the Weyrwoman for sure and all, that your assistants get rooms to themselves in the caverns?" She certainly wasn't sleeping alone out and about this past turn, but perhaps she's finally hit that point where a private space sounds nice. It's a quickly made request with lifted brow, though surely the interest in catching up is still there, waiting patiently for its turn. Reassured, verbally by Lycinea and by something else Irianke susses out in the woman, she is now able to move forward into pleasantries and, "Ah, I am sure something can be arranged. You may have a roommate to share it with, unless," the brunette taps a finger to her jaw line thoughtfully, "There's a smaller space, that most people don't seem to like as much. I'm not sure if you would, but you can ask Jocelyn to take you by and see it tomorrow sometime and if not, a larger room shared with one of the assistant headwomen might be worth looking into." "A bigger space would be worth a roommate," Lycinea answers with measured care. She may be better, significantly so, but the idea of being in a small, enclosed rock-ceilinged space (perhaps understandably) doesn't appeal to her as a living space. "Tell me about you?" She requests in a way that is both her genuine interest and a desire for not having to explain that answer any more than she already has. "What's there to tell?" Irianke responds, a hint of gaiety entering her voice. The sound so known to Lycinea whenever the goldrider readied herself for a party, a gather, a night out, or a night in with some choice companion. It then disappears into a tired look, a little aged even. "Sometimes, I wonder if I did the right thing angling to be Weyrwoman, if life were not more simple as a junior to someone else's senior, with time to spare and a string of companions willing to follow along. Then, I realize I enjoy the work I do and I have plans, Lya, grand plans that I hope will succeed, at making High Reaches self-sufficient until Thread returns." Lycinea's fingers seek to twist into Irianke's as she finishes speaking, rather than content with just the contact, "Then you had to angle to become Weyrwoman, didn't you." It's not really a question from the blonde. She gives the older woman the sort of smile that speaks of trust. "A Weyrwoman's duty is to do well by her Weyr. You're going to do that." Lya believes in her. "And when all is said and done, you will have so much to show for it, and be so proud, of yourself, of Niavhth, of your Weyr," she speaks with certainty. "And in the meantime, I'm sure we can find a liiittle time in your schedule to fit in a few adventures to keep you." If her fingers are still with Irianke's, it's Lya's turn to squeeze. "Is Farideh grateful for Niahvth's flight?" For Irianke's Seniorship. "Yes," this is an absolute, unfettered response. "She is relieved she has time to grow. But she has some worrying thoughts that I am a perfect Weyrwoman when," Irianke shifts herself and that hand she still does hold, a little discomforted. "I am not sure how to shake her of that disillusion, for some day," the goldrider's mouth sets a little less cheered, though not sad by any stretch, "I imagine I will disappoint her by not being her ideal of perfection. Come, bring that mulled wine so we can chat some more about our adventures in the last turn." Irianke's words make Lya tip her head back to laugh. It's a bright, warm rich sound that belongs so much around the campfire and might impart the feel of home along with it. Then she leans in to hug the woman again. "No one is perfect, Ir-" she stops herself shy of saying the woman's name, cheeks touched with blush. "I'm not telling you anything you don't know and I'd bet you all my marks that Farideh knows it too. One of the things I learned while I was gone was that sometimes it's hard to see yourself without looking through someone else's eyes. You're not perfect, but perhaps you can settle for knowing you're a good role-model. For Farideh." For Lya? Perhaps. Perhaps she's moved past that. There's a visible reining in of whatever freedom and liberty Lya had allowed herself in these moments and her next word is predictably, "Ma'am," in acknowledgement that she should fetch the wine, which she does. "Irianke," says the goldrider after a momentary pause, a slow smile again finding her lips, "You can call me Irianke." Wine in hand, with a nod of encouragement for Lycinea to have some as well, she sits and pats the seat next to her to catch up. |
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