Logs:Political Nuance
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| RL Date: 17 January, 2014 |
| Who: Ali, Hattie |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Elaruth's flight, Hattie and Ali discuss the results. They muse on a candidate exchange with Igen and Southern, and consider how they can prepare their bronzeriders for Weyrleadership in the future. |
| Where: Lake Shore, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 11, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'rant/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions, Cirse/Mentions, E'dre/Mentions, T'rev/Mentions, D'ian/Mentions |
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| It's been a wonderfully clear day today, and though the afternoon sun means there's not a hint of chill in the air yet, by habit Ali still has her familiar scarf wrapped loosely around her. It's been a day of records, records and more- and so by late afternoon the junior suggests a break and a walk around the lake. They're not the only ones around, nodding towards the weyrwoman as they make their way down to the lake. Isyath, as ever, circles high above, joined by a smattering of other dragons here and there. "I'm looking forward to having weyrlings around again," the dark-haired junior's murmuring as she reaches with the intention of linking an arm through Hattie's. "Though less so the /candidates/," she admits in a quieter voice, making a brief face. Since the flight, Elaruth has been indulgent in sleep if nothing else, spending much of the sunshine-filled hours lounging on her ledge, fast asleep and contentedly oblivious, until something or other draws her to wakefulness and her attention. Many human expectant mothers would probably appreciate the volume of sleep that she's getting, at this stage of the proceedings. It doesn't seem to be worrying Hattie, who has left Elaruth to her sleepy relaxation without deciding to check on her, as she has for much of the day. "...I don't mind the Candidates so much, as long as they behave themselves and don't upset Elaruth," Hattie confesses, securing the loop of Ali's arm with hers. "Though I'm admittedly more interested in her babies than the people they choose, unless there are obvious issues." Ali's mouth thins a little, at Hattie's mention of 'obvious issues', and there's a slight tension felt where their arms are looped together. After a moment: "You can focus on the babies, and I'll make sure the /people/ are okay." It sounds like a declaration of intent, and yet there's a slight tone to the end of the sentence that might turn it into a question. Whether or not there's a response to that, it's not long before she says, carefully, "I- it seemed more- there were a lot more injuries, this time," she finally gets out, with a quick, sidelong look towards the Weyrwoman. There might be a note of trepidation in there, but it's faint. "I don't think I will have much of a choice, depending on just how protective she feels this time. It'll be interesting to see whether the trend in the builds of her children continues, when the day comes." It sounds like Hattie is, for the moment, willing to let her junior make that declaration of intent without objection. As easy and relaxed an answer it is, that quiet calm evaporates the moment that she grasps what Ali is referring to when she next speaks. One step doesn't quite plant down as she would have it, as if instinct makes her pause and control demands that she doesn't, yet she makes no comment until she has herself in order. "Telgar and High Reaches shouldn't have been there. They were lacking in apology or remorse." There's a slow exhale from Ali, easing the pace of their walking without otherwise acknowledging that slight misstep. Even as oblivious as the junior can be, she's not unaware of the reaction. "We've had bronzes fly in High Reaches' leadership flights- Rhenth not much more than a Turn ago." She grimaces briefly at the memory. "I think that bronze was a young one. But Telgar's was old enough to know- to be able to control his dragon better." "That doesn't mean that one 'mistake' deserves another," Hattie insists, voice low and cold, aimed at some distant being that isn't Ali. "If it was a mistake, from 'Reaches or Telgar. I remember telling them to go, but I don't remember either showing the slightest intention of doing so. And Telgar doesn't even have the grace to inform us that anything has been done about their rider's presence. I'm inclined to think that silence condones, rather than condemns, in this case." There's little hiding the bitter undercurrent to her words, though there's not a trace of temper. "No, but-" Ali takes a breath, trying to keep her voice even. "I think it's hard sometimes, for them to leave, once-" she bites her lower lip, taking in Hattie's demeanor with a sidelong glance. "I know /Issy/ wouldn't let them leave, once they're there," she finally manages. "And as for Telgar," there's an un-ladylike, and un-/Ali/-like snort there. "They didn't stand a chance against Bijedth. Or Adiulth, for that matter," she says, forcefully. "If they can't leave, they should at least comport themselves with some dignity and restraint." Hattie's lip curls the faintest bit, yet she otherwise manages to keep any anger from touching tone or expression. It's an effort that means she has to swing to the other end of the spectrum and adopt (or feign) an impassive, distant steadiness. "...I don't remember much of N'muir being there until..." Until the obvious. "I think I knew he was there. Or Elaruth knew Bijedth was there. She doesn't remember him not being her mate. I didn't realise that until recently." "Of course they should," Ali agrees, vehemently, on that point. "If I was there, I would've-" she struggles to come up with a 'would've', and her anger on Hattie's behalf doesn't last that long: she's just not given to holding onto it. The dark-haired woman's silent for a bit, either lost in the vestiges of that thought, or content to concentrate on walking for the time being. Eventually, she murmurs, "That's good for her. For you." A little smile appears, now. "Sometimes I'm envious of their memories. There's things I'd love to forget." Anger, even brief-lived, draws Hattie to gently touch her free hand to Ali's arm. "Don't." Said quiet and low, it's difficult to tell whether it's a plea or a warning or simply meant to draw her junior away from that flare of anger like Hattie believes that getting angry isn't a becoming, Ali-like thing to do. "Gethin bet on N'muir winning," she confesses, odd quirk in her voice. "I really hope he doesn't understand what the winning part really means. If he does, learning that is something I would quite like to forget." As soon as she starts to joke, dry as it is, she stops. "It would be nice to stash things in Elaruth's mind and have her forget them for us. We would probably all be very different people if we did that." Ali gives Hattie an attempt at a reassuring smile, shaking her head briefly as if shaking away the brief thought of anger. "Sorry, I-" she trails off, chewing her lip. The mention of Gethin draws her attention back quickly enough, however, "Did he?" she seems both surprised and thoughtful, adding after a pause, "I think that's a nice sentiment. The- wanting N'muir to win part. The betting part-" that's definitely a flush of guilt there, head dropping as they walk. "Very different people," she acknowledges. "Sometimes I think it'd be /easier/ if I put away the Holder part of myself." "He knows not to do it again," is offered over quite quickly, in an effort to try and ease /some/ of Ali's guilt, if not said /kindly/ enough to attempt to relieve her of all of it. Matter of fact, if anything. "Perhaps," Hattie concedes, of setting aside that particular part of an upbringing and history. "And then perhaps not. As often as I think I've put away that part of my life, someone says something to bring it right back." She gives a dry huff of laughter. "Usually N'muir, but I swear he says things just to provoke me, sometimes. I don't think I'd know how to live without /something/ of those days, even if I don't really want to acknowledge most of them." Matter of fact or not, there's an uneasiness in Ali's expression that lingers. With a slow exhale, she asks, "He's- what, ten? Do you think he'll start to agitate to stand in a few Turns' time?" Silent for a short while after Hattie expresses her own opinion, the dark-haired junior seems momentarily uncomfortable, laughter or not. "As long as you're- you're /you/, I think it's okay to let some memories lie undisturbed." Undoubtedly, judging by her tightening expression, she's thinking of Boll rather than of fond memories of home. "And as long as we have them." There's little weight on that last word, yet it's clear from just how definite it is that /them/ can't be just anyone, even important anyones, but the /them/ met on the Sands. Hattie chooses to pretend not to notice Ali's expression as far as a glance, study or other form of overtly taking note goes, but she makes to more securely loop her arm with hers, touching shoulder to shoulder. Her son, too young for gambling and Impression, is an easier subject to address. "He used to want a brown, like Jekzith. When he was little. I think he'll want to Stand, but... I don't want him doing it just because his parents are riders." The reassurance, as subtle as it is, earns a smile from Ali, even if it's a slight bit forced; the glance she gives skywards towards the circling Isyath probably eases some of the tension in her shoulders a bit more noticeably. She, too, seems content to focus on other topics. "It'd be hard for him not to want to, since he's part of the Weyr," she says, slowly, with a slight frown of thought. "I wonder if Iska-" but there's /turns/ away, and she shakes her head of the thought. "How do- what if he /does/ Impress a brown, and Elaruth rises-" she's flustered at the thought. "It almost seems like it'd be sensible to send them to another Weyr to... to Impress." "They say it's in the blood, don't they?" Though Hattie is not as confident about that as she is about other things. "Not that I think that can always be true. No riders in my family - well, save for me and Llowri. But... daughters of goldriders, meant for gold. They /like/ to think it." That nebulous 'they'. The fact that she doesn't grimace, but goes quiet, is a better indicator of her thoughts about Elaruth and /brown/ and /Gethin/ than anything else, however, she does eventually find her voice again. "...I'd have to send him away, the moment I knew. G'dreyn, my uncle... There's no blood there, but his brown chased, once. /That/was enough. ...Dragons often choose out-Weyr Candidates. Maybe we're /meant/ to have them Stand for other Weyrs." "There's none in my family- though my sister's wanted to try a couple of times, but-" the idea apparently doesn't sit that well with Ali, to judge by her quick release of breath. "I- I think it's a good thing I don't have relatives that are riders," she concludes, after Hattie's mention of G'dreyn. "Maybe we- we are. Azaylia allowed my sister to stand at High Reaches. Maybe we could set up some arrangement with other Weyrs. If nothing else, it'd help build up relationships- we've had- it'd be nice to have a closer relationship with other Weyrs. Maybe we could try something with Southern...?" "Southern have generally been considerate in their dealings with us, as have we with them, I hope. My Weyrwoman," the one before her, "transferred there with her family." There's something odd and almost longing that runs through her voice when Hattie speaks of the woman who trained her. "Igen might be willing to entertain the idea, as long as Llowri continues to behave herself over there. And--" She holds her breath, hesitant, then says it anyway: "We did give them a queen." Give, not loan or exchange. "I'd not take on Candidates from Telgar now if they arrived with ten marks each." "Cirse." Ali says, the look at Hattie taking in /her/ Weyrwoman's demeanor with both surprise and obvious interest. "So- Southern and Igen. I like the idea of that. /Maybe/," with a smile, "Issy will let one of their bronzes win her next flight." Except the idea of Issy letting anyone decide what /she/ wants is pretty laughable, her eyes rolling briefly skywards. After a brief face, her nod appears to agree with Hattie's sentiment about Telgar, at least. "Cirse," Hattie echoes gently, a faint, fond smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "Southern and Igen," is a far less intentional repeat of Ali's words, securing the idea in her head. "So, we only ever pack people off to the places with the hottest summers. Better than freezing at Telgar, at any rate." Wry, that. "We would need to agree on whether any of our Candidates, Impressed, return to be our riders. An agreement of that sort, for the right dragons, would be useful for bloodlines." She slants a sharper little smile across to her fellow goldrider. "I'm sure Isyath would love to be politically accommodating." "I don't think I'd get used to Southern or Igen's summers," Ali says, and it's hard to tell if that's a subtle indication that /she/ has no wish to be packed off to either Weyr. A wry sort of look at the idea of Isyath being /accommodating/. "The one thing she's done so far is never pick the same mate twice. She doesn't seem to have that same preference Elaruth does for certain dragons. At least-" with a grimace, as if trying to focus on the /good/, "It means we get more disparate blood lines that way, too." If Hattie catches any hint of anything, she doesn't let on, saying only, "Ista's enough for me. I don't think I could live anywhere with that kind of temperature all the time." She tries another smile, this one a more subtle affair. "At least Isyath chooses bronzes. Not that there's anything /wrong/ with a queen choosing a brown, but it could limit the potential for bronze offspring. And completely eliminate the chances of a gold." Briefly, she directs her gaze towards the sky. "Now that I've said that, watch them both get caught by browns next time. E'dre as Weyrleader. I'd probably have to resign." "I like our winters," Ali says by way of agreement. "But Issy still hasn't sired a queen for all that." It's said lightly, but it's obviously something she's thought about- and possibly worried about. "E'dre," there's something between a laugh and a groan, "No, you couldn't resign and leave me with him. He'd have all our Holds marching on us demanding apologies for slights within sevens." The dark-haired woman is shaking her head. "I think," she adds, "It'd be more /fun/ if someone like D'ian won. He's such a loveable grump. But then we'd have to do all the diplomatic work, again." She's always been oddly fond of the older brownrider, so it's probably not a surprise. "When she's ready, she will. Maybe she hasn't met the right bronze yet. It isn't all down to her, after all." There's not a trace of doubt to be heard, not when it comes to /Isyath/, anyway. "And E'dre... I'd have to fire him then, right after the flight. It would be that or quit. Or kill him. Or keep him in the cells." Hattie must be exaggerating, but she plays the joke a quiet, deadpan way. "You could issue him with a formal note of apology wherever he goes. Just leave the name of the place he's visiting blank for him to fill in when everything goes wrong. I think, if ever... it /is/ anyone else, we'd end up doing the political work, no matter who. It takes... time." Ali doesn't seem that convinced, but Hattie's certainty prevents her saying anything in disagreement. Instead, with a smile, "Make him wear a sign around his neck: 'I suck at politics, please forgive me and don't hold anything I say against Fort'." She chews her lower lip, then concedes, "That's true. I remember how- uncertain I was about it all. I had a conversation with T'rev about it early on, and he... Maybe we can- we should actively try and train up people who have the right sort of skills, just in /case/. Start taking bronzeriders with us to meetings with Holds - they'd just assume we were being careful because of- of Boll?" From the smirk she sports, Hattie is very likely imagining the E'dre plus apology sign scenario, just a little bit too amused by the whole thing. "No use sending all the bronze and brownriders on diplomatic runs together. Their idea of diplomacy is 'we fucked up - let's go have a beer'." Her smirk simmers down to something softer and she glances down at the floor. "Leave it a couple of months before you start taking bronzeriders on visits with you?" she requests, murmured. "N'muir's only recently kept the knot and got beaten up for his trouble, and I don't... want him thinking we're looking for a replacement." "Not together," Ali agrees, visibly horrified by the idea. "With one of /us/. At least one of us." It's the latter request that makes her pause for a long moment. "If it was with you, I'd understand- /I/ can get away with it," she says, slowly. "But we can wait a couple more months," she finally says, with a quickening of step. "I think it's time for some tea." It's invitation, as she aims to turn their path towards the bowl rather than for another turn around the lake. |
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