Logs:Strength and Conviction
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| RL Date: 21 November, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Farideh and K'del prove.. again.. they aren't friends. |
| Where: Council Chamber, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 4, Month 5, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Irianke/Mentions, Dahlia/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, Cora/Mentions, Ali/Mentions |
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| The weather might be warming up and the day might be bright, but there's still plague ravaging parts of Pern and unfortunate people dying from it. Sticking to her routine of saying away from the infirmary and its environs, Farideh is cozily ensconced in the council chamber. A glass of fruit juice, a platter of nibbles, a collection of hides and writing utensils all spread out on the table for her purview, but none of them have her attention. She's staring off into space, chin in her hands, thinking about something terrible, which is discernable from the downward slant of her eyebrows and the grievous frown she wears. The detritus of a previous occupant can be found on the other end of the table: a short stack of books, some stray pages, and writing implements. Their owner is the one who barges in upon Farideh's so-productive afternoon, K'del's long stride leaving audible footfalls as he crosses the boundary. They falter-- or, at least, come to a stop-- as his blue eyes take in the goldrider. And then, cautiously, "You... doing all right there, Farideh?" which seems genuine in its concern. It is like flipping a light switch: K'del's voice prompts the goldrider to sit up and her expression to smooth from terrible-thoughts to neutrality. "I'm fine," she says, with the weariness of saying the same thing multiple times a day for an extended period of time. "Uncomfortable, but fine." Farideh needlessly shuffles some of her hides together, but her gaze flits down the table to the leftovers of the weyrleader's presence. "How are you?" she asks, once her eyes have lifted to the tall man, again. The line of K'del's mouth acknowledges that weariness, that discomfort; he's rueful for it, and sympathetic even if that doesn't extend to his words beyond, "Mm, I bet. Least it's not high summer, but... sure that's no consolation at the moment." As for himself? He looks tired, and a little agitated, but perhaps that's not surprising, given givens. "I'm fine. Restless. Missing my family. The usual." "Not at the moment," is the brunette's murmur, with a wry pursing of lips. "I hope this is all-- gone by then. Anything new from Healer on the outlook? Anything from-- anywhere?" Farideh's stare continues to stay firmly on K'del, for now, though she doesn't make any move to leave, or give him back his privacy and table. "Southern is still-- safe?" K'del moves again, stepping towards that opposite side of the table, and his pile of belongings; the way he stands over them, hands dropping towards the stack, it looks like he's intending to take them and go-- if perhaps not immediately. "Southern's safe, so far," he confirms, sounding emotionally warn but relieved. "Closer to home... there's been an outbreak at Balen. Supposedly they didn't have the manpower to stop a ship docking, didn't think to call for us, and..." His lips press together. "Hate feeling so powerless." A short nod is Farideh's acknowledgement of Southern's not-situation, but the news of Balen has her eyebrows dipping again. "That was careless of them. Ships have to dock with those-- anchor thingies that you tie to the--" She makes a motion with her hands, but looks stumped. "There has to be more effective ways to close the waterways to incoming ships than-- not." "You would think," is more than a little wry. K'del makes a face. "But then, there's seaports down the Tillek coast that, seems like... they just got desperate. This time of turn, sometimes people need the supplies ships are bringing in." He presses the pad of his thumb into the book on top of his stack. "At least it's not been so bad in the Weyr, and the Holds don't want our blood for abandoning them." "I can't see how the Holds would be that desperate. Desperate enough to bring the sickness to them? Rations, stores-- has no one heard of them?" Farideh sighs and pushes around one of her pens with her fingertips in absent-minded motion. "Yet-- yet. Fort's-- all those wingleaders. The Headwoman. The Weyrwoman's son. There's no telling." K'del shakes his head; he doesn't understand either. "Saw what Hattie looked like... at the Weyr Council meeting. It was awful. We've never gotten along, but..." His mouth presses tight. "Can't even imagine it. To lose a child like that. Fort-- whatever I think about Cora's actions with their leadership, can't help but wonder if it's for the best. Dee's eighteen. Not sure how many people could handle rebuilding after that." "I don't know what I would have done. I am not sure how I feel about-- well, it's M'kris' daughter. I've not heard anything terrible about her, but it seems like a classless move, to put in someone with a pedigree like that, into a position of power," says the Holdbred girl, showing off her Holdbred thought patterns. "I would have gone with a second choice. Igen had juniors to spare, I believe, and we all know how well Igen trains theirs." Farideh only has a bit of sarcasm in her voice, when she says it, bright-eyed and all. "Nothing like this has happened since-- forever." "M'kris' daughter. I'kris' sister." That second name hovers on K'del's tongue, awkward and conflicted. His eyes close as he says, "But it had to be the first to rise-- you can't say 'the first to rise on this list of approved candidates' or the process becomes even more political. But, really. How would you feel if you were dismissed and rejected because of your family? Family you didn't get to choose." His words are heavier, as he gets that far, eyes opening again. "But no. Nothing like this has happened. It's going to be hard enough making sure we get the fields planted, harvested, and the rest, and none of our Holds are in serious crisis." Farideh has an oh no, what did I do moment, which passes after she asks: "Do you-- need-- some-- water? Fellis? I have some in my weyr." She folds her hands in her lap; more to keep them from pushing around all her utensils, than anything else. "It happens all the time in Holds. I think it will hurt things more that she's there-- you saw how hard it's been for Irianke, to gain the Weyr's trust and ignore the anti-Igen sentiments, but the daughter of a man like M'kris-- who, no matter what they say, had something to do with what happened to R'hin-- and sister of I'kris-- cannot make it any easier." Her words are follow by a small sigh. "You worry too much about what happens to them. They will worry only about their own when it comes down to the line." "I'm fine," is quick, perhaps too quick. K'del focuses, instead, upon considering the rest of Farideh's words, blue eyes lingering upon her thoughtfully. "So perhaps, then," he suggests, "they'll rally behind young Dahlia and give her the strength and conviction to take back her Weyr. A rallying point is useful, when you need to rebuild. Could be exactly what they need." Flexing his fingers atop the books in his pile he asks, then, "Is the 'them' in that sentence Fort, or the holds?" The quickness thins Farideh's lips. "It's just right there. It would only take me a minute. They mix the fellis with tea, and they swear it should only put you to sleep and you'll wake up rejuvenated, but I never remember where I am or what day it is when I wake up. You can have it," she presses, and quiets down to listen to his theory about Fort. Only give it thought, and no words, she sits with lips pursed until she tilts her head in his direction, expression vague. "The Holds. You want to save everyone, and you can't. They'll only use this as another excuse to restrict Searches and minimize tithes. You won't get a pat on the back, like you think." K'del dismisses that pressed offer with a shake of his head, drawing his shoulders back as he does so. "So we should do nothing?" he says, raising an eyebrow to focus on this other topic. "We should... sit back and let them die in our high tower, at which point they will rightfully determine that we provide no benefit." He pauses, exhaling sharply. Then, "Weren't you the one who told me I was too cynical, that I hated the holds? How things change." "That was a different situation," Farideh clarifies, also drawing her shoulders back and sitting up straighter; the better to stare up at him from her shorter vantage point. "I care about our riders. Instead of protecting them, we're throwing them out there in the hopes that the Holders take notice and we earn their undying gratitude. You can't be that nave." She doesn't look repentant for her standpoint, either. "It's not worth the risk." "You think I don't care about our riders?" K'del shoots that back with a sharp, harsh note to his voice. "We're doing everything we can to protect them. The only ones out there are choosing to be there. And they're doing it because if we do nothing, we have absolutely no chance of continuing tithes and candidate numbers. None. If you'd prefer us to sit safe for now, and starve later, well, you're welcome to do that when you are Weyrwoman. For now, Irianke and I feel otherwise." The tirade gets, at first, a frown, and then obvious embarrassment, complete with pink cheeks as she looks away from the weyrleader. "You are-- completely intolerable. Forgive me for disagreeing, sir. Please, if you could--" Farideh motions to the doorway with a hand, staring pointedly at her hides. "Thank you." K'del lets out a wordless sound of frustration and annoyance, gathers up his things, and leaves, just like that. But not, it goes without saying, because she told him to. So there. |
Comments
Alida (22:05, 21 November 2015 (PST)) said...
The more things change,the more they stay the same.
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