Logs:The Sweet Spot
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| RL Date: 2 December, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, Olivya |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Olivya and Dahlia talk over drinks. |
| Where: Council Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 6, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Guzman/Mentions, M'kris/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
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>---< Council Room, Fort Weyr(#839RJs$) >------------------------------------<
The Weyr's meeting space is a long, oval space with a large stone table
placed in the middle. There's seating enough for twelve around the table:
plenty of room to welcome most of the Weyrleaders and a good portion of
the Lord Holders from the north, though additional seating might be needed
if a Pern-wide meeting were to be held here.
A sideboard stands ready to serve, regardless of the occasion and is kept
well-stocked with carafes of wine, water and several fine liquors. Fresh
flowers, appropriate to the season are changed out regularly in the vase
atop the sideboard. Tapestries depicting Fort's illustrious history from
founding, to Moreta's role in the Plague to Lessa's arrival to bring the
Weyrs forward in time bedeck the walls, leavening the omnipresence of
cool, gray stone. Well-lit, the chamber boasts glows in niches around the
room, as well as oil lamps hanging from the ceiling.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Dahlia F 18 5'9" sturdy dk. brown hazel 0s
Olivya F 31 5'8 firm blonde blue 2m It's the end of a long day. After dinner, even, for work days these days don't often end at reasonable times. There's too much to do. Still, by the time that the dinner hour is drawing to a close in the living cavern, most of the work that feels like it can't be put off until tomorrow is done. Others have long since fled the Council Room and it should, by all rights, be empty at this hour. Still, a lean figure stands by the sideboard pouring a drink, a neat stack of hides left on the table. Dahlia's not in official clothes, and in fact, looks like she might've come back to work after a run not long ago, her clothing form-fitting three-quarter leggings and sleeveless tunic seeming better suited for another setting. Olivya isn't at the Weyrwoman's weyr every evening, but it is a lot of evenings, if not most. She never spends the night, so there's no reason for those kinds of rumors (though she has had a number of the Weyr's dragonriders in and out of her own weyr). The sound of her booted stride is the first sign of her presence, and then a quiet conversation on the ledge outside. The steps resume, but this time her approach is angled directly towards the Council Room, carrying a tray with the easy grace of someone trained to serve gracefully. "Weyrwoman," she says to announce herself, rather than startle the younger woman. "I seem to have run into your dinner?" She wears what she always does, making it hard to tell where or what she's been doing: that bold, red jacket and dark pants. The way Dahlia startles and twists sharply at the sound of her title, shoulders already tensing as if to take up that invisible mantle that she'd already set aside in whatever reverie held her as she poured is enough to say that Dahlia wasn't expecting dinner. She probably should have been, goodness knows someone seems to track her down with it whenever she misses out in the Living Cavern or the Glass Fountain. When she sees the blonde, she relaxes a hair. Wryly, "I suppose they wouldn't consider whiskey an appropriate dinner. Would you mind setting it on the table?" She's already reaching for another glass as she offers, "Whiskey? There's also wine and-- well, other things." Things she really should be able to identify by now. "They might not," that vague they, "but I certainly do. Whiskey, please," Olivya confirms, making it easy on the goldrider even as she steps into the council room to set that tray on the indicated table. She even, thoughtfully, puts it near enough to that stack of hides to be at hand but not close enough where it has any chance to spill. "But if anyone asks, I encouraged you to eat. No need to give them another reason." "There's at least one auntie who helps in the kitchens who's concerned that I should look robust and healthy again, instead of-- 'scrawny and all bones'." Dahlia isn't, of course, but she did lose weight in the course of her illness, enough to make the motherly types tut. She pours carefully, a double to match her own before moving to the table and offering the greenrider a glass. "They always give me more than I can eat, if you're hungry. It's a waste." That much makes her sigh as she drops into the chair she must have vacated to get the drink. Olivya accepts the drink with an easy tip in a thankful gesture to the goldrider before she lifts the glass to her own lips, but the greenrider doesn't move to take her own chair. Instead, those soft, blue eyes only fall in a subtle study of Dahlia before it slides away to the tray. "I'm sure I could be persuaded to eat what you won't," she agrees lightly. "And, you could use a good meal. Only so you can drink more and not regret it." "Drinking more only leads to tears," Dahlia admits with a shrug. "There's a sweet spot, though, that makes the worries feel lighter and the woes seem dimmer and the laughter and joy easier to grasp. That's what I go for these days. The sweet spot." This may not be Dahlia's first drink, though it doesn't seem she's too far ahead. She does move to ease back the chair beside her in invitation to the greenrider. "Better not to drink alone in any case. Or eat, and hides don't count as company." None of that stops her from asking, "Tell me about yourself? Are you from southern?" The continent, not the place in particular. One might infer, too, that distractions help as much as drink, if not more. "Mm, if only we could always find that sweet spot," is Olivya's thoughtful murmur, but the woman folds herself easily into the invited chair, one practiced, graceful movement that also sees her setting her glass down on the tabletop with nary a sound. Her hand, however, remain draped over the rim, as one finger slides distractedly over it. "I'm southern, yes. Holder-bred, from a place called Sunrise Cliff Seahold which is beholden to Monaco. I remember how out of place I felt, being in a Weyr. But, it's a distant memory now. I Impressed over fifteen turns ago." "If only," Dee echoes as a toast, lifting her glass and then bringing it to her lips. "Do you mind talking about your upbringing? I'm weyrbred-- Southern Weyr, and most of the interactions I've had with Holders have been since Impressing, though I did visit some of the more... well, maybe you'd call them 'frontier' kinds of holdings in the South with my master before my brother took it into his head to volunteer to come here." She offers the sort of amused smile that one can have about a hard situation once it has slid as water under the bridge and into the past. "I don't understand Hold life as well as I need to," is freely admitted and with a hopeful sort of smile to further lead to the actual question: "What was it like for you?" "It was structured, proper. Everything and everyone has a place and they learn it early," answers Olivya, only the roll of her shoulder in a light shrug answering whether she minds talking about it or not. "I was sent to the Weyr because there was a gold egg, and it was my place to Stand for it." A pause, before she adds, "But I understood, from a young age, how everything worked together; how if one piece is out of place, a whole structure can topple." She takes a long sip of her whiskey as if to punctuate that point, her gaze meeting Dahlia's. "I climbed a lot of trees," is what Dahlia answers. "I played in the dirt," still does, "on the beach, in the water. My world was freedom and joyful chaos." She takes a long slow sip before hazel eyes settle on Olivya. "Even Fort has more structure than I ever did. The little while I was at FarmCraft for classes, they tried to put trellises up for my wild vines and it didn't take. Maybe that's part of why I have trouble understanding how things ought to be. How political games are played. I'm not very good at any of it. Are you? With your background? Did you-- do you regret not having Impressed Zaisavyth? You seem very... self-possessed." It's said as a compliment, but with the connotation that it makes it hard for the young goldrider to read the older greenrider. "You aren't the only one who has trouble with structure. Even those that enjoy it, they don't understand that structure can and should change as the world around it does," Olivya tells Dahlia slowly, each word seemingly chosen with care but her smile catching easily for the younger woman. "Once you come to understand it, you can change it to what is right for everyone." Her gaze weighs Dahlia for a moment, the smile disappearing just as quickly as it appeared as she considers the questions. "Just for a moment, when I was standing alone and Mirinda had Zaisavyth, I regretted it. Not being a goldrider, but all of it--. But, I also regretted never playing in the dirt, in the water, with other kids my age, too." And the raw truth is there, exposed purposefully under the self-possession. "Do you regret your freedom and chaos, for not understanding now?" "I'm only starting to appreciate how structure can make some things easier. I think, sometimes, it's just because structure means less thinking, less active participation and more just following a routine, but that's probably the same thing that makes it harder for people to change, even when the change is good. This job doesn't work without some degree of structure." Dee has a little sigh for that, "Even if it's just to make sure I show up every day and do my work because of those depending on me. I might some days resent the effort it takes to conform," that's admitted with an odd, wry self-reproach, "but I don't regret any of the days I had in Southern. Not even the bad ones. I tell myself that will one day be true of here, too." After another drink she admits, "It's hard to learn something so foreign, but if I can learn Fort, I can learn Holders, in time, with good instruction. The instruction I've had so far outside of my own experiences were... mostly impersonal. Impersonal is hard for me," not just learning, but being, it seems. "I'm a personal sort of person. I meddle. I pry." Speaking of. "What about your life since Impression? What have you liked? Not liked? What do you like best about being a rider?" "For some, but anyone in your position, in Mirinda's or N'rov's, cannot participate less than actively. Not when you can make the changes that would make life better for those that can't," replies Olivya simply, lifting her glass for a slow sip that allows her to watch Dahlia for a moment. "Holders aren't very personal people to begin with. They've never been open to dragonriders or foreigners, not those that fall outside of their world. Crafters are easier, at least." But then she breathes out the hint of a laugh for the questions, taking a moment to consider them. "Ivraeth, of course. Her mating flights, I've liked, and feeling her breathe fire beneath me. I love the freedom. I hate the gossip. Faranth, do I hate the gossip. I hate the idleness, of seeing so much potential lost to whiling away the time." Her brow lifts in a gesture, marking the question thrown back to the goldrider though without words. "No, not if you want to make changes," is agreement, "but complacency happens." Though her expression is both troubled and thoughtful, Dahlia doesn't elaborate. Instead, she seizes on, "Too bad. I'm very likable if you can put up with the prying and meddling," Holders' loss. She grins briefly before the thoughtful comes back, but with a more positive look. "I don't like the idleness either, but I don't think wingleaders should be squandering the service of their wings. The Weyr clothes, feeds, and keeps riders and their dragons. It doesn't seem right that in the absence of feeling the urgency to perfect drills for a present threat that riders should simply be given that time. There's other works that could be done, useful works that could be done. Even now, even if there's more useful works being done now and less freetime for everyone." In theory. Then, "Taeliyth and I have had a journey to get where we are, but I've never not loved her, or she me." She chews her lower lip a moment, "I like that I can help people, I hate the indirectness of that help. I hate letting people clean my weyr and make sure I get meals. It's awkward to feel like people owe me their service when I would rather do things for myself and render service to others with my own two works. Even thinking of it as freeing me up to do greater service to others-- It's hard for me." Obviously, that's one argument that has been made to her before. "And thinking of it in terms of efficiency and skill?" questions Olivya gently, tapping her fingers thoughtfully against her glass. "They don't serve you; they work for their pay. And they have the skill to clean your weyr, to cook your meals and deliver them efficiently. How much longer do you think it would take you than it takes them? I'm sure if you asked them, they could tell you." She pauses to finish off her whiskey in one smooth gesture before returning the glass neatly to the table. "Any structure should strive for efficiency, with the correct people in the correct places, doing the jobs that best suit their skills." She adds, lightly, "No one owes anyone anything except fairness and respect." "I don't like that either," matters of efficiency and skill, "I don't expect to ever like being someone of importance, but that doesn't mean I won't learn to live with what needs to be. Maybe when I'm retired in seventy or eighty turns I'll be able to fetch my own breakfast and clean my own weyr." Dahlia says it dryly, knowing full well that the elderly are rendered assistance with those sorts of tasks as needed. "If you were Mirinda and N'rov, where would you fit your efficiency and skill?" It might be an idle question; she is nearly done with her own whiskey, nearly. Olivya challenges lightly, dry humor worked under her words, "I am sure you could tomorrow, if you commanded it." The woman stands with a half-smile for Dahlia, though, before she moves to refill her own glass with all of a hostess' ability from the sideboard. "I am most skilled at teaching and instructing. I would put myself back with the weyrlings," she answers while she's at it. "But what they need and want is another matter, isn't it? I will do my best where ever they need me." "If I commanded it tomorrow, they'd humor me or they'd tell me they didn't have time to humor me. That I'm a teenager and just don't understand my place in the world yet," Dahlia returns with a roll of her shoulders, but the answer suggests she might have thought about it before this moment. "That's good. Doing your best no matter where. I try for that. Some people don't." Her brow wrinkles as she looks at her glass and then sets it aside in favor of pulling the food closer and opening the covers. Some might not think of this as a meal. Really, it looks more like a collection of snacks. Small portions of each item, like appetizers for dinner, but plentiful, and virtually all finger foods. There's an amused look from Dahlia as she looks over the tray and then she reaches for a slice of redfruit already browning just a bit. "Do you think you'd fit with the weyrlingmaster team here? They'll be going through changes. I mean, everywhere is, but." It's different, somehow, she seems to think. Glass refilled and the bottle returned to its place, Olivya will agree simply, "Some people don't. And some people never bother to get better after they've reached what they think their best is. Once you give up striving, though--." She shakes her head instead of finishing that thought, letting it fall away as she gazes over the revealed food. "There is bound to be some conflict between their way and my experience at Monaco. But, as you said, they'll be going through changes; it is a good time for another view. A chance to incorporate what they teach in Monaco, what they teach in Igen." Dahlia uses her chewing time to good effect. When she speaks, it's with a thoughtful observation, "There's comfort in the familiar. The challenge is probably in finding a way to marry what's new and what's known, to ease the way. Faranth knows Fortians don't need more hardship, or as little as will be necessary." Since there will be no lack of what's necessary. "Change is only a hardship for those that fear it. I stopped being afraid of change turns ago," Olivya says simply, but she watches Dahlia as she takes another sip of whiskey. "The challenge isn't to ease the way; it's to make sure that change isn't made for the sake of change but because it is better and right. But I am wise enough to know that I alone do not know what is right, especially for Fort." Her gaze slides, briefly, towards the Weyrwoman's weyr and then back to the goldrider here before she adds, "And sometimes, you can't help what changes. The world changes whether you want it or not." "I doubt you're going to find those facing hardships already happy to embrace other hardships whether the hardships are made from their own inflexibility or not." Dahlia's observation this time is dry. "I don't think any of us, all by ourselves, know what's best for Fort." She hesitates before reaching for her glass to finish that last gulp on the heels of saying, "I asked N'rov to chase, to have Vhaeryth try to win. I asked him because he has the experience with Fort that I lack and he's not too stupid or scared or bold to think he has all the answers or to be so inflexible as to be afraid to try something new if it seems the best way. The old ways weren't working already, now, after all this, they're going to work less. We have to find what works, but not change for the sake of change," she inclines her head a little toward the blonde as if to say 'as you said.' "If only every Weyrleader I've known were as you describe N'rov," Olivya answers, almost in a toast of her own where she tips her glass in answer to the inclined head. "But then, I have served under M'kris." The deadpan way she says it marks it as a joke, even if it's a bit on the nose. "At least we all want what is best for Fort. Mirinda, especially." She likely doesn't mean more than N'rov or Dahlia, but there is a soft emphasis there in pre-emptive defense of her absent friend. "I've never heard good things about M'kris," Dahlia says with a frown. "It can't have been easy for Mirinda. Any of it. I mean, as hard as it's been for me without preparation, it's a different kind of hard but-- I can't imagine..." She shrugs, willing, it seems, to let the topic go, which means it probably wasn't digging about the the new Weyrwoman, particularly since there's real sympathy briefly in Dahlia's look. Softly, perhaps even mostly to herself, "It could have been so much worse." With another Weyrwoman. Perhaps even with any other Weyrwoman. Olivya only makes a soft, agreeing noise of "Mmm". But, she does not linger over the subject of her friend's hardships, either, unwilling to divulge them further than everyone already knows. "It can always be worse, but that means it can always be better, as well. If there is every anything you need, that you can't ask Mirinda--." She doesn't complete the offer, instead letting it trail off between them as she studies the younger woman above the rim of her glass. "Before I Impressed, a fortuneteller told me that there was a lot of darkness to come. I think he was more right than he knew. He said, too, though, that there would be light after. If there's anything to it, I hope there's that." Dahlia looks at her empty glass. "I'm not sure I'll ever get my fortune told again though. At least not by that fortune teller. He's too right and it doesn't do good things for his ego when you let him know." It's hard to tell just how serious she's being. "Thank you." She pauses, "I know that Mirinda's going to be-- when we have time-- training me, more, with goldrider things, but I imagine I would've continued some education with the weyrlingmaster staff for more extensive training as it seemed applicable, and the harpers as well, of course. In a way, it would be easier to ask for your help in that than any of them. You're more removed from our tragedy." Not removed, of course, but more. "If you have time in your duties, I'd appreciate your help with building on my holder understanding foundations. I'm intending to go to the Holds soon, to speak with the stewards, to find out what help they need and when to bring back to Mirinda and N'rov, and I'd hate to make a situation worse with my own ignorance." "I will make time," is Olivya's simple promise for that, her gaze lingering on Dahlia for a moment longer before she straightens. "I should go check on Rin now, though. Hopefully your duties don't keep you here much later yourself, weyrwoman." She nods, briefly, to those hides stacked neatly. "I'm done," Dahlia assures the greenrider, "I guess I can go home as soon as I've eaten." She has an amused look for that. "Have a good night, Olivya," she offers genuinely before turning back to her last task of the evening. And Olivya adds, "You as well, Dahlia." She takes her glass with her when she leaves, still half-full; presumably, she'll return it on her way out since she only moves deeper into the Weyrwoman's weyr. |
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