[Log] Debating N'thei
Who: Milani, Tiriana
When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 18
Where: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Milani discuss their Weyrleader, among other things.
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
Contents:
Milani
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Nighthearth Kitchen Residential Hallway Infirmary Bathing Pools Bowl Weyr Entrance
In the afternoon, as the early dark starts to settle over the Weyr, things are settling down, for the most part. There's fewer people bustling around on chores and jobs and more heading toward the baths and the living caverns. Even Tiriana's being quiet, holed up on one of the couches off to the side, taking advantage of the fireplace there while she works her way through a stack of papers on subjects that seem to bore her, judging by the yawning.
Footsteps come down the hall and a moment later there's the distinct sound of someone flopping into one of the nearby chairs. Next there's shoes thunking on the floor and the creak of leather as Milani folds herself up into that seat. A clipboard is rested across the headwoman's knees along with a book that is very clearly not work. Millie props her chin up on one hand and looks over towards the goldrider. "Sleep-inducing stuff, huh?" she asks casually.
When footsteps start approaching, Tiriana spreads her own legs out over the length of her couch, claiming it without ever even looking up from her work. But a beat later, she does so, to see who she's warding off: Milani. "Yes," Tiriana says slowly, her mouth frowning. "What do you want?" Because clearly that is the only reason Milani would come over.
In the meantime, Milani's flipped open her book with her free hand and tips a look back up at Tiriana. "Nothing. I like this chair and I thought I'd get a little reading done since things have mostly quieted down for the day and we're not swimming in tithes anymore." Her gaze shifts to the hides though. "Is that something I can help you with though?"
With her couch successfully defended, Tiriana gradually pulls her feet back in, though her boots stay on the couch to get it dirtier. She flips through her papers for a few seconds, scanning them before she reaches over to hand them to Milani. "Trade you."
Milani eyes said boots for a moment. "You'll need to clean that up when you leave," she points out calmly, then looks up, brows lifted. The book is set aside and her /clipboard/ is offered to Tiriana, with a list of things to re-stock the nursery with on it, another with requistions from various riders. "I'll take a look," she says simply, "but I'm not offering to do it for you."
"This is why we hire people to do it," Tiriana blows off the cleaning. Despite her ease in doing so, however, the order itself still makes her scowl, and she deliberately ignores the clipboard. Instead, she leans half-over the couch arm to try to snag Milani's book. "I'll keep that in mind, next time you offer. You don't really mean it whne it comes down to it."
"Help, doesn't equal doing for, that could be the problem you know. We might not be speaking the same language. The clipboard is in the way which means the book is snaggable. History. Harper-written, but not necessarily dry, story-style.
"Does too," Tiriana contradicts that at once, even as she snatches the book and slides back down in her corner of the couch. "Unless you're going to teach me how to do it--and I know how to do it already. Probably better than you." With the book in hand, she flips through it quickly, then turns to the end, the last couple of pages, to read them rather than start at the beginning.
"Nope, that would usually mean splitting up the pile then, halvies, and meet halfway. Or if you're stuck on something, you know, yeah, /helping/. Doing for is just doing for." The headwoman observes the way the goldrider reads. "You know, a lot of it doesn't make sense without the beginning."
"But you're not offering halfway, either, are you," Tiriana points out, though without really paying attention. She's more involved in skimming over those last handful of pages, after which she shuts the book again, drops it back on the floor with a thud, and then gives Milani a funny look. "Makes enough sense. Like I'm going to sit and read through a couple hundred pages just to find out what happens."
"I would have if you hadn't jumped down my throat," Milani says calmly, flipping through what's on her clipboard now and drawing a pencil out of the loose bun at the back of her head, makes some marks on the list. Her eyes flick up to the goldrider and back down to the book, leans over to pick it up and dusts the cover off carefully. "Why not? It's a good way to pass the time."
Tiriana snorts. "Yeah, right. Maybe if you opened with that instead of just saying 'help' and then saying 'no help,'" she says. Her eyes roll, and she deliberately slides a little further down, stretches her legs out again, and picks up her work while Milani rescues the abandoned book. Tiriana doesn't actually start working again yet, however. Instead, she tips her head back to eye Milani. "Only if you don't have anything better to do," she points out.
Milani just smiles lopsidedly over at Tiriana. "I didn't say 'no help,' you just assumed, stole my book, dropped it on the floor and messed up the couch," the headwoman points out quite reasonably. The book is tucked between herself and the couch and she holds out her hand. "Would you like to split that halfway? Two pairs of eyes go faster than one."
"I was reading it." Pause. "And at least I didn't throw it back at you." Which Tiriana looks like she might be considering now, though she doesn't have the book any longer. Probably a good thing. At any rate, turning back, she makes a show of looking back through her stack, affecting a lofty, "I don't /need/ your help anyway."
"Suit yourself," Milani says with a little shrug, finishes marking up the list and draws out her book, settles in to read from where she left off.
And Tiriana, face successfully spited, returns to working with new energy. Unsurprisingly, it's not actually anything that hard or painstaking--not once she puts the actual effort into doing it, anyway.
Milani sneaks little looks up over the top of her book now and then, to check on the goldrider. The snick-flick of pages turning breaks t he silence now and then, but otherwise, the headwoman seems perfectly content to sit and read. After a suitably long while, Millie looks up and tucks a marker into her book. "Can I get you anything from the nighthearth? Or something stronger? THough I'm sure you have the favor of the staff in the Snowasis if you want something really good."
Such niceties! Tiriana doesn't trust them; when she looks up, her eyes are narrowed, expression suspicious. "I guess," she says, with a nod at length. "Something stronger'd be good--make all this more bearable, anyway." A nod takes in the papers that she's now taken it upon herself to do.
Settling her things neatly on her chair, Milani flashes the goldrider a smile. "Be right back. I think I know just the thing," the headwoman states. She's gone only a few minutes and returns bearing two mugs of creamed klah and a half-empty bottle of whiskey tucked up under her arm. "Warmth and kick at the same time. How strong do you want it?" This said as Millie settles the mugs down on the nearest table and unscrews the cap on the whiskey.
"Really strong," Tiriana confirms, her mouth curving up into what's almost a smile. She sets aside the work again, a haphazard pile on the couch where her feet just where, before she sits up, watching Milani pour out the drinks. "Still bitter about it, aren't you," she says in the meantime.
Milani pours a hefty amount of liquor into the mug an gives it a swirl, passes it over to Tiriana, then looks up at her in surprise. "Bitter?" The choice of words seems to perplex her and her head tilts to the side. "About?"
"The Snowasis," Tiriana says. She curls her hands around the cup, takes a sip, settles back against the couch again. "N'thei."
"Ohhhhh," Milani doses her own mug, but not as heavily as Tiriana's re-caps the bottle and settles back into her chair, looking honestly thoughtful. "Bitter, isn't the right word. Sad, mostly, that things just wound up getting so messed up. He's stubborn. I'm stubborn. You know."
"Bitter," Tiriana reinterprets, nevermind what Milani really just said. She takes another sip, a larger one which results in a sucked breath when she burns her tongue. The spiked klah gets a reproachful look. "Don't want me to have it. You hould know better than to have started something with him--he always wins." And now it's her that sounds just the teensiest bit bitter.
"I'd have to be angry or something to be bitter," Milani points out. "Do I look angry to you?" And she looks up at Tiriana quite directly. Nope. No anger. "I don't actually care about you doing the job, Tiriana, so long as, in the end, someone is taking care of the place the way it should be. So that the Reaches is you know, represented right." She stops though, sighs and nods. "Mm. He's like this mountain. Can't be moved. I thought ... I thought he cared, but I was wrong."
"Well, /I/ do it quite well. It looks better than ever. Busier, too," boasts Tiriana, though the truth of the hyperbole might be a bit questionable. Still, she adopts a superior look, one that lingers when Milani tries to describe N'thei. "Just because he doesn't care about the stuff /you/ care about--" she scoffs.
Up goes Milani's mug and she looks back over at Tiriana. "The spoons still have spots on them often," she notes matter-of-factly. "And I meant cared about the Weyr and the people in it. I mean, that's supposedly why he did the whole Crom thing, you know?"
"Don't use them if you don't like them." Not one to take criticism well, constructive or otherwise, Tiriana scowls. "And so? Don't exactly have the opportunity to go stealing back things every day. What do you want him to do in the meantime, go rescue lost puppies or something?"
"I expect him to act like a Weyrleader and take care of his duties," Milani says quite clearly. "Which he isn't, really. Turning the place into his own personal gambling den isn't really helping the Weyr out any." Ignoring the spoons.
Tiriana lifts her shoulders. "I don't have a problem with that," she says. "Pulls people in, doesn't it, gets them to pay for other stuff. Besides, if they're dumb enough to play him--." Another shrug: their fate is not her concern. "People ought to know what to expect from us by now. If it gets your panties in that much of a wad, you can always go live somewhere more respectable," adds the girl, mock-helpfully. "Like you said, not going to move /him/."
"Yeah, but are you sure he's putting those marks back into the Weyr?" Milani draws her mug up for a sip. "I guess there's just way too much history there and I can't ever quite trust him again, or him me. So there you go. I tried to bury the hatchet. Picked the wrong way to do it and now even apologizing just makes him angry." Another sip and she shakes her head. "It's not about my panties. It's about the Reaches, see. This is my home. Born and raised and it'll be a hot day Between before I let anyone drag it completely down."
"The Weyr doesn't need his marks," Tiriana says. "And if we're supposed to put everything we make on the side right back into the Weyr, why do they bother giving us stipends?" That point makes Tiriana's mouth spread into a triumphant grin, sure she's won that battle--but unable to let it rest all the same. "Ought to be careful about saying that--doesn't seem like you get much of a choice in what we do with the place."
"The point is, that he's using stuff that belongs to the Weyr and a very big Weyr space, to maybe profit for his own ends," Milani points out, hand tightening a little on the handle of her mug. "That's why it bugs me. That he's using what ought to rightfully belong to the Weyr for himself, or so it seems, you know? I could be wrong." She looks away, thoughtful expression on her face. "Wouldn't be the first time I've been wrong about N'thei, which is why we politely avoid each other." She sighs softly, lifts her shoulders. "It's my duty too, to try to take care of everyone as best I can. It's ... what I do best too. So there you go, it's a truce of sorts. I don't mess with him. He doesn't mess with me."
The explanation seems to confuse Tiriana; her brows furrow up as she tries to follow along with it. Eventually, she settles for asking, "So... where exactly is he supposed to gamble, then? Everything's the Weyr's." Pause. She studies Milani for another moment, mouth pursing. "Don't think it's a truce," she concludes. "Think it's, you figured out it's stupid trying to interfere and he doesn't give a damn what you do in the first place."
"I didn't say he couldn't gamble," Milani replies with a little shake of her head and props her mug up atop her knees, all folded up in her chair. "Doesn't matter, I don't poke my nose in there, and he stays mostly out of Stores. That way I don't have to wonder about whether or not anything shady is getting stored in places it shouldn't," the headwoman continues. "Probably more like that," she has to agree. "But it still means we're not fighting. Or stepping over each other's lines."
Tiriana snorts at that, plainly mocking now. "Yeah, sure, if you say so," she says, eyes rolling. "Still not a truce, though." And with a smug smile, she takes a longer swallow of her klah, now that it's cool enough to drink.
The headwoman looks back over at Tiriana, a faintly sad pull in the corner of her mouth. "Truth is, I miss him. Thought we were friends. Something else I was wrong about. But N'thei's really good at saying whatever will hurt the most." She wraps both hands around her mug, tilts it off her knees though the base still touches the fabric of her trousers as she sips. "He's a lot better at it than you and you manage to say some pretty nasty shit."
It's not, exactly, pity, but Tiriana's expression loses that self-satisfied edge; and she ensconces herself further in the couch and her drink. "He's like my daddy," she says finally, but however much she'll defend N'thei, she has to add now, "Except bigger and dumber." As for her own mouth? "I'm still pretty good at it," Tiriana says, just a touch defensive. "He's just old. Had more practice."
"Yeah?" Milani's gaze focuses more intently on Tiriana. "I didn't realize that your father was anything like that." Her head tilts to the side slightly. "Mm. But do you really want to be? Good at that kind of thing." Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Or just a lot meaner. Or ... something."
"He's like..." Tiriana struggles with that, a way to describe her father. "He's smart like Satiet, and mean like N'thei. Spends about as much time drunk and in fights and sleeping his way through the Weyr, too. /Nobody/ messes with my daddy." All the old pride's still there, at least at the end; but perhaps it doesn't sound quite so blindly adoring now. Tiriana sniffs. "Course I want to be good at it. Figured that'd be obvious by /now/."
"How does that work out for making sure the Weyr runs well?" Milani asks promptly, cup balanced atop her knees again with just one hand bracing it in place. She sounds curious, rather than challenging. "And why? Why be good at something that doesn't really make you better at your job? Something that isolates you away from almost everyone?"
Tiriana gives Milani an are-you-crazy look. "Isn't /that/ obvious? Nobody's going to mess around with High Reaches when they're all scared of Satiet, or N'thei, or whoever. Of me. You don't see people trying to steal our tithes since Crom, do you? That /is/ being better at your job." Pause. "Besides," she adds, stung by the latter remarks, "I don't need anybody else. And anyway, some people--the ones that matter--like me anyway."
"Scared only takes you so far. People get tired of being scared ... and then they do something about it," Milani says quietly. "And sometimes, it's not about need."
"And then you show 'em again just why they ought to be scared," is Tiriana's breezy answer to that. "Scared Crom, didn't we? Scared Telgar? They didn't want any part of it once they figured out what was going on." Her former home receives especial vitriol, her mouth twisting in anger that persists in a sharp challenge: "What's it about, then?"
"Not really," Milani says with a roll of her shoulders. "It was all deals, though I guess at the end, N'thei did something about Lord Crom, not too clear on that bit," she admits honestly and regards Tiriana curiously. "Why are /your/ panties in such a twist about Telgar?" Her mug lifts, tilts up towards her mouth, descends again. "Connections."
"How would you like it," Tiriana says, vicious, "if I threw you out of High Reaches for absolutely nothing. Hot day /between/ before you leave, and I made you anyway." Her hands clench up around her mug, remembering; the latter explanation earns only a token scoff. "Connected to the people I want to be connected to. Daddy. R'uen. Hell, even N'thei likes /me/."
"You know I wouldn't like it at all and in the end, so long as Satiet's Weyrwoman, you can't," Milani points out with another little shrug. "Besides, it wouldn't really be to your or anyone else's advantage. No one knows stores better than me. No one knows this /Weyr/ better than me. You'd be throwing away a very valuable resource." Millie settles her chin down atop her knees though, eyeing Tiriana closely. "Yes, but other than throwing your weight around, does that get you anywhere with people? Get them to do what you want them to do?"
Tiriana scowls. "Fine," she snaps. "Imagine Satiet mysteriously dies and me and N'thei are now running the place. And we through you out because you're insufferable and we don't really give a damn about what you know. We're not exactly reasonable people, you know." At least she's honest about that point. "You'd hate High Reaches too, then. Even nice little perfect you would hate it." This time, she leaves alone the subject of getting her way--that's a lost argument, even by her remarkably low standards.
Milani just fixes Tiriana with a long look. "That would suck," she says quite plainly. "But you and N'thei don't make up the sum of the Reaches. And thanks for the compliment. Perfect. I don't think anyone's ever called me /that/ before," she retorts with an eyeroll. "Chatterbox. Know-it-all. Idiot." She ticks off on her fingers. "Those I've heard though. And N'thei could blister walls of course."
"Yeah, well." Tiriana's voice grows bitter, and she adds, "Imagine we took a vote and everybody agreed, too. --It was sarcasm. That part, anyway; not the insufferable part. Think you're better than all of us. --Could probably do as good as him, too. You should hear my daddy." Her competitiveness prompts the latter, along with a sneer.
The last of Milani's whiskey-laced klah goes down the hatch and she slides her feet down out of the chair, goes looking for her shoes. "Just because a person has an opinion, doesn't mean they think they're better than everyone else. See, I was going to say the exact same thing about you, Tiriana. Because you just don't bother to talk to most anyone but that little handful of people you just named." She picks up clipboard and book, stacks the empty mug on top and reaches over to slide the bottle of whiskey towards the goldrider. "Keep the rest if you like." As she turns to go, Milani pauses to fit her foot more firmly back into her shoe. "Good night, Tiriana. I hope those hides don't put you to sleep before you're ready.'
Tiriana opens her mouth to snap off some other smart retort, but after a moment, she lets it go. Instead, she reaches over to snag the bottle and top up the mug again, nevermind there's not much of the klah left to temper it. Without looking back: "Yeah, sure. Night," she tells Milani, with half a wave.
When: Day 15, Month 12, Turn 18
Where: Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
What: Tiriana and Milani discuss their Weyrleader, among other things.
Inner Caverns, High Reaches Weyr
Within the labyrinth of interconnected chambers that make up the inner caverns, this large, long cavern serves both as a crossroads and a comfortable place for weyrfolk to sit, talk, and keep a nosy eye out for who's going where. Colorful, seasonal tapestries add warmth to the smooth walls and reduce echoes, while large niches house clusters of chairs, and a waist-high stone shelf along one wall provides a perch for drinks or work for residents on the go. Worn brass hooks often hold jackets or other outerwear with workboots stationed beneath, the transitory nature of the cavern lending itself to being treated as a sort of communal foyer where snowy or muddy gear can be kept outside of living quarters. Smaller, higher niches at regular intervals hold glowbaskets kept fresh during the daytime and allowed to dim somewhat at night.
The largest tunnels lead to the main living cavern, to the bowl and to the Weyr entrance, but it's still easy for the uninitiated to get lost within this maze.
Contents:
Milani
Obvious exits:
Living Cavern Nighthearth Kitchen Residential Hallway Infirmary Bathing Pools Bowl Weyr Entrance
In the afternoon, as the early dark starts to settle over the Weyr, things are settling down, for the most part. There's fewer people bustling around on chores and jobs and more heading toward the baths and the living caverns. Even Tiriana's being quiet, holed up on one of the couches off to the side, taking advantage of the fireplace there while she works her way through a stack of papers on subjects that seem to bore her, judging by the yawning.
Footsteps come down the hall and a moment later there's the distinct sound of someone flopping into one of the nearby chairs. Next there's shoes thunking on the floor and the creak of leather as Milani folds herself up into that seat. A clipboard is rested across the headwoman's knees along with a book that is very clearly not work. Millie props her chin up on one hand and looks over towards the goldrider. "Sleep-inducing stuff, huh?" she asks casually.
When footsteps start approaching, Tiriana spreads her own legs out over the length of her couch, claiming it without ever even looking up from her work. But a beat later, she does so, to see who she's warding off: Milani. "Yes," Tiriana says slowly, her mouth frowning. "What do you want?" Because clearly that is the only reason Milani would come over.
In the meantime, Milani's flipped open her book with her free hand and tips a look back up at Tiriana. "Nothing. I like this chair and I thought I'd get a little reading done since things have mostly quieted down for the day and we're not swimming in tithes anymore." Her gaze shifts to the hides though. "Is that something I can help you with though?"
With her couch successfully defended, Tiriana gradually pulls her feet back in, though her boots stay on the couch to get it dirtier. She flips through her papers for a few seconds, scanning them before she reaches over to hand them to Milani. "Trade you."
Milani eyes said boots for a moment. "You'll need to clean that up when you leave," she points out calmly, then looks up, brows lifted. The book is set aside and her /clipboard/ is offered to Tiriana, with a list of things to re-stock the nursery with on it, another with requistions from various riders. "I'll take a look," she says simply, "but I'm not offering to do it for you."
"This is why we hire people to do it," Tiriana blows off the cleaning. Despite her ease in doing so, however, the order itself still makes her scowl, and she deliberately ignores the clipboard. Instead, she leans half-over the couch arm to try to snag Milani's book. "I'll keep that in mind, next time you offer. You don't really mean it whne it comes down to it."
"Help, doesn't equal doing for, that could be the problem you know. We might not be speaking the same language. The clipboard is in the way which means the book is snaggable. History. Harper-written, but not necessarily dry, story-style.
"Does too," Tiriana contradicts that at once, even as she snatches the book and slides back down in her corner of the couch. "Unless you're going to teach me how to do it--and I know how to do it already. Probably better than you." With the book in hand, she flips through it quickly, then turns to the end, the last couple of pages, to read them rather than start at the beginning.
"Nope, that would usually mean splitting up the pile then, halvies, and meet halfway. Or if you're stuck on something, you know, yeah, /helping/. Doing for is just doing for." The headwoman observes the way the goldrider reads. "You know, a lot of it doesn't make sense without the beginning."
"But you're not offering halfway, either, are you," Tiriana points out, though without really paying attention. She's more involved in skimming over those last handful of pages, after which she shuts the book again, drops it back on the floor with a thud, and then gives Milani a funny look. "Makes enough sense. Like I'm going to sit and read through a couple hundred pages just to find out what happens."
"I would have if you hadn't jumped down my throat," Milani says calmly, flipping through what's on her clipboard now and drawing a pencil out of the loose bun at the back of her head, makes some marks on the list. Her eyes flick up to the goldrider and back down to the book, leans over to pick it up and dusts the cover off carefully. "Why not? It's a good way to pass the time."
Tiriana snorts. "Yeah, right. Maybe if you opened with that instead of just saying 'help' and then saying 'no help,'" she says. Her eyes roll, and she deliberately slides a little further down, stretches her legs out again, and picks up her work while Milani rescues the abandoned book. Tiriana doesn't actually start working again yet, however. Instead, she tips her head back to eye Milani. "Only if you don't have anything better to do," she points out.
Milani just smiles lopsidedly over at Tiriana. "I didn't say 'no help,' you just assumed, stole my book, dropped it on the floor and messed up the couch," the headwoman points out quite reasonably. The book is tucked between herself and the couch and she holds out her hand. "Would you like to split that halfway? Two pairs of eyes go faster than one."
"I was reading it." Pause. "And at least I didn't throw it back at you." Which Tiriana looks like she might be considering now, though she doesn't have the book any longer. Probably a good thing. At any rate, turning back, she makes a show of looking back through her stack, affecting a lofty, "I don't /need/ your help anyway."
"Suit yourself," Milani says with a little shrug, finishes marking up the list and draws out her book, settles in to read from where she left off.
And Tiriana, face successfully spited, returns to working with new energy. Unsurprisingly, it's not actually anything that hard or painstaking--not once she puts the actual effort into doing it, anyway.
Milani sneaks little looks up over the top of her book now and then, to check on the goldrider. The snick-flick of pages turning breaks t he silence now and then, but otherwise, the headwoman seems perfectly content to sit and read. After a suitably long while, Millie looks up and tucks a marker into her book. "Can I get you anything from the nighthearth? Or something stronger? THough I'm sure you have the favor of the staff in the Snowasis if you want something really good."
Such niceties! Tiriana doesn't trust them; when she looks up, her eyes are narrowed, expression suspicious. "I guess," she says, with a nod at length. "Something stronger'd be good--make all this more bearable, anyway." A nod takes in the papers that she's now taken it upon herself to do.
Settling her things neatly on her chair, Milani flashes the goldrider a smile. "Be right back. I think I know just the thing," the headwoman states. She's gone only a few minutes and returns bearing two mugs of creamed klah and a half-empty bottle of whiskey tucked up under her arm. "Warmth and kick at the same time. How strong do you want it?" This said as Millie settles the mugs down on the nearest table and unscrews the cap on the whiskey.
"Really strong," Tiriana confirms, her mouth curving up into what's almost a smile. She sets aside the work again, a haphazard pile on the couch where her feet just where, before she sits up, watching Milani pour out the drinks. "Still bitter about it, aren't you," she says in the meantime.
Milani pours a hefty amount of liquor into the mug an gives it a swirl, passes it over to Tiriana, then looks up at her in surprise. "Bitter?" The choice of words seems to perplex her and her head tilts to the side. "About?"
"The Snowasis," Tiriana says. She curls her hands around the cup, takes a sip, settles back against the couch again. "N'thei."
"Ohhhhh," Milani doses her own mug, but not as heavily as Tiriana's re-caps the bottle and settles back into her chair, looking honestly thoughtful. "Bitter, isn't the right word. Sad, mostly, that things just wound up getting so messed up. He's stubborn. I'm stubborn. You know."
"Bitter," Tiriana reinterprets, nevermind what Milani really just said. She takes another sip, a larger one which results in a sucked breath when she burns her tongue. The spiked klah gets a reproachful look. "Don't want me to have it. You hould know better than to have started something with him--he always wins." And now it's her that sounds just the teensiest bit bitter.
"I'd have to be angry or something to be bitter," Milani points out. "Do I look angry to you?" And she looks up at Tiriana quite directly. Nope. No anger. "I don't actually care about you doing the job, Tiriana, so long as, in the end, someone is taking care of the place the way it should be. So that the Reaches is you know, represented right." She stops though, sighs and nods. "Mm. He's like this mountain. Can't be moved. I thought ... I thought he cared, but I was wrong."
"Well, /I/ do it quite well. It looks better than ever. Busier, too," boasts Tiriana, though the truth of the hyperbole might be a bit questionable. Still, she adopts a superior look, one that lingers when Milani tries to describe N'thei. "Just because he doesn't care about the stuff /you/ care about--" she scoffs.
Up goes Milani's mug and she looks back over at Tiriana. "The spoons still have spots on them often," she notes matter-of-factly. "And I meant cared about the Weyr and the people in it. I mean, that's supposedly why he did the whole Crom thing, you know?"
"Don't use them if you don't like them." Not one to take criticism well, constructive or otherwise, Tiriana scowls. "And so? Don't exactly have the opportunity to go stealing back things every day. What do you want him to do in the meantime, go rescue lost puppies or something?"
"I expect him to act like a Weyrleader and take care of his duties," Milani says quite clearly. "Which he isn't, really. Turning the place into his own personal gambling den isn't really helping the Weyr out any." Ignoring the spoons.
Tiriana lifts her shoulders. "I don't have a problem with that," she says. "Pulls people in, doesn't it, gets them to pay for other stuff. Besides, if they're dumb enough to play him--." Another shrug: their fate is not her concern. "People ought to know what to expect from us by now. If it gets your panties in that much of a wad, you can always go live somewhere more respectable," adds the girl, mock-helpfully. "Like you said, not going to move /him/."
"Yeah, but are you sure he's putting those marks back into the Weyr?" Milani draws her mug up for a sip. "I guess there's just way too much history there and I can't ever quite trust him again, or him me. So there you go. I tried to bury the hatchet. Picked the wrong way to do it and now even apologizing just makes him angry." Another sip and she shakes her head. "It's not about my panties. It's about the Reaches, see. This is my home. Born and raised and it'll be a hot day Between before I let anyone drag it completely down."
"The Weyr doesn't need his marks," Tiriana says. "And if we're supposed to put everything we make on the side right back into the Weyr, why do they bother giving us stipends?" That point makes Tiriana's mouth spread into a triumphant grin, sure she's won that battle--but unable to let it rest all the same. "Ought to be careful about saying that--doesn't seem like you get much of a choice in what we do with the place."
"The point is, that he's using stuff that belongs to the Weyr and a very big Weyr space, to maybe profit for his own ends," Milani points out, hand tightening a little on the handle of her mug. "That's why it bugs me. That he's using what ought to rightfully belong to the Weyr for himself, or so it seems, you know? I could be wrong." She looks away, thoughtful expression on her face. "Wouldn't be the first time I've been wrong about N'thei, which is why we politely avoid each other." She sighs softly, lifts her shoulders. "It's my duty too, to try to take care of everyone as best I can. It's ... what I do best too. So there you go, it's a truce of sorts. I don't mess with him. He doesn't mess with me."
The explanation seems to confuse Tiriana; her brows furrow up as she tries to follow along with it. Eventually, she settles for asking, "So... where exactly is he supposed to gamble, then? Everything's the Weyr's." Pause. She studies Milani for another moment, mouth pursing. "Don't think it's a truce," she concludes. "Think it's, you figured out it's stupid trying to interfere and he doesn't give a damn what you do in the first place."
"I didn't say he couldn't gamble," Milani replies with a little shake of her head and props her mug up atop her knees, all folded up in her chair. "Doesn't matter, I don't poke my nose in there, and he stays mostly out of Stores. That way I don't have to wonder about whether or not anything shady is getting stored in places it shouldn't," the headwoman continues. "Probably more like that," she has to agree. "But it still means we're not fighting. Or stepping over each other's lines."
Tiriana snorts at that, plainly mocking now. "Yeah, sure, if you say so," she says, eyes rolling. "Still not a truce, though." And with a smug smile, she takes a longer swallow of her klah, now that it's cool enough to drink.
The headwoman looks back over at Tiriana, a faintly sad pull in the corner of her mouth. "Truth is, I miss him. Thought we were friends. Something else I was wrong about. But N'thei's really good at saying whatever will hurt the most." She wraps both hands around her mug, tilts it off her knees though the base still touches the fabric of her trousers as she sips. "He's a lot better at it than you and you manage to say some pretty nasty shit."
It's not, exactly, pity, but Tiriana's expression loses that self-satisfied edge; and she ensconces herself further in the couch and her drink. "He's like my daddy," she says finally, but however much she'll defend N'thei, she has to add now, "Except bigger and dumber." As for her own mouth? "I'm still pretty good at it," Tiriana says, just a touch defensive. "He's just old. Had more practice."
"Yeah?" Milani's gaze focuses more intently on Tiriana. "I didn't realize that your father was anything like that." Her head tilts to the side slightly. "Mm. But do you really want to be? Good at that kind of thing." Deep breath in, deep breath out. "Or just a lot meaner. Or ... something."
"He's like..." Tiriana struggles with that, a way to describe her father. "He's smart like Satiet, and mean like N'thei. Spends about as much time drunk and in fights and sleeping his way through the Weyr, too. /Nobody/ messes with my daddy." All the old pride's still there, at least at the end; but perhaps it doesn't sound quite so blindly adoring now. Tiriana sniffs. "Course I want to be good at it. Figured that'd be obvious by /now/."
"How does that work out for making sure the Weyr runs well?" Milani asks promptly, cup balanced atop her knees again with just one hand bracing it in place. She sounds curious, rather than challenging. "And why? Why be good at something that doesn't really make you better at your job? Something that isolates you away from almost everyone?"
Tiriana gives Milani an are-you-crazy look. "Isn't /that/ obvious? Nobody's going to mess around with High Reaches when they're all scared of Satiet, or N'thei, or whoever. Of me. You don't see people trying to steal our tithes since Crom, do you? That /is/ being better at your job." Pause. "Besides," she adds, stung by the latter remarks, "I don't need anybody else. And anyway, some people--the ones that matter--like me anyway."
"Scared only takes you so far. People get tired of being scared ... and then they do something about it," Milani says quietly. "And sometimes, it's not about need."
"And then you show 'em again just why they ought to be scared," is Tiriana's breezy answer to that. "Scared Crom, didn't we? Scared Telgar? They didn't want any part of it once they figured out what was going on." Her former home receives especial vitriol, her mouth twisting in anger that persists in a sharp challenge: "What's it about, then?"
"Not really," Milani says with a roll of her shoulders. "It was all deals, though I guess at the end, N'thei did something about Lord Crom, not too clear on that bit," she admits honestly and regards Tiriana curiously. "Why are /your/ panties in such a twist about Telgar?" Her mug lifts, tilts up towards her mouth, descends again. "Connections."
"How would you like it," Tiriana says, vicious, "if I threw you out of High Reaches for absolutely nothing. Hot day /between/ before you leave, and I made you anyway." Her hands clench up around her mug, remembering; the latter explanation earns only a token scoff. "Connected to the people I want to be connected to. Daddy. R'uen. Hell, even N'thei likes /me/."
"You know I wouldn't like it at all and in the end, so long as Satiet's Weyrwoman, you can't," Milani points out with another little shrug. "Besides, it wouldn't really be to your or anyone else's advantage. No one knows stores better than me. No one knows this /Weyr/ better than me. You'd be throwing away a very valuable resource." Millie settles her chin down atop her knees though, eyeing Tiriana closely. "Yes, but other than throwing your weight around, does that get you anywhere with people? Get them to do what you want them to do?"
Tiriana scowls. "Fine," she snaps. "Imagine Satiet mysteriously dies and me and N'thei are now running the place. And we through you out because you're insufferable and we don't really give a damn about what you know. We're not exactly reasonable people, you know." At least she's honest about that point. "You'd hate High Reaches too, then. Even nice little perfect you would hate it." This time, she leaves alone the subject of getting her way--that's a lost argument, even by her remarkably low standards.
Milani just fixes Tiriana with a long look. "That would suck," she says quite plainly. "But you and N'thei don't make up the sum of the Reaches. And thanks for the compliment. Perfect. I don't think anyone's ever called me /that/ before," she retorts with an eyeroll. "Chatterbox. Know-it-all. Idiot." She ticks off on her fingers. "Those I've heard though. And N'thei could blister walls of course."
"Yeah, well." Tiriana's voice grows bitter, and she adds, "Imagine we took a vote and everybody agreed, too. --It was sarcasm. That part, anyway; not the insufferable part. Think you're better than all of us. --Could probably do as good as him, too. You should hear my daddy." Her competitiveness prompts the latter, along with a sneer.
The last of Milani's whiskey-laced klah goes down the hatch and she slides her feet down out of the chair, goes looking for her shoes. "Just because a person has an opinion, doesn't mean they think they're better than everyone else. See, I was going to say the exact same thing about you, Tiriana. Because you just don't bother to talk to most anyone but that little handful of people you just named." She picks up clipboard and book, stacks the empty mug on top and reaches over to slide the bottle of whiskey towards the goldrider. "Keep the rest if you like." As she turns to go, Milani pauses to fit her foot more firmly back into her shoe. "Good night, Tiriana. I hope those hides don't put you to sleep before you're ready.'
Tiriana opens her mouth to snap off some other smart retort, but after a moment, she lets it go. Instead, she reaches over to snag the bottle and top up the mug again, nevermind there's not much of the klah left to temper it. Without looking back: "Yeah, sure. Night," she tells Milani, with half a wave.