[Log] Comfort
Who: E'sere, Sinopa
When: Day 12, Month 5, Turn 1, 7th Pass.
Where: E'sere and Morelenth's Weyr; Living Cavern, High Reaches Weyr
What: After High Reaches' last disastrous 'Fall, Sinopa comes to visit and comfort E'sere.
Morelenth> Citalth reaches out gently with a soft silky brush full of mild cedar smoke and the chime of a muted bell. << Is yours at his weyr and free for a visit? >>
Morelenth> To Citalth: There's still an undercurrent of exhaustion lurking in Morelenth's words, but the bronze still replies, after a moment of conferring silence, << Yes, we are here. Come. >>
Morelenth> Citalth replies with a gentle touch of warmth and the suggestion that she and Sinopa will soon be gracing Morelenth's ledge with their presence.
Sinopa
Tight curls of black are cropped to rest just above the young woman's shoulders. The voluminous mass of curls helps to soften the angular lines of her jaw bone. Large dark brown, nearly black, eyes dominate her face. Set between these expressive dark eyes is a slightly crooked nose with that peculiar look of having been broken many Turns ago. A smattering of freckles decorates her nose and cheekbones, disrupting an otherwise fair complexion. She is of average height, but not so average build. Rather than possessing a womanly, curvy body, her frame consists of diminuitive curves and a small chest.
In general ensembles such as a skirt and top tend to be rather simplistic, and indeed there is an inherent simplicity to this outfit despite the delicate embroidery of the tunic. A brilliant red in color, and made of thick fabric, the tunic fits well to her form, with features such as a rounded scoop neck, sleeves that flare at the elbow, and a slight flaring just below her waist. A cream colored skirt fits snugly about her hips as it falls straight down to a few inches above her ankles. Beginning just above her knees are rows of barely pink ruffles. Completing the ensemble is a pair of tan and gold colored slippers. A necklace consisting of dark beads, either of some dark stone or polished wood, closely encircles her neck.
Threads of dark blue and black, wrapped with shining gold, form the intricate and betassled knot of a junior weyrwoman at High Reaches Weyr.
She appears to be about 19 turns, 3 months, and 14 days old.
E'sere's weyr is usually neat and proper, and the wingleader is usually likewise. Not tonight. A day after the disastrous fall over High Reaches Hold, the bed is unmade, the chair pulled away from his desk, as though all he's done since is pace between the two. He's pacing still, tired-looking, frowning, bedraggled; Morelenth is sprawled on his couch, eyes looking at the wall past his rider.
It is not too long after the mental inqueries and notification that the form of the youngest native gold comes into view. Touching down lightly on the ledge, the maple gold gently folds her wings in tightly, so as not to clutter up the bronze's ledge, as she lowers herself so that Sinopa may dismount and slide off onto the ground. Brushing herself gently, she fixes her skirt before entering into the picture of disorder. Despite any hardships and the general tenseness of the weyr in general, Sinopa has indeed spent the time to continue her routine, making a neat and tidy image herself. Cautiously she peers at the bronzerider, eyes glancing about the low-grade chaos of the weyr. "I came to see how you were doing..." she announces, a touch of concern in her voice.
"Far--" The curse is bitten back with an accusatory glance at Morelenth. E'sere frowns, brushes hands through his hair and turns to regard Sinopa, offering a not-quite-sincere smile. "Ah. Sinopa. Come--come on in. I'm... I'm sorry about the mess. It's been a, well, a long twenty-four hours," he notes, with a vague sort of gesture at one of the other chairs. "I'm okay."
Citalth continues to make herself comfortable on the bronze's ledge before she too allows her gently whirling gaze to drift across the interior of the weyr. Sinopa casts another glance at the mess, and then looks uneasily at the bronzerider. "I imagine so," she concedes, scuffling over to take a seat in the gestured chair. "How's... uh... Lexine?" she says, not quite so eloquent with her words. It's got to be a difficult topic to broach, that's for certain.
With effort, E'sere makes himself go sit alongside Sinopa, glancing sideways at her. He shrugs. "Alive, which is better than nothing," he says, without conviction. "But. How are /you/?" He turns to look at her, frowning. "And Citalth? You came through okay?"
"Will she be alright?" Sinopa asks, pressing on in that vein of questioning. "Is she awake?" The answer to his own question is given in the form of a nod. Though, despite her immaculate appearance, the young weyrwoman does appear to be a bit concerned, perhaps just a bit shell shocked by the experience. "Did your... friends make it out alright?"
E'sere's brows knit as he studies Sinopa and finally shrugs again. "Too early to say, I think. The healers... I haven't talked to them since last night--haven't been out." Grimly: "I'm almost afraid to. I think most of them, most of the ones I knew best, but..." He trails off, shaking his head. "When the queens' wing came in," he begins, picking delicately over the words. "When the queens' wing came in, you weren't leading it."
Sinopa watches the bronzerider with dark eyes glistening with that concern evident earlier. A slight nod follows the bronzerider's reply. Fair question, although it's not like Nenuith was leading the queen's wing either. But, Sinopa didn't really come to start pointing fingers or arguing about anything that happened. "Citalth and I were a bit distracted when Vasyath got hit... She just slipped in there and everyone started to follow /her/." No, Sinopa is hardly happy about this development.
E'sere's lips purse at Sinopa's answer, and he nods once, shortly. "I see," he tells her, glancing sideways at Morelenth. "She... it was not her place," he tells her slowly. "It was yours." A pause. "Don't let the rest of them walk over you, not now." It's strange, perhaps, that Sinopa is the one upset; E'sere now is still, more intense than usual as the visitor gives him a reason to compose himself.
Sinopa nods once more in response to this. "I... Citalth and I didn't want to cause trouble there. It was all very unexpected." Not to mention chaotic, as E'sere should well know. The queens wing isn't exactly used to dealing with heavy threadfall, and any sort of disagreement within the ranks could have been worse. "Is there... anything I can do for you?" she then asks, returning to the original intent of her visit.
"Be ready," is E'sere's succinct advice on that subject, as he gives Sinopa one last look. Then, restlessly, he stands, pacing over to his desk again, pushing in the chair and lingering against it. "No, no. I'm all right," he reassures her, casting a wry, lopsided smile back over one shoulder at her. "I'll be better for another night, and some sleep."
Sinopa follows the movements of the haunted looking bronzerider, not appearing to be entirely convinced of his statement. "Are you sure? Do you want to.. talk? Or have company? Have you eaten?"
E'sere turns, propping himself up against the edge of the desk. "Uh..." He fumbles for a moment, finally raking a hand through his hair and grimacing. "Dinner would be nice," he decides at last. "Dinner, and a bath. I feel disgusting. Company, though--company would be nice. If you're not busy? You must have some sort of work to do, now?" He still sounds marginally hopeful, however.
Sinopa shakes her head, and offers a small smile to the bronzerider. "No, I'm free for the evening." Subtle nuances that suggest she might not be welcome are, well, too subtle for her to pick up on and react to. Or she's just ignoring them in favor of forcing her company on E'sere. "Dinner would probably do you some good," she agrees, "And I wouldn't mind keeping you company at all."
E'sere returns a smile as well, nodding again. "Oh, good, good. Thank you. You can, ah, well--" he gestures a hand around the room and his own disheveled appearance "--you can see what I get up to when left on my own." It's a feeble joke, but a genuine smile as he starts to straighten himself up, brushing out his hair and tugging at his clothes. "I won't promise I'll be good company, but I'll try. Thank you, Sinopa."
Sinopa smiles warmly at the bronzerider's display of a slightly better mood. "I thought that with, well, things the way they were you could use some company." By which the weyrwoman apparently means away from other humans, since obviously there is a large bronze companion present. Softly she admits, "If my mother were in the same condition, I'd be worried too." For all her faults, Sinopa isn't cold and uncaring, she's just not the brightest of people. "Did you want to go to dinner now? Do you need to change first?"
E'sere glances down at himself a moment, then nods. "Ah, yes. I'll be just a moment, sorry," he tells her, heading over to his dresser. He finds fresh clothes quickly, and while changing, notes, "It's, well, that's it, yes, and then... Everything else doesn't help. It's all a mess, between I'zul and Ch'dais and... the Weyrleader." He shakes his head and finishes fastening the top buttons on his shirt. "I'm ready. Would Citalth mind... I hate to trouble Morelenth--he's still not back to himself, either. I keep telling him to go eat, but." A shrug, as he starts for the doorway.
Living Cavern
Large enough to hold the majority of the Weyr's human population, this cavern can become loud enough to deafen thanks to the acoustics caused by its size. The ceiling is so far overhead that it's cast into shadow, a darkness that is broken only by the spark and glitter of a lucky beam of light striking the minerals found in the rock walls. Below, most of the floor is covered with an assortment of long tables and benches. There are some smaller tables, surrounded by chairs, but privacy appears to be a rare thing in this bustling cavern. Large hearths line the west wall, with fires burning day and night to warm the food and drink that keep the Weyr's inhabitants fueled. The serving tables are near the hearth, opposite the dais that holds the single table reserved for the Weyr leadership and honored guests.
Upper Caverns (UC) Lower Caverns (LC) Kitchen (K)
Infirmary (INF) Bowl (B)
Sinopa has arrived.
Sinopa escorts E'sere into the living caverns, then, fairly leading the bronzerider. Interesting arrangement, hm? The hearths fall into her sight, and she gestures with her head towards them, "The hearths? Or somewhere else?"
"Ah, sure, that's fine," E'sere notes, glancing at the hearths. The bronzerider's hair is disheveled, his face tired and stubblier than usual, as though he's not thought to shave; but at least his clothes are fresh, and he seems to be in decent condition otherwise, though unusually content to be led about bythe younger weyrwoman.
Sinopa meanders on over to the hearths with E'sere then, finding them a nice spot to sit at, where there's those lovely comfortable chairs that are probably older than dirt, but all the more sinking for the turns of wear their springs and stuffing have endured. Releasing E'sere to take his seat, she too plops into one of the comfortable chairs. Apparently she's not about to go and fetch the bronzerider dinner as well...
Settling into his seat, E'sere casts a brief glance around the room and quirks a small smile for the weyrwoman opposite him. "What, you're not going to hand-feed me?" he wonders. "I'll get it, though--I should pay for your company, after all." He's already moving to stand again, moving for the serving tables. "What would you like, the usual?"
"I wasn't aware your condition required hand-feeding," Sinopa teases back, grinning and shaking her head lightly. "If you could just get me some klah and a sweetroll that would be wonderful, I ate some dinner earlier."
E'sere shrugs. "Ah, well. Worth a shot," he tells her lightly. "But klah and a sweetroll it is." He heads then over to the serving tables, gathering for himself a rather large meal, with a sweetroll on the side for Sinopa, and a pair of precariously-grasped mugs of klah. Then, returning, he sets the meal down between them and, with surprising restraint, starts to eat. "So," he begins between bites, but doesn't for the time finish.
Sinopa reaches out for one of the mugs that has been set on the table, cradling it in her hands for a few moments to absorb some warmth from the klah-heated ceramic. For the moment though, she leaves the sweetroll sitting on the bronzerider's plate. "So?" she echoes back, simply appearing comfortable to just watch the wingleader eat.
E'sere glances around the liveing cavern briefly, then gives in to his hunger to eat more quickly, and with less absolute propriety. Which is not to say he's digging in with both hands, but. "So," he begins again, chewing slowly. "I... don't know. I'm sorry, I'm not exactly sparkling conversation tonight," apologizes the wingleader after a moment. "Have you... have you had a chance to speak to anyone else yet?"
Surely the rumor mills have far better things to circulate, such as the conflict between I'zul and Ch'dais, or even speculations on E'sere's own mother, than the lack of manners a certain bronzerider is exhibiting on this one evening. Nodding slightly, at E'sere's excuse, her motions then turn to a light headshake. "No... not yet..."
"I haven't, either," answers E'sere between bites. "Obviously." He's silent a moment, working his way through his meal. "I--I need to, though. I can't... We--us, my riders, the Weyr--we have a right to know what the /shards/ happened up there, and why." There's a flicker of anger beneath those words, hastily restrained; blandly, E'sere notes, "Ah, pardon my language, weyrwoman." Manners are too ingrained in him now to be completely abandoned, even now.
Briefly Sinopa's glance sneaks to the side, looking for who might have perhaps witnessed the bronzerider's outburst. "Are you going to speak with Ch'dais?" she asks aloud, "Or ask the other riders for their... accounts of what happened?" Twirling her mug idly in her hands, she lifts it up for a long drawn out sip.
E'sere, hunching his shoulders, stares at his plate and mug a moment, frowning. "I thought," he answers slowly, this time keeping his voice down, "I'd start with the wingleader--" I'zul, of course "--and go from there, but yes." A pause. "I want to trace this tragedy back to its source. Whose mistake it was." The latter words are given a subtle inflection, as though he's not sure he's right on that point.
"That sounds like an investigation," Sinopa states, pausing for a moment. "And a large one, too." Setting the mug down on the table again, she reaches towards E'sere's plate for that previously requested sweetroll. A small piece is broken off and popped into her mouth and she chews on it a moment. "I wonder how many others have the same thoughts."
E'sere slides his plate closer to Sinopa as she reaches forward, nodding. "I don't know," he answers her after a moment, shaking his head. "I imagine a number would like to, but nothing will come of it. Not everyone has access to the same... tools I do."
Sinopa quirks a brow at the bronzerider's response, looking interested after his last comment. "What sort of tools do you mean?" Another piece of the sweetroll is ripped off the main chunk and nibbled on. Someone probably should have procured napkins.
E'sere quirks a brow, glancing upward at the goldrider opposite him. "Connections, training, abilities, contacts. Tools," he explains. "If you don't know the people to start with, it's much more frowned upon to go prying." Pause. "Not," he adds sadly, "that I'm expecting much cooperation, on certain parts."
Sinopa had, admittedly, been expecting to hear the names of 'tools' rather than such things as abilities and training. There's a faint nod on the goldrider's part. "I imagine some people aren't going to be quite so willing to tell you the truth." And of course, other's might not even talk about anything.
"People don't want to be the one who makes a mistake," observes E'sere. Then, silence, as he scrapes his fork idly across the mostly empty surface of his plate. The meal has vanished surprisingly quickly, and E'sere after a moment more glances up, offers Sinopa a small smile. "Let's not talk about that, though. It's... depressing. What was next on our list, a bath?" he asks.
"You're right, we shouldn't be thinking about that right now..." Sinopa says, slightly chagrined. Some good she is at distracting the bronzerider from the gloomy situation that's fallen upon the weyr. For a moment she ponders the 'list' that was made. "Yes, a bath."
E'sere is already sliding to his feet, plate and mugs left for the serving girls to pick up. "Ah, good. Let's head that way--if you'd like to, of course?" Belatedly, he defers to the weyrwoman, quirking a brow curiously.
"Of course I'll accompany you," Sinopa says, getting to her feet as well. The unfinished portion of her sweetroll is left on the empty bronzerider's plate, and she quickly licks the stickiness off her fingers.
E'sere smiles again at that, his expression lightening slowly for Sinopa's continued company. "Thank you," he tells her mildly, offering an arm again before starting toward the hot springs.
Sinopa made a point of coming to keep her fellow conspirer, and perhaps also friend company after these unsettling events that must have affected him more so than most others, and she's sticking by that. "You're very welcome," she says, smiling brightly as she takes his arm.
Sinopa goes home.
Sinopa has left.
Citalth goes home.
Citalth has left.