[Log] Going Away
Who: Satiet, Tiriana
When: Day 2, Month 3, Turn 19
Where: Satiet and Teonath's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Satiet has news Tiriana doesn't want to hear.
Satiet's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
The weyr is average sized for a queen's weyr, but still larger than the living quarters of most people. It consists of three smaller alcoves that extend out from the main entryway, each area delineated by outer layers of filmy curtains and a middle sheath of heavy woolen fabric. The general decorations are simplistic, and the color coordination delicately feminine.
The entrance from the ledge leads into a small circular room large enough to hold six people comfortably, perhaps a few more. Sparsely decorated, a large stone table seems to be a fixture there, immovable through the turns with two cushioned wooden chairs of the most simplistic design around it. A hearth is situated against a wall, a smoke tunnel leading up and out somewhere into the bowl, and near this hearth is a large depression made from a dragon curling up, strewn with soft, mint-sweetened rushes. Pressed against the wall nearby is a single fold out cot, that for the moment is compacted and covered with a pale sunset yellow sheet.
Contents:
Satiet
Obvious exits:
Ledge Complex
In one of her most passive-aggressive moves to date, paperwork shows up on Tiriana's desk one day, sometime before lunch, but after the junior goldrider might have left her weyr: something magical for her to come home to. Aware that eventually Tiriana will see the documents, with their supposedly airtight language that removes her from High Reaches Weyr for the next month, Satiet waits in her weyr, the door leading to her weyr off the Weyrleaders' complex open enough so she's visible from the outside. The doctor is in, and will be accepting and is likely expecting visitors.
You can tell exactly when Tiriana sees those documents: it's sometime a while after she returns home for a bit, when the new arrival catches her eye. She investigates, starts cussing before she's even halfway read it. And just as Satiet knows she will, she goes storming next door, the documents crumpled in one fist which she waves around as she advances on Satiet. "This. This, the fuck?" she demands; not the most cogent of openings, but then she is pretty distraught just then.
When Tiriana finally sees those documents and the inevitable swearing starts, Satiet glances up from the hides she's looking over, the glasses she so rarely wears, perched on the very tip of her nose. Dark lashes sweep up, visible above the rim of her spectacles, and pale eyes fix to the entrance waiting for the owner of the colorful language to show up. She's seated at her large stone table, a mug of hot water with a lemon floating in it on hand, allowing the younger woman to speak her (albeit short) piece meanwhile affixing her pale, cold eyes upward. An appropriate length of silence, just long enough to get uncomfortable, results, then: "Yes. Yes, the fuck."
There's so much else Tiriana wants to say, but all those words seem to get wedged up in her throat along the way. The stretch of silence allows her expression to shift from angry to stricken. "I won't, I won't--I /can't/," she finally finds her voice. "You can't make me go away, not now." It's all more plea than order, though, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek hard.
"You haven't seen your father in a while." Flat statement, as if Satiet knows of every jaunt Tiriana takes out of the weyr. "You should see him now. You might not get the chance later." It's all in Tiriana's best interests of course and to go along with that theme, the slight woman eases to the edge of her seat to look all the more closely at the younger goldrider: through her glasses and then without them, as if a sharper image of Tiriana isn't all too pleasant. "It'll do you good to make connections outside of the Weyr. I'm reading Telgar's Weyrwoman neglected that part of your training." What she's been reading is set down on the table: a portion of Tiriana's file with the rest of the folder, so clearly marked, underneath it.
"The last time I tried making connections at Telgar," Tiriana says, jaw tight, "It ended up with me coming here." Beat. "And I already know everybody at Ierne," she tacks on after a moment, though she chooses not to address her father in particular. Still, that thought makes her mouth twist up unpleasantly. "Don't need to make any more connections there."
Simply, "Would you prefer another Weyr then? Fort, perhaps?" Satiet says that last with the slightest, not-so-pleasant smile. "Their Weyrwoman would probably be overjoyed to have you there."
Tiriana glowers then, but at that file more than Satiet's face. A shake of her head answers that; Fort seems like a more hateful option than Ierne suddenly. But still, plaintive, she asks, "Why do I have to go anywhere?"
"You never completed your training." It's really as simple as that, except should Tiriana ever get access to all the personnel files Satiet is privy to, not really. Though the junior goldrider before Lujayn was sent on these same missions, it seems to have skipped a generation of weyrwoman. Softer, "And-," the conjunction starts a new sentence but then halts abruptly, the thin woman's cheeks sucking in with a sharp intake of breath. It's released slowly, the pained contortions of her face visible despite her controlled management. Sharper than she must mean, given the way her cool eyes deice thereafter, and clearly not what she started off /wanting/ to say, she throws out, "Because I said so."
It's hard to argue with that. Tiriana, even, can't seem to find some way to fight that order, though she chews her bottom lip, thinking hard. Then, weight shifting: "It's just for a month? You promise? I can come back?"
For a woman who so rarely speaks above her sly, insinuating alto, there's a moment where Satiet appears to need to collect herself after such an outburst, sinking back into her seat and just breathing shallowly. The efforts to keep up the charade of cool and controlled tax the woman's patience tonight, despite the fact that this encounter was entirely expected. Her cheeks grow paler and her blue eyes cast away from Tiriana to the file and then to the papers the other goldrider holds. "If I promise it will -only- be for a month and that there will be a present for you when you come back, will you leave me alone and go start packing already?"
Tiriana hesitates, looks for a moment like she wants to continue that argument. But her inner twelve-year-old is perked up by mention of presents, and that, plus Satiet's current state, is enough to make her nod, although with a curl of her lip still. "Presents, right. Because I'm seven," though really, it seems to be working. She only lingers a moment longer. "Fine. Fine, I'll go. Goodbye," she says, and turns away to leave.
"Tiriana," the name is spoken to stay her exit. The name is spoken a little wistful beyond the command in her low alto.
So Tiriana pauses again at her name, glances back at Satiet with a hopeful expression, hovering just there.
There's the slightest smile, the smallest hook of one corner of her mouth lifting. "Thank you. For the other day. Enjoy your training." Gratitude given, Satiet returns to looking at personnel files, in particular Tiriana's again.
"Oh." Crestfallen for a moment--this is not the reprieve she wanted--Tiriana musters still a sad ghost smile for Satiet all the same. "Oh, yeah. Of course," she says, and her shoulders lift slightly: it's nothing. "Goodnight." And then, she turns again, heading out.
When: Day 2, Month 3, Turn 19
Where: Satiet and Teonath's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Satiet has news Tiriana doesn't want to hear.
Satiet's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
The weyr is average sized for a queen's weyr, but still larger than the living quarters of most people. It consists of three smaller alcoves that extend out from the main entryway, each area delineated by outer layers of filmy curtains and a middle sheath of heavy woolen fabric. The general decorations are simplistic, and the color coordination delicately feminine.
The entrance from the ledge leads into a small circular room large enough to hold six people comfortably, perhaps a few more. Sparsely decorated, a large stone table seems to be a fixture there, immovable through the turns with two cushioned wooden chairs of the most simplistic design around it. A hearth is situated against a wall, a smoke tunnel leading up and out somewhere into the bowl, and near this hearth is a large depression made from a dragon curling up, strewn with soft, mint-sweetened rushes. Pressed against the wall nearby is a single fold out cot, that for the moment is compacted and covered with a pale sunset yellow sheet.
Contents:
Satiet
Obvious exits:
Ledge Complex
In one of her most passive-aggressive moves to date, paperwork shows up on Tiriana's desk one day, sometime before lunch, but after the junior goldrider might have left her weyr: something magical for her to come home to. Aware that eventually Tiriana will see the documents, with their supposedly airtight language that removes her from High Reaches Weyr for the next month, Satiet waits in her weyr, the door leading to her weyr off the Weyrleaders' complex open enough so she's visible from the outside. The doctor is in, and will be accepting and is likely expecting visitors.
You can tell exactly when Tiriana sees those documents: it's sometime a while after she returns home for a bit, when the new arrival catches her eye. She investigates, starts cussing before she's even halfway read it. And just as Satiet knows she will, she goes storming next door, the documents crumpled in one fist which she waves around as she advances on Satiet. "This. This, the fuck?" she demands; not the most cogent of openings, but then she is pretty distraught just then.
When Tiriana finally sees those documents and the inevitable swearing starts, Satiet glances up from the hides she's looking over, the glasses she so rarely wears, perched on the very tip of her nose. Dark lashes sweep up, visible above the rim of her spectacles, and pale eyes fix to the entrance waiting for the owner of the colorful language to show up. She's seated at her large stone table, a mug of hot water with a lemon floating in it on hand, allowing the younger woman to speak her (albeit short) piece meanwhile affixing her pale, cold eyes upward. An appropriate length of silence, just long enough to get uncomfortable, results, then: "Yes. Yes, the fuck."
There's so much else Tiriana wants to say, but all those words seem to get wedged up in her throat along the way. The stretch of silence allows her expression to shift from angry to stricken. "I won't, I won't--I /can't/," she finally finds her voice. "You can't make me go away, not now." It's all more plea than order, though, her teeth biting the inside of her cheek hard.
"You haven't seen your father in a while." Flat statement, as if Satiet knows of every jaunt Tiriana takes out of the weyr. "You should see him now. You might not get the chance later." It's all in Tiriana's best interests of course and to go along with that theme, the slight woman eases to the edge of her seat to look all the more closely at the younger goldrider: through her glasses and then without them, as if a sharper image of Tiriana isn't all too pleasant. "It'll do you good to make connections outside of the Weyr. I'm reading Telgar's Weyrwoman neglected that part of your training." What she's been reading is set down on the table: a portion of Tiriana's file with the rest of the folder, so clearly marked, underneath it.
"The last time I tried making connections at Telgar," Tiriana says, jaw tight, "It ended up with me coming here." Beat. "And I already know everybody at Ierne," she tacks on after a moment, though she chooses not to address her father in particular. Still, that thought makes her mouth twist up unpleasantly. "Don't need to make any more connections there."
Simply, "Would you prefer another Weyr then? Fort, perhaps?" Satiet says that last with the slightest, not-so-pleasant smile. "Their Weyrwoman would probably be overjoyed to have you there."
Tiriana glowers then, but at that file more than Satiet's face. A shake of her head answers that; Fort seems like a more hateful option than Ierne suddenly. But still, plaintive, she asks, "Why do I have to go anywhere?"
"You never completed your training." It's really as simple as that, except should Tiriana ever get access to all the personnel files Satiet is privy to, not really. Though the junior goldrider before Lujayn was sent on these same missions, it seems to have skipped a generation of weyrwoman. Softer, "And-," the conjunction starts a new sentence but then halts abruptly, the thin woman's cheeks sucking in with a sharp intake of breath. It's released slowly, the pained contortions of her face visible despite her controlled management. Sharper than she must mean, given the way her cool eyes deice thereafter, and clearly not what she started off /wanting/ to say, she throws out, "Because I said so."
It's hard to argue with that. Tiriana, even, can't seem to find some way to fight that order, though she chews her bottom lip, thinking hard. Then, weight shifting: "It's just for a month? You promise? I can come back?"
For a woman who so rarely speaks above her sly, insinuating alto, there's a moment where Satiet appears to need to collect herself after such an outburst, sinking back into her seat and just breathing shallowly. The efforts to keep up the charade of cool and controlled tax the woman's patience tonight, despite the fact that this encounter was entirely expected. Her cheeks grow paler and her blue eyes cast away from Tiriana to the file and then to the papers the other goldrider holds. "If I promise it will -only- be for a month and that there will be a present for you when you come back, will you leave me alone and go start packing already?"
Tiriana hesitates, looks for a moment like she wants to continue that argument. But her inner twelve-year-old is perked up by mention of presents, and that, plus Satiet's current state, is enough to make her nod, although with a curl of her lip still. "Presents, right. Because I'm seven," though really, it seems to be working. She only lingers a moment longer. "Fine. Fine, I'll go. Goodbye," she says, and turns away to leave.
"Tiriana," the name is spoken to stay her exit. The name is spoken a little wistful beyond the command in her low alto.
So Tiriana pauses again at her name, glances back at Satiet with a hopeful expression, hovering just there.
There's the slightest smile, the smallest hook of one corner of her mouth lifting. "Thank you. For the other day. Enjoy your training." Gratitude given, Satiet returns to looking at personnel files, in particular Tiriana's again.
"Oh." Crestfallen for a moment--this is not the reprieve she wanted--Tiriana musters still a sad ghost smile for Satiet all the same. "Oh, yeah. Of course," she says, and her shoulders lift slightly: it's nothing. "Goodnight." And then, she turns again, heading out.