[Log] A Request
Who: Evali, Tiriana
When: Day 13, Month 6, Turn 26
Where: Records Room, High Reaches Weyr
What: Evali has a question.
The weeks leading up to a hatching are always busy-busy-busy, and today is no exception. Tiriana's going over stores lists one more time, eyeing the beastcrafter who's brought the Weyr some extra stock to prepare for the new mouths. "Fine. It's done, then. The headwoman'll pay you," she tells him after she signs off on the order and sends him on his way.
Nervous, to the point where one of her hands is visibly trembling, Evali hovers in the doorway; she and the beastcrafter nearly but not quite touch shoulders as he departs and she takes just one step closer, summoning up the last of her boldness in order to have this conversation at last. Inhaling deeply, she knocks on the wall, not willing to verbally interrupt the Weyrwoman. Or anyone, really, but /especially/ the Weyrwoman.
Tiriana, aware of someone's presence, doesn't really think about it before she starts rattling off her orders. "Is that the stores report? Let's see it and--" She breaks off, looking around when the person doesn't approach quickly enough; and finding Evali there instead of the assistant she expected, the Weyrwoman frowns. "What do you want?"
"I," says Evali, and her boldness drops off for about a second; she looks a little bit frozen in terror. Clearing her throat, she balls her fists and collects her confidence again -- an obvious process. "Wished to ask your consent, ma'am -- well." Breath. In, out: "More I wished to ask /Iovniath's/ consent to stand for her hatching. To see if she thought I would be a fit match for one of her children. It seemed -- sad, to me, that few consider the mother's thoughts on the matter."
Tiriana's brows furrow all up at the request, and she regards Evali with some combination of bemusement and suspicion. "You're a brave one," she finally decides, with a sniff. "Most people find it smarter to go kiss some searchrider's ass. Who are you, again?"
Evali stands stock still, not actually having collected enough latent bravery to actually look Tiriana in the /eye/. Oh, but she's trying -- this is just the nerve Evali has left. No one is, at present, giving birth. "Evali, Weyrwoman," she replies evenly, forcing her voice not to shake. She is Blood. She is strong. Really. "From the island, ma'am. The midwife. I am -- granddaughter of one of the elders."
"One of /those/," says Tiriana. This is not a compliment. Her eyes narrow a little more as she regards the younger girl, looking her up and down before she nods toward one of the chairs opposite her at the table. "Just why should I let another one of you on my sands?"
Good question. It's a good thing Evali wasn't expecting to be liked, or she would probably be disappointed here. Unfortunately, she does not seem to have thought as far ahead as making an argument in her own favor. "I am not," she manages, gently, "like a lot of the others, ma'am. I do not wish to cause your home any distress. I do not -- yell," she adds, recalling the chaos around the damaged egg. "I have no desire to upset the structure of this world. I do not want to claim land in my name; simply to fit in. I make no fusses around myself." She hesitates, then adds, more softly, "I also actually thought to request their mother's consent, unlike the others."
"So why ask," is the Weyrwoman's counter. She pushes away the lingering work in front of her, so she can lean back in her chair and continue making teenagers uncomfortable. "If you just want to put her head down and get on with your life. Why not do just that? Avoid me, Iovniath, this whole thing."
"Because I do not know," Evali counters, attempting to pull herself up to her full height and not cower behind her hair, "what it is that my life /is/, anymore. Perhaps my future is one of your Iovniath's children, after all, and I would hate to miss the chance if I had it."
Another moment, and then Tiriana seems to find something a little more--satisfactory in Evali's demeanor. She nods once, and shrugs too, lest that seem too agreeable. "Suit yourself, then," she answers. "They'll bring robes by for everyone to select from. And you're already in the barracks, so."
Evali doesn't droop, as that would be entirely counterintuitive; but she does /relax/, having not even seemed all that tense, externally or otherwise (as even mentally, her awareness wasn't really on it). There is a faint hint of a smile that grows, slowly, into a more genuine one. "I -- thank you, Weyrwoman," she says, and moves to turn around. "I will be out of your way, now."
A nod, and Tiriana's already turning back to the work that still needs preparing. "Good," she tells Evali, only a little distractedly. And, an afterthought: "Good luck."
"Thank you, ma'am," Evali calls, halfway over her shoulder, as she turns to the door -- and to track down brother or grandfather to tell them the news. "For both the welcome," if you could call it that, "and the luck." And then she is gone.