[Log] Not What You Expected
Who: E'sere, Sian
When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 1, 7th Pass.
Where: Lower Caverns, High Reaches Weyr; Sian's Office, High Reaches Weyr
What: E'sere doesn't live up to Sian's expectations.
Lower Caverns
This is the residential hub of the Weyr, an area honeycombed with rooms and tunnels. To the south are doorways that lead to the baths and laundry. The southeast is given over to the tunnel that takes one away from High Reaches. A hallway that leads to residents' private rooms wanders off to the southwest, not far from the door that hides the dormitories. The living caverns are to the north.
As a high traffic area, there is little decoration to be seen. Small plates beside each door or tunnel mark the room's purpose and some effort has been made to soften the coldness of the stone by scattering rugs over the floor, but for the most part this is a thoroughfare rather than a true destination.
Contents:
Sian
Living Caverns (LC) Residents' Dormitories (RD) Baths (B) Private Rooms (PR) Exit Tunnel (ET)
Sian
A crown of ebony silk braids, caught in back with a silver clip, the remaining skein as thick as a man's upper arm is captured in leather thong died to match her gown, lacing into one long tail that reaches the back of her knees. Legendary beauty has a way of often disappointing. Not in this case. Creamy skin, a blush of health to cheeks and a sparkle of intelligence in eyes of sapphire blue. A slender nose, full lips, and a figure that this woman of forty-odd turns could rival a girl of twenty years her junior.
Dark blue brushed wool is trimmed in grey and black thread needlework, fitted with a scooped neckline to best reveal her assets, and left to spill in soft folds to the tops of black-dyed leather short boots. Sleeves are gathered at the wrist with bone buttons, revealing elegant hands bearing a wedding ring on one hand, an heirloom piece of sapphire and garnet on the other. A soft leather belt, hand-worked with glowing sapphires and jet beads to match the gown, wraps her waist, holding an eating knife in its scabbard, a small pouch and a ring of keys.
E'sere
Shaggy, stick-straight brown hair gives this young man a more youthful appearance, disguising his 28 turns. E'sere is tall, rangy, with long limbs well-muscled from turns as a rider. His features are strong, distinctly masculine and rugged in their sharpness. A hawkish Roman nose centers his face; above it, eyes of nondescript hazel and thick brows are half-obscured by a too-long forelock. Thin lips line his mouth. Below that mouth is a strong, sharp chin, his jaw lined with a perpetual five-o'clock shadow.
E'sere is dressed neatly and stylishly, taking great pride in his appearance. His shirt is made of simple white fabric; his pants of a heavier weave that has been tailored to fit him. Even his boots are kept quite clean, polished, and with minimal scuffing and wear. He also wears a thick jacket to keep out the cold of High Reaches, though it seems a bit more battered than the rest of his attire. The knot he wears is the rather complicated mix of threads that denotes a bronzeriding wingleader.
Sian is coming out of the baths, hair damp and robe fastened demurely. Sort of. She pauses and nods to the servant at her side. "Bring my things to the office and I will change there, then head back to the weyr."
The hallway that leads to the private rooms of the Weyr's residents.
E'sere, stepping out of the hallway toward the private rooms, E'sere is carrying on a light conversation with one of the Weyr's assistant headwomen, nothing particularly deep on the docket for the night. She, however, pauses near the baths and offers a good-bye to the wingleader before heading inside, and he, deprived of company, lingers only a moment before turning to go.
Sian glances up at the conversation and clears her throat, a flicker of a smile curling her lips. A woman who knows precisely what she wants when she sees it - kind of smile. "Good evening, E'sere."
E'sere pauses at that, glancing over his shoulder. "Lady," he greets her politely, dipping his head once as he turns to face her. "How are you, ma'am?"
"Quite well, now." Sian replies, offering one hand. "It has been too long since I've seen you unencumbered by your followers. Would you care to join me in my office for some wine or klah?"
E'sere arches a brow at the request, but he nods agreeably. "Certainly, Lady," he tells her politely. "I'd be glad to."
Sian heads towards the private rooms, the hem of her robe lifted just enough to reveal her slippers and no more.
Sian's Office/Retreat
A simple chamber, transformed into a comfortable office and retreat. Thick floor cloths are splashes of bright color and warmth underfoot and a fine cabinet holds books, writing tools and hides. An elegant old-craft style desk and chair is set at an angle to the room, the surface of the table kept neatly ordered with work in process and work completed.
A small hearth offers warmth with two comfortable chairs and a low table before it.
Contents:
Sian
Out (O)
Sian enters the room and murmurs to the servant there. "Please see to a pot of klah and a bottle of wine. Thank you." She finds a seat and gestures to the other across the low table by the fire. "So, what have you been keeping busy with, these days?"
Following easily after the holder, E'sere glances around briefly when they enter her office, though overall he's not too curious. He settles himself into the offered chair and folds hands in his lap, rather like a child meeting with a teacher. "The usual, ma'am: wing duties and 'Fall, along with the rest of the Weyr," he answers her question lightly, offering a small smile.
"Of course." Sian murmurs, nodding to the servant as she gestures to the beverages and sweets on the tray. "Might I impose upon you to serve, E'sere?" Her gaze remains on your face, reading every nuance of body language and expression available.
E'sere's brows arch, a question in his expression, though he doesn't give it voice. He gives his head a brief shake, declining the offers food with a murmured 'no, thank you.'
"I have...questions for you." Sian offers quietly, claiming a cup of wine. "I would ask your opinion on several matters that have reached my ears - specifically those regarding the Fall over High Reaches recently."
Ah. First, realization, then resignation, crosses E'sere's face, ending with a wry smile. "Yes, ma'am. I'd be glad to, though... I don't think I'll be much help."
"Of course not. Why on earth would the future weyrleader of High Reaches be interested in speaking with the Lady High Reaches about a matter of such...delicacy?" Sian murmurs, eyes on her cup, then slowly shifting to peer subtly through her lashes at you. The lady's charms are being employed at their fullest, yes.
"You'd have to ask him that, ma'am," notes E'sere blandly, with a smile equally bland. "He's not told me anything."
"I am asking him." Sian replies. "Unless you feel that another will be taking over as future weyrleader?"
"Flights are fickle, ma'am," notes E'sere then, unfailingly polite. "There's never a guarantee in them. And as I refuse to let Morelenth even consider chasing Vasyath..." He trails off with a mild smile.
"Of course not. But there will come a time..." Sian replies. "When the old retire and the young take control."
E'sere nods. "Yes, ma'am," he answers her simply. "But that isn't now, nor in the near future. In the meantime, I am only myself, E'sere, a simple wingleader."
"What is near future? One Turn? Two?" Sian shrugs. "As for 'simple wingleader' that's about as accurate as claiming I am but a mere lady of the Blood instead of Lady High Reaches." A sip of wine and she toys with the goblet. "You're disappointing me, E'sere. Here, I was led to believe you were much more capable of intrigues than this."
E'sere's brows arch. "You'd have to ask Mother that question, Lady," he points out mildly. Then, vaguely curious, he wonders, "Oh, ma'am?"
"Yes, E'sere?" Sian murmurs.
"Sounds like, ma'am," notes E'sere lightly, "someone's been telling stories of me." He shrugs then, offering the woman opposite him a small smile. "I don't know what you were led to expect." The latter words contain a hint of a question, echoed in his arched brows.
"Obviously something more than has been delivered." Sian baits. "And here I thought you had inherited your mother's skill in intrigues and diplomacy." A soft sigh and she swirls the contents of her cup.
"Forgive me, ma'am," remarks E'sere dryly, "if I'm less than eager to divulge my every thought and secret to someone I hardly know."
"Every thought and secret? I care not for the color of your linens or the name of your latest fur-warmer, E'sere. However, I am not without influence." Sian replies a touch sharply as if to remind you to whom you speak.
E'sere's expression remains bland, a innocuous smile hovering about his lips. "In Weyr matters, ma'am?" he inquires after a moment.
"You'd be surprised." Sian replies, murmuring softly. "When Hold and Weyr are so closely tied to the Caucus, who knows what, or whom, influences what?"
E'sere pauses a moment, nodding slowly. "Perhaps, then, ma'am," he tells her, "you can explain what, precisely, you expected of me?"
"Too much, it seems." Sian replies quietly. No further elaboration. If you can't dance the dance, she's not going to call out the steps.
E'sere is silent moment longer, studying the older woman, then nods. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, ma'am," he tells her. "If you need anything else...?"
"Good eve, E'sere. However, remember that if you find you wish to speak sometime, where my door is, yes?" Sian murmurs, gaze lifting from the cup in her hands to meet your face.
"Of course, ma'am," answers E'sere simply, with a small smile for the holder. "And should you change your assessment, as well..."
"My assessment? Only you can change that, wingleader. Show, don't tell, as they say." Sian replies.
E'sere nods once more, standing. "Yes, ma'am," he agrees simply, turning to slip out.