[LOG] - Weylaughn: Tea and Talk with a Goldrider
Title: Tea and Talk with a Goldrider
Summary: Weylaughn finally catches up with Weyrwoman Azaylia. It's all business - and maybe a little tea.
Characters: Azaylia, Weylaughn
Location: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
Time: Day 10, month 12, turn 35 of Interval 10
RL Date: 09/29/2014
A day of steady snowfall slowly draws to its end, the temperature dropping after Rukbat below the horizon. There's still slivers of sunlight left, which means that the Weyrwoman is only beginning to wind down from her duties within the council chamber. Witk the Weyrleader tending to his own duties, Azaylia has claimed that large chair as hers, pouring over the papers in front of her. For as long as she's gone uninterrupted, she's adopted a cozy curl in the cushioned seat, papers in one hand with a cooling cup of tea in the other. Her posture is atrocious. Still, if anyone were looking for the goldrider, they'd be pointed toward the council chambers.
Scheduling has been problematic at best for the Holder that's been making regular visits to the Weyr. There's no one to really blame for it, either - but, the moment Weylaughn's able to suss out just where one of the occupationally elusive duo is located, he hustles. He's clad in his finest, most formal outfit; layers of black and blue and white with silver. As soon as he sets foot just inside the chamber, he peels back the hood of his cloak and takes a moment to clean off his boots with a quick series of stamps before venturing further. "Weyrwoman?" The title is intoned with a clearly Cromese accent, if twisted slightly by the dialect of his home Hold.
''Surely'' High Reaches' Weyrwoman has finery to rival a young Holder. Unfortunately, it's tucked in her wardrobe somewhere. Instead, Azaylia's dark navy dress was fashionable last year, and though clean it is far from regal. She peers from over her paperwork at Weylaughn, furrowed brows paired with her startled stare-- did she forget about a last minute meeting? His face isn't terribly familiar so she doesn't panic, the goldrider slipping out of the chair to stand and take a step toward him. "Yes?" Her soft smile is tainted with overwhelming curiosity, "How can I help you?"
Ah! Acknowledgment. At the Weyrwoman's approach, Weylaughn steps into a respectful bow. It's well-practiced enough; dutifully and painfully formal. When he straightens, he takes a moment or three to properly study the goldrider properly Her smile is mirrored with one of his own, even if that smile is fleeting and quickly schooled into a serious line. "I apologize if I'm interrupting anything," he offers, with a glance angled toward where she was and, most notably, the pile of paperwork there. "I'm Weylaughn of Seven Echoes Hold, beholden to Crom Hold. If you've a moment, I would like to speak with you. It's been rather... trying to get in touch with you and your Weyrleader." The latter bit is apologetic and understanding, rather than an accusation.
Azaylia stands just a bit taller at his bow, clearly caught off guard by such proper formality. At least she doesn't seem ''too'' uncomfortable, taking it in stride as her smile warms at the name. "Weylaughn. Now that sounds familiar." For all that she may have caught bits of it once or twice in the midst of her busy schedule. "No no, I'm sorry it's taken you this long." Her own apology comes with a gentle touch to his arm, fingertips urging him to come along though they are otherwise feather-soft. "Do you drink? Or would you like a cup of tea?" Though she's helped herself to the spiced brew, there's still enough left to share. At least she's a gracious hostess, intending to have Weylaughn settled to his liking before she offers him the nearest seat. "Now that you have me, what is it that you wanted to speak about?"
Weylaughn is, if nothing else, well-trained. The touch does precisely what the Weyrwoman intends and he complies, keeping pace with her as she ushers him onward. "Ah, I'm glad it does. I know you and and the Weyrleader have been busy - and I feared things would end up falling through the cracks, so to speak." A lopsided, downright boyish smile emerges. "I drink, but the tea sounds better given the weather. Nothing warms the bones half as good as a good tea. Thank you." Matters will sort themselves out after a fashion and he will sit, if with a straight-backed and square-shouldered posture that further underscores his upbringing. His hands rest in his lap for now, loosely knotted, as he explains, "I will try to keep it brief. Ah. I'm the son of Yewlani - and Lord Aughan is my father. My mother, Yewlani, has letters confirming this - and a large sum of marks that were sent as compensation." He pauses to let that sink in before continuing: "I am looking for support to secure my place as an heir to Crom Hold. I realize the support of a Weyr is limited in such things, but I can offer to do my best to see to it that your fine Weyr gets all it deserves in return."
Once there is a cup of tea for each of them, Azaylia finally returns to the Weyrleader's chair, sitting up straight with hands folded atop the table. Her paperwork has been tidied, the top pages hold the more mundane tasks that a Weyrwoman tends to, far form sensitive information. "You're very welcome. Always happy to share a cup." Thankfully she isn't taking a sip when Weylaughn cuts to the chase, his claim causing a flicker behind widening brown eyes. To her credit she doesn't argue or seem suspicious, left blinking at the young man as she digests his words. "That's... quite a claim." Because it ''is''. Finally managing to school her expression, "I... would like to see this letter. I'm sure K'del will also find this very interesting." Stunned yet polite, "I would like to offer support to right a wrong, but..." Lord Aughan. "You'll understand if I find this a little hard to believe?" An apology, of sorts.
The tea will go untouched throughout Weylaughn's explanation but, as soon as he's done, he'll steal a sip and let that sink in with a faint sigh of pleasure. It's a moment of relief - and then he's snapping back into the moment, somber and serious in a way that seems ill-suited to him. "I understand it sounds... ridiculous. Preposterous, even. But, she's shown me the letters, the marks." He spreads his hands in a gesture that's as apologetic as it is placating. "As far as ''I'' can tell, they're genuine," but he seems to realize the limitations of that assertion as he adds, "but I am sure you or the Weyrleader or someone trusted to you would be able to get one or two for an independent verification." He's earnest enough in that, adding with a trace of wry humor, "She'd hardly trust me with them, but I don't blame her." His hands drop to his lap again and he offers a solemn nod. "I do understand - and I'm glad, frankly, that you didn't react as I feared you might. I'm not asking for you to immediately throw all support behind me without confirming the documents - but I do want to make sure that you're at least... ah, amenable to the whole idea."
Azaylia listens with rapt attention, gaze still steadily curious rather than as intense as that flicker from before. "I will bring this up with K'del, of course. But it might help for you to explain things in your own words." At least he's managed to catch one half of the leadership by now. It's now that she brings her own cup to her lips, drinking deeply so as to give her a moment to think. A notion strikes her then, the Weyrwoman sitting up to ask, "Why ''now''? You're..." Terrible at age, except when it ''counts'', "A man." Her gentle inspection lifts back to his face, "Why wait so long? Wouldn't it have been easier on you to say something sooner?" Of course it isn't outright suspicion that fuels the question, but concern for what this has done to wee-Weylaughn. ''If'' it is in fact true. There's a faint nod, "I like to... I ''try'' to keep an open mind. That's all I can promise you." Until the truth is revealed.
It's the tea that he returns to again, timing those drinks with her words. Weylaughn dips his head once in a shallow, acknowledging nod, but it takes him a moment to conjure the words. "From my understanding, my mother has always been sympathetic to High Reaches Weyr. When things grew... complicated between Crom and the 'Reaches and Telgar Weyr, she felt it best to try to garner Lord Aughan's favor." His mouth pulls to one side, a half-frown that struggles with the choice to dissipate or fall to completion. "When he found out she was pregnant, he denied her, her pregnancy, and all of it. She was forced to flee to Seven Echoes - but not before she secured some compensation." The tip of his tongue snakes out to wet his lips. "She didn't want me to try until I was ready. With the birth of Lady Ienavi's daughter, Haille, it seemed... necessary and appropriate to start pressing for the claim I was previously denied. I realize it sounds peculiar, but it would have been worse if the attempt had been made when I were younger and unable to speak for myself." As if he ''really'' is, all things considered - but he seems convinced enough.
It's now that Azaylia's brow furrows, "Is that why your mother isn't here to support what you're saying?" So he can speak for himself? Once the Weyrwoman realizes she's dipping into that well of suspicion that has grown over the turns, she clears her throat and straightens even more. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to take in." There's a breathless sigh, one hand resting delicately atop the other as she nods, "I think the most important thing is for us to see those letters. And speak with your mother, if possible." There might be a pinch to her lips at mention of Ienavi, an for a moment she looks the part of a stern, unyielding leader. It fades once she flicks her gaze back to Weylaughn, melting into that warmth from before. "We'll get this mess sorted out. Until then, it may take some time." But he has already proven his patience.
Another dip of the head, though this one's a touch vehement. "Yes, Weyrwoman. In part, anyway. She has five other children and a fair bit of the Hold to look over, too." Busy, busy woman, that would be Yewlani. As for Weylaughn, he simply shakes his head at her apology and allows a tilted, but understanding, smile to claim his features. "There is no need to apologize. I'm completely aware of how it must seem." His earnesty is plain - but his smile falters just a little at the last. It straightens itself out in short order, however. "As you wish, Weyrwoman. It might be easier to visit her at the Hold; she doesn't leave often, these days. She's come here a time or two but..." he trails thoughtfully. "I'm sure she'll come if it's necessary." And, with that, he pushes to his feet to offer another bow, less formal than the first but still a bow. "I thank you, Weyrwoman, for your time - and your patience. I've waited turns for this - so waiting some months more to get it sorted ''properly'' is no difficulty at all."
"I understand being busy." Azaylia is as accommodating as always. "If necessary, it ''is'' easier for dragons to travel than Holders." Not that she's making plans just yet. Yewlani might have to make herself unbusy, if the Weyrleaders call for it. As Weylaughn stands so does she, unhurried but polite, accepting his bow with a gentle nod. "You're welcome. High Reaches duties to Seven Echoes Hold." With a suddenly bright smile, "I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this." Uplifting, for those who like to think positively. "Have a good night, Weylaughn." She'll be looking to get started on her own evening, beginning to tidy things up in the council chambers before retiring to her private weyr.
"Of course." A final ducking of his head in a shallow bow ends with Weylaughn straightening up and offering one of his brighter smiles to the goldrider. "And duties of Seven Echoes to High Reaches Weyr. Take care - and be well, Weyrwoman. I trust all of this will get sorted out soon enough." And, with that, he turns briskly on a heel and ventures back out into the snow and cold of the world outside - with the hood securely in place, of course, and a lightness to his step.
Summary: Weylaughn finally catches up with Weyrwoman Azaylia. It's all business - and maybe a little tea.
Characters: Azaylia, Weylaughn
Location: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr
Time: Day 10, month 12, turn 35 of Interval 10
RL Date: 09/29/2014
A day of steady snowfall slowly draws to its end, the temperature dropping after Rukbat below the horizon. There's still slivers of sunlight left, which means that the Weyrwoman is only beginning to wind down from her duties within the council chamber. Witk the Weyrleader tending to his own duties, Azaylia has claimed that large chair as hers, pouring over the papers in front of her. For as long as she's gone uninterrupted, she's adopted a cozy curl in the cushioned seat, papers in one hand with a cooling cup of tea in the other. Her posture is atrocious. Still, if anyone were looking for the goldrider, they'd be pointed toward the council chambers.
Scheduling has been problematic at best for the Holder that's been making regular visits to the Weyr. There's no one to really blame for it, either - but, the moment Weylaughn's able to suss out just where one of the occupationally elusive duo is located, he hustles. He's clad in his finest, most formal outfit; layers of black and blue and white with silver. As soon as he sets foot just inside the chamber, he peels back the hood of his cloak and takes a moment to clean off his boots with a quick series of stamps before venturing further. "Weyrwoman?" The title is intoned with a clearly Cromese accent, if twisted slightly by the dialect of his home Hold.
''Surely'' High Reaches' Weyrwoman has finery to rival a young Holder. Unfortunately, it's tucked in her wardrobe somewhere. Instead, Azaylia's dark navy dress was fashionable last year, and though clean it is far from regal. She peers from over her paperwork at Weylaughn, furrowed brows paired with her startled stare-- did she forget about a last minute meeting? His face isn't terribly familiar so she doesn't panic, the goldrider slipping out of the chair to stand and take a step toward him. "Yes?" Her soft smile is tainted with overwhelming curiosity, "How can I help you?"
Ah! Acknowledgment. At the Weyrwoman's approach, Weylaughn steps into a respectful bow. It's well-practiced enough; dutifully and painfully formal. When he straightens, he takes a moment or three to properly study the goldrider properly Her smile is mirrored with one of his own, even if that smile is fleeting and quickly schooled into a serious line. "I apologize if I'm interrupting anything," he offers, with a glance angled toward where she was and, most notably, the pile of paperwork there. "I'm Weylaughn of Seven Echoes Hold, beholden to Crom Hold. If you've a moment, I would like to speak with you. It's been rather... trying to get in touch with you and your Weyrleader." The latter bit is apologetic and understanding, rather than an accusation.
Azaylia stands just a bit taller at his bow, clearly caught off guard by such proper formality. At least she doesn't seem ''too'' uncomfortable, taking it in stride as her smile warms at the name. "Weylaughn. Now that sounds familiar." For all that she may have caught bits of it once or twice in the midst of her busy schedule. "No no, I'm sorry it's taken you this long." Her own apology comes with a gentle touch to his arm, fingertips urging him to come along though they are otherwise feather-soft. "Do you drink? Or would you like a cup of tea?" Though she's helped herself to the spiced brew, there's still enough left to share. At least she's a gracious hostess, intending to have Weylaughn settled to his liking before she offers him the nearest seat. "Now that you have me, what is it that you wanted to speak about?"
Weylaughn is, if nothing else, well-trained. The touch does precisely what the Weyrwoman intends and he complies, keeping pace with her as she ushers him onward. "Ah, I'm glad it does. I know you and and the Weyrleader have been busy - and I feared things would end up falling through the cracks, so to speak." A lopsided, downright boyish smile emerges. "I drink, but the tea sounds better given the weather. Nothing warms the bones half as good as a good tea. Thank you." Matters will sort themselves out after a fashion and he will sit, if with a straight-backed and square-shouldered posture that further underscores his upbringing. His hands rest in his lap for now, loosely knotted, as he explains, "I will try to keep it brief. Ah. I'm the son of Yewlani - and Lord Aughan is my father. My mother, Yewlani, has letters confirming this - and a large sum of marks that were sent as compensation." He pauses to let that sink in before continuing: "I am looking for support to secure my place as an heir to Crom Hold. I realize the support of a Weyr is limited in such things, but I can offer to do my best to see to it that your fine Weyr gets all it deserves in return."
Once there is a cup of tea for each of them, Azaylia finally returns to the Weyrleader's chair, sitting up straight with hands folded atop the table. Her paperwork has been tidied, the top pages hold the more mundane tasks that a Weyrwoman tends to, far form sensitive information. "You're very welcome. Always happy to share a cup." Thankfully she isn't taking a sip when Weylaughn cuts to the chase, his claim causing a flicker behind widening brown eyes. To her credit she doesn't argue or seem suspicious, left blinking at the young man as she digests his words. "That's... quite a claim." Because it ''is''. Finally managing to school her expression, "I... would like to see this letter. I'm sure K'del will also find this very interesting." Stunned yet polite, "I would like to offer support to right a wrong, but..." Lord Aughan. "You'll understand if I find this a little hard to believe?" An apology, of sorts.
The tea will go untouched throughout Weylaughn's explanation but, as soon as he's done, he'll steal a sip and let that sink in with a faint sigh of pleasure. It's a moment of relief - and then he's snapping back into the moment, somber and serious in a way that seems ill-suited to him. "I understand it sounds... ridiculous. Preposterous, even. But, she's shown me the letters, the marks." He spreads his hands in a gesture that's as apologetic as it is placating. "As far as ''I'' can tell, they're genuine," but he seems to realize the limitations of that assertion as he adds, "but I am sure you or the Weyrleader or someone trusted to you would be able to get one or two for an independent verification." He's earnest enough in that, adding with a trace of wry humor, "She'd hardly trust me with them, but I don't blame her." His hands drop to his lap again and he offers a solemn nod. "I do understand - and I'm glad, frankly, that you didn't react as I feared you might. I'm not asking for you to immediately throw all support behind me without confirming the documents - but I do want to make sure that you're at least... ah, amenable to the whole idea."
Azaylia listens with rapt attention, gaze still steadily curious rather than as intense as that flicker from before. "I will bring this up with K'del, of course. But it might help for you to explain things in your own words." At least he's managed to catch one half of the leadership by now. It's now that she brings her own cup to her lips, drinking deeply so as to give her a moment to think. A notion strikes her then, the Weyrwoman sitting up to ask, "Why ''now''? You're..." Terrible at age, except when it ''counts'', "A man." Her gentle inspection lifts back to his face, "Why wait so long? Wouldn't it have been easier on you to say something sooner?" Of course it isn't outright suspicion that fuels the question, but concern for what this has done to wee-Weylaughn. ''If'' it is in fact true. There's a faint nod, "I like to... I ''try'' to keep an open mind. That's all I can promise you." Until the truth is revealed.
It's the tea that he returns to again, timing those drinks with her words. Weylaughn dips his head once in a shallow, acknowledging nod, but it takes him a moment to conjure the words. "From my understanding, my mother has always been sympathetic to High Reaches Weyr. When things grew... complicated between Crom and the 'Reaches and Telgar Weyr, she felt it best to try to garner Lord Aughan's favor." His mouth pulls to one side, a half-frown that struggles with the choice to dissipate or fall to completion. "When he found out she was pregnant, he denied her, her pregnancy, and all of it. She was forced to flee to Seven Echoes - but not before she secured some compensation." The tip of his tongue snakes out to wet his lips. "She didn't want me to try until I was ready. With the birth of Lady Ienavi's daughter, Haille, it seemed... necessary and appropriate to start pressing for the claim I was previously denied. I realize it sounds peculiar, but it would have been worse if the attempt had been made when I were younger and unable to speak for myself." As if he ''really'' is, all things considered - but he seems convinced enough.
It's now that Azaylia's brow furrows, "Is that why your mother isn't here to support what you're saying?" So he can speak for himself? Once the Weyrwoman realizes she's dipping into that well of suspicion that has grown over the turns, she clears her throat and straightens even more. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to take in." There's a breathless sigh, one hand resting delicately atop the other as she nods, "I think the most important thing is for us to see those letters. And speak with your mother, if possible." There might be a pinch to her lips at mention of Ienavi, an for a moment she looks the part of a stern, unyielding leader. It fades once she flicks her gaze back to Weylaughn, melting into that warmth from before. "We'll get this mess sorted out. Until then, it may take some time." But he has already proven his patience.
Another dip of the head, though this one's a touch vehement. "Yes, Weyrwoman. In part, anyway. She has five other children and a fair bit of the Hold to look over, too." Busy, busy woman, that would be Yewlani. As for Weylaughn, he simply shakes his head at her apology and allows a tilted, but understanding, smile to claim his features. "There is no need to apologize. I'm completely aware of how it must seem." His earnesty is plain - but his smile falters just a little at the last. It straightens itself out in short order, however. "As you wish, Weyrwoman. It might be easier to visit her at the Hold; she doesn't leave often, these days. She's come here a time or two but..." he trails thoughtfully. "I'm sure she'll come if it's necessary." And, with that, he pushes to his feet to offer another bow, less formal than the first but still a bow. "I thank you, Weyrwoman, for your time - and your patience. I've waited turns for this - so waiting some months more to get it sorted ''properly'' is no difficulty at all."
"I understand being busy." Azaylia is as accommodating as always. "If necessary, it ''is'' easier for dragons to travel than Holders." Not that she's making plans just yet. Yewlani might have to make herself unbusy, if the Weyrleaders call for it. As Weylaughn stands so does she, unhurried but polite, accepting his bow with a gentle nod. "You're welcome. High Reaches duties to Seven Echoes Hold." With a suddenly bright smile, "I'm sure we'll get to the bottom of this." Uplifting, for those who like to think positively. "Have a good night, Weylaughn." She'll be looking to get started on her own evening, beginning to tidy things up in the council chambers before retiring to her private weyr.
"Of course." A final ducking of his head in a shallow bow ends with Weylaughn straightening up and offering one of his brighter smiles to the goldrider. "And duties of Seven Echoes to High Reaches Weyr. Take care - and be well, Weyrwoman. I trust all of this will get sorted out soon enough." And, with that, he turns briskly on a heel and ventures back out into the snow and cold of the world outside - with the hood securely in place, of course, and a lightness to his step.