Another near-miss for Br'ce and Aida
Who: Aida, Br'ce, and then T'ral and D'ven join in
When: Middle of Month 7, Turn 2
Where: Trellazoth's Ledge
What: Aida and Br'ce have a philosophical disagreement, so she decides to move out, and Br'ce decides to let her. D'ven is dispatched to pick her up, but T'ral comes along and intervenes.
Trellazoth's Ledge:
It's another quiet night at home. It's the typical scene that Aida comes home to--a pleasant blaze in the hearth, a few candles here and there for ambience. Br'ce seated in his usual chair with a book open in his lap and a wine glass slung with artful carelessness in his other hand. Unlike usual, though, he doesn't look tired. Instead, he looks irritated. The twin lines in his brow are threatening to become permanent in recent days, and he stares broodingly into the fire.
It's the second time in a row that she's been home before it was stupidly late, and she's even sober again. Aida thanks the pair that brought her up quietly, then slips into the weyr, sending a smile towards Br'ce in his chair as she slips for the table and starts untying the scarf in her hair. As has been her usual lately though, she's silent as she does so, letting that smile be her greeting for her. Not so very talkative, these days. If her routine is allowed to go without interruption, she will eventually be changed into an ankle length nightshirt, circling back around to try and crawl into Br'ce's lap.
It's allowed to continue, though Br'ce follows her briefly with his eyes, managing only to muster up a ghost of a smile in return. "I spoke with J'cor today." he says suddenly as Aida circles back around--the book remains in his lap, an implicit intimation of standoffishness. "Thread is due to fall over Nabol soon. And I do not believe he has any plans to arrange for coverage." The muscles in his neck bunch with tension.
Drawing up a few steps away when the book stays in his lap, Aida's eyes settle not on his face, but on the book. Her head tilts to the side, and she lifts one eyebrow slightly. Mmm. His words get no visible reaction from her, not for a long few moments. It's just the book. Eventually, she proves that she heard him despite being thwarted, and she lifts her gaze to settle blue eyes on his face. Calm, composed. "I see," she says. Neutral response, an implied prompt for him to continue. Again, that eyebrow goes up, and then she turns away from him, pacing to go pour herself a glass of wine, positioning herself so that her back is to him.
Oh, it's now carefully-avoid-looking-at-each-other time. Br'ce bows his head, hair falling to cover his eyes, looking down at the book--even absently flipping a page. On the surface, it looks as if it might be a quiet night at home. Except for the conversation, and a palpable tension in the air. "I do not feel that this is an acceptable decision. I plan on leading 3C and any other riders I can convince or coerce into following me into the skies over Nabol." There's a long pause. "I just...wanted to let you know." A sudden bit of hesitation; a blip in an otherwise smooth and calm-sounding delivery.
The glass of wine is poured, lifted, sipped from. Aida gives a little toss of her head to throw her hair back over her shoulder, then shifts on her feet just enough that when she turns her head, she can see him out of the corner of her eyes, presenting her profile. She is silent for a few very long moments, then exhales a soft sigh -- a tolerant sort of sigh, patient, perhaps resigned. So swiftly do things change. "You will handle the return this time differently than E'sere did," she informs him, turning fully back towards him and stepping over towards the chair. "Whoever participates, you will come back in small groups, you will return to your weyrs, you will not make a public confrontation out of it. It will be done, fine -- but you will do it quietly, and those who participate will participate because it is right, not because it will make them heroes. You will *not* undermine J'cor by making a public incident of it. There will certainly be rumors, but I will /not/ have him shamed again."
"I will have to accompany the injured riders back. And there is no way to arrange for injured dragons and riders to be inconspicuous. I don't plan on flaunting our disobedience either." Br'ce looks up through his overlong hair. "I would really rather not make a fuss out of this at all. If it were at all possible to do this coverage entirely anonymously, I would arrange for it to be done that way." Fleeting visions of a masquerade Fall flicker through his brain. "It is not my intention to shame /him/. He shames himself, High Reaches, and Pern through his inaction." There's a hint of a momentary snarl of anger in that, quickly suppressed. How does one typically deal with excessive self-guilt? Blame someone else. In this case, J'cor. "And Aida...I would like your help."
Circling around to her chair, Aida settles herself down into it, expression serene. His words just seem to roll off of her as much as his anger does as she pulls her legs up to tuck them beneath her. Another sip from her wine glass is taken, and only then does she lift her eyes to look at him. "Nabol is covered, without tithing. How long until High Reaches decides that they need not feed us, and Tillek as well? What do we eat then, Br'ce?" The questions are asked idly, her tone conversational. "He shames no one. He does what he, as Weyrleader, must do. And you, as a man who feels it must be flown regardless, do what you must do. Your anger is misplaced -- it is Lord Nabol who deserves your ire. I will not help you if this is done for any reasons but to do what is right, if it is not planned to be as quiet as it possibly can be. If it is used in any fashion to slap that man in the face. Yes, you will accompany the wounded back, but that does not mean the whole group need assemble in the bowl for everyone to see. Quietly. It must be done quietly."
That's not my purview." Br'ce responds, tightlipped. "There is a reason I am not weyrleader, nor Lord Holder. That is up to them. My responsibilities are more narrowly defined. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, there is a more immediate threat. The damage to Nabol after the last 'Fall was severe enough. I don't want it to add up." He looks up sharply at Aida, mouth compressing into a thin line. "Do you truly think me that petty, and self-involved? That I do this for the sake of glory and self aggrandizement? That's E'sere's role, not mine. If I could do this completely anonymously, I would." he says bitterly.
"No, it's not your purview," Aida agrees quietly, giving a light shake of her head and glancing to her glass for a moment, sipping from it once more and mulling over her words as the taste is rolled over her tongue. Once it's swallowed, she brings her gaze back up, this time setting it over on the hearth. "It is his. If you're going to blame him, if you're going to say he's doing wrong and is shaming himself, then you have to think about the questions I just posed to you. That's all, Br'ce. He is doing what he should. You are doing what you should. There's no place here for anger." That's allowed to sit on its own for a long few moments, and then she's swinging her eyes back to him, lifting an eyebrow. "You? No. Some of those who will fly with you? Yes. And that needs to be taken into and accounted for."
"If there is one thing that I have learned from history, it is that there is not one right answer. There are many answers, all of which may be right. Some of which may be a right thing, but still unforgiveable." Br'ce refuses to budge on the issue. "Someday historians will look back on this day and be able to tell. For now, we must consider the larger moral issue to supercede the political one." He places the wine glass down on the table, for once, not interested in the contents. "I am well aware of that much, Aida. I plan on making it clear before we fly. Either my way, or no way at all. A clear chain of command."
"Let me put this forth, then," Aida says, settling back in her chair comfortably, finally, taking another drink from her own glass and continuing to study him with that impossibly mild expression. "It is unlikely that he does not suspect very strongly that there will be another attempt to cover Nabol. It is unlikely that he thinks that all of you will just let them go uncovered. And yet...he has not forbid you from going. He has not had the queens ground you. Perhaps, Br'ce, you should consider what your punishment was last time, consider this situation a bit more carefully. I'm not asking you not to go. All I'm asking is that you take into consideration the larger picture, and don't hold the decision that he /has/ to make against him, because that's not just. It's not fair. If I were in his shoes, I'd be doing the same exact thing he is. There is no just setting aside the political issue so you can just blame him because it's easier, because what we have to eat is not just a 'political' issue."
"In the end, there is always a choice. I don't /have/ to fly over Nabol, either. Nobody is forcing me. Just as no one is forcing J'cor to make his decision." Br'ce shakes his head stubbornly once again. "Even if he is, as you seem to be implying, tacitly giving us permission to fly--he's doing so with the full knowledge that we can't do a complete job of it. And that my wing will likely take heavy casualties in trying. If what you say is true...I think that's even worse." He looks up at Aida from beneath furrowed brows. "It is not acceptable to say that he /has/ to make it. It may be likely that by continuing to cover areas that refuse to tithe may mean other areas may choose not to. It still does not mean it /will/ happen." A heavy sigh escapes him. "The fact that we must do our actions illicitly merely leaves him without a moral high ground to stand on. If we had official sanction, then the weyr gains the moral high ground."
"This has nothing to do with morality at all," Aida states, her tone finally touching flat and her expression touching with something annoyed. "He is the Weyrleader. He does have a choice, yes, but for him to choose to officially cover Nabol when they are not tithing is the *wrong* choice, because it gives all the holds permission, essentially, to stop tithing. All of them; not just those of High Reaches. And then we have a yet more serious problem on our hands. How can you not understand the implications of what that would do to all of Pern?"
"This has nothing to do with morality at all," Aida states, her tone finally touching flat and her expression touching with something annoyed. "He is the Weyrleader. He does have a choice, yes, but for him to choose to officially cover Nabol when they are not tithing is the *wrong* choice, because it gives all the holds permission, essentially, to stop tithing. All of them; not just those of High Reaches. And then we have a yet more serious problem on our hands. How can you not understand the implications of what that would do to all of Pern?"
"You are assuming ungrateful Lord Holders would immediately all cease tithing. I don't believe that would happen. You think too poorly of people." Br'ce shoots back. "Lord Odern may not be a very good Lord Holder, but many of the others are upright, moral individuals. Furthermore, it is not as if the /people/ of Nabol have done anything wrong. I, for one, do not want their blood on my conscience. It /is/ a moral issue, about what is right and what is wrong. An eye for an eye merely leaves both blind. Someonst take the high road and offer themselves up as sacrifice for a resolution that will benefit both sides." he argues passionately. "We cannot simply abandon these innocent people for a potential 'what if' that shows an entirely too pessimistic view of the future."
Exhaling a soft sigh, Aida shakes her head and gives Br'ce a Look. Yes, it's one of those 'are you dumb?' sorts of looks, really -- she's starting to lose her patience, it appears. "You've never raised children," she pointsout, tipping her head back to drain her wineglass all at once; it's set aside, and then she's bringing her fingers up so she can pinch at the bridge of her nose. "You take care of twelve children. If one of them misbehaves, you punish them -- not only because they need to learn not to misbehave, but because the other children need to see that there are consequences for their actions. If there are no consequences for the misbehavior, then all of the children decide that whatever that first child did, it's okay. It's not thinking poorly of people, Br'ce, it's reality. It's not 'an eye for an eye', it's the fact that there has to be repercussions. All of Pern is watching this little incident play out. I am not assuming that all of the Lord Holders would promptly stop tithing. I am assuming that they'd start thinking about it. That some of them would. That they'd stop sending as much. That corners would be cut. That...any number of things. Nabol's lack of tithing /can not be condoned/. But at the same time, no, we don't want that blood on our hands, and so /you/ fly it anyway. Without official sanction. It's not the best solution, because there is no good solution, here. It is the only one available. To any of us."
There's a curl of Br'ce's lips. "There are a number of flaws with your analogy." he points out with the precision of a trained logician. "What you are proposing is punishing three or four of the children for an action that was not their own, in order to try to scare other children from potentially doing wrong. That's not teaching consequences, that's simple bullying." His arms fold across his chest, uncompromisingly. "I am not saying that /Lord Odern/ should not be punished for his selfish decision. I am saying that it is not right to hold the people of Nabol accountable for his actions. He will be the last to succumb to famine and poverty." The classic argument against economic sanctions--the people it's aimed at are the last to suffer. "There are other ways to punish Lord Odern." He throws his hands up in the air. "What if there wasn't me? What would happen then? It's not as if ready made leaders exist with free wings of riders who would willingly go rogue for them. Are you trying to suggest that if I was not making arrangements, J'cor would find someone who would?" Arms descend to the sides of the chair. "This is where you are wrong. It is not the only one available. There are an infinite number of variations that can play out. He chose the actions he is taking. I chose the actions I am taking. I was not /forced/ to this by J'cor. I don't blame him, and excuse my actions by saying he is to blame. I am saying that he created a situation whereby I feel that I should take action, and that he did not need to create that situation in the first place." A subtle yet important distinction.
Smack. That would be Aida's palm hitting her forehead, and then it's dropping and she's giving him another wholly disbelieving look. "If you want to ignore the political *realities* of this situation, fine. Pretend it's all black and white, pretend it's all that easy. Bury your head in the sand. I'll help you, as I said I would, but I would just like to point out that you're being a naive fool. The laws and practices of our society do not give the Weyr other ways to punish Lord Odern. And Br'ce, there will always be a you. There will indeed always be someone, somewhere, that is willing to step up and do the right thing. J'cor did not create this situation. Lord Odern did. Just...I can't talk about this with you, because you're absolutely unwilling to think about the political side of this, to acknowledge that we have laws that govern precisely how we interact with the Holds. Just...no. I'll help. What do you need me to do?"
"I am hardly /ignoring/ the political realities." Br'ce shoots back, genuinely irritated now. "I am hardly burying my head in the sand. That would be those people who become so obssessed with the idea of politics that they forget the reasons why politics exist. The ultimate reason for politics is not the pursuit of power--it is getting the best possible advantage for the people that are your charge. Lord Odern has failed that. What advantage accrues to High Reaches from letting innocent people die?" He thumps the arm of the chair and stands abruptly to his feet, spilling the book out of his lap and onto the floor heedlessly. "Those laws exist for the purpose of protecting the people. There is a more important law governing the interactions; a moral law." Swift paces bring him to face the fire, leaning one arm against the hearth and leaving his back to Aida. "I don't need help. I just wanted you to know. I didn't want a fight like last time." he bites off.
"You're not even listening to me," Aida points out, rolling her eyes and sliding to her own feet, turning again to pace towards the curtained off area on light feet. "You asked for my help, so you can have it if you want it, if you need it. You don't want it just because I happen to think that J'cor is making the only reasonable choice available to him, fine." As she steps through the curtain, the nightshirt comes off, is tossed to the floor, and...yes, she is grabbing her clothing, it appears. "If we allow for Nabol to not tithe and still gain officially sanctioned coverage, everything will blow up. Not might blow up. Not could blow up. /Will/ blow up. This is the only way. We have no option but to officially deny it to Nabol, because our laws do not allow for any interference. The Lords as a whole have to step in here, and they're too busy waiting with baited breath to see if they're going to be able to get away with not tithing." Her shirt is pulled back on, left untied, and then she's stepping into her skirt.
Br'ce continues staring into the fire, back to the room. "I am not asking for your help because I feel that you would not be giving it for reasons that I could approve of." he says quietly. "Judging from history, I don't feel that your doomsday predictions are warranted. What I do know is that my wing, no matter how many extra riders we can squeeze in, cannot adequately protect Nabol. And we will take heavy casualties in trying to do so. All for the sake of plausible deniability, and a fear of what is yet to come." He straightens from leaning against the hearth, coming to a straight-backed position and clasping his hands behind his back as he looks at the painting above the mantlepiece. "It appears we have an insuperable difference of opinion here. I will arrange for Trellazoth to offer you a ride down, if that's what you truly desire." Eyes closed, listening to the sound of packing.
Scarf is tied around waist, another tied up in her hair, and then Aida is getting her socks and boots on. "I can't believe that you're absolutely unwilling to even consider my opinion and how I feel about this," she points out, only after she's fully dressed. She does indeed grab her bag, stuffing both her nightgown and another outfit into it, throwing it up over her shoulder. Once she has, she turns and slips back out to stare at his back. "I am at /least/ acknowledging and understanding your point of view. I'm not even saying that Nabol doesn't need to be covered. But you can't even give an inch. You can't even stop and /consider/ the other perspective here. You won't even *listen* to me."
"I /am/ listening." Br'ce says stoutly into the fire, providing Aida with an excellent silhouette of him. "I merely disagree. I have listened, considered, and rejected." he says flatly. "Listening does not necessarily require agreement. How have I not considered the other perspective? You feel that J'cor was forced to this decision due to political constraints, and fear of setting a bad precedent that would lead to a downward spiral of weyr prestige and the end of tithing. I feel this possibility to be unlikely, and therefore the important criteria for my decision making are altered thusly. You and I are proceeding from fundamentally different premises, Aida." he says with crisp, detached precision, keeping it purely on an intellectual level. "But allow me to point this out: In the two hundred years of Interval, despite not having the leverage of withholding coverage during Threadfall, the weyrs survived, and continued to recieve tithes."
"Whatever," Aida tells him, her voice tightening considerably. No, there's no more listening on her part -- the argument itself has, apparently, been given up on. "Have Trell call somebody to come and get me, please. I'd like it noted for the record that I'm not leaving because of Nabol or because of how you feel about it, but because you're being a dismissive jackass who can't even bother to acknowledge that I /might/ vaguely have a sharding point, and won't even accept my help because I don't agree with you. This? Does not feel good, Br'ce. Just so you know."
"There have been few things in recent times that have felt good. Even the right things feel wrong." Br'ce responds, never turning around to look. Silence falls. Apparently, Br'ce has nothing more to say, though Trellazoth rumbles unhappily.
To Teraneth: Trellazoth calls with the darkening skies of an incipient storm, tortured-sounding creaks and rumbles of old timber. << My rider and his mate require your and yours' assistance. They are angry with each other. Again. >> There's a strong note of confusion in there; Trellazoth doesn't quite understand why, he just knows that they're upset. A picture accompanies--a fuzzy one of an Aida with packed bags on one side of the room, and Br'ce with his back to her on the other side of the room.
To Darageth: Trellazoth touches minds with salt foam whipped to whitecaps. << Best you and yours' come. My rider and his mate are greatly upset with each other, once more. For even more confusing reasons this time. >>
Stare. That actually shuts Aida up entirely for a long few moments, her eyes going a little bit wide. Blink. Blink. Blink. Trell gets to see the shock, and then a stab of hurt, and then she's swallowing hard. "I see," she says, and her voice is strained. Tight. "Well. Okay." She turns abruptly, slipping back to the curtained area, and it's not hard to hear that she's stuffing more into that bag of hers.
Trellazoth> Teraneth sounds lazy and sensual as he replies, as if he has just been sleeping. << We will be right there. This is why mine does not have a mate. It is far too complicated. >>
Trellazoth> Darageth is as quiet as ever, dark shadows rousing themselves from what might have been a nap to respond wordlessly. There is simply a rumble of assent.
Shortly after Trellazoth calls out to him, Teraneth is landing on the ledge. Slipping down from the bronze, D'ven proceeds inside slowly, with a concerned look on his face. "My presence was requested?" The question mostly being rhetorical.
Br'ce stands wordlessly in front of the fire, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he stares blindly up at the painting above the mantlepiece. Aida is in the curtained area, stuffing more clothing into her bag. Trellazoth is hunched uneasily in his usual spot, casting worriedly-spinning eyes alternately at his rider and at his favorite non-rider. "That's enough, Trell." Br'ce says softly at the touch of a mental image--Aida's hurt face. "Yes, D'ven. Thank you for coming. Aida requires a ride down from here." His language is stilted and formal, nor does his posture change one whit; still keeping his back to the entire room.
T'ral is half a minute behind D'ven, riding jacket hanging open. He's rumpled, sleep-mussed, knuckling at his eyes as he strides in, shirt untucked. Someone was fast asleep, despite the fact that it's a bit early for bedtime. He sniffs his displeasure, coming to a half shoulder to shoulder with the bronzerider. As he speaks, he's leaning sideways to bang his weight against D'ven in silent greeting. "You woke me up." This is for Br'ce, baleful.
Stiffening when she hears D'ven's voice, Aida sets her jaw. She tosses her bag up over her shoulder a beat later, and when she turns her expression is set, stubborn. There's a little toss of her head given and she's turning to step out of the curtains, and then just stopping. Oh, look. Tiv, too. "Just in case he decides to fill your head with some nonsense about me leaving over Nabol? I'm not. I'm leaving because he's being nasty to me, and because apparently things haven't been right between us for a while. Of course, he only /just now/ bothered to mention this fact to me." These words are for Tiv, given where she's looking, and there is no hiding the defensive note in her voice. "I apologize to both of you for you being drawn into this." And with that said, she's stalking for the Tiv and D'ven, likely with the intent on breezing through towards Teraneth.
"What? No, I--Trell did." The arrival of T'ral startles a look over his shoulder from Br'ce, revealing a face pale and drawn, with lines of stress thrown into even starker relief by the firelight, and dark eyes that glitter with a bit more shine than usual. Aida's reentry returns him to his contemplation, his voice coming out as smoothly modulated and calm as if talking about the weather. "We have a fundamental disagreement over a matter of principle." he contradicts Aida. "Which she has chosen to interpret as an unwillingness to listen to her point of view." That's his story, at least. "I, also, must extend my sincerest apologies for your becoming involved. It was not my intention to cause further difficulties." His voice sounds more and more distant as he speaks, colder, and at heights far away from this mundane conversation.
Something's going on silently, for T'ral glances sideways to D'ven at the same moment, jaw squaring. Aida's almost allowed to make it past the pair, but just when she might consider herself safe, one of T'ral's large hands goes out to catch her -- he's gentle enough, but with their size differential, he can afford to be. "I was asleep," he informs the room, as though the news might not have registered the first time. "I have dawn sweeps. I have already played mother to you lot once this turn, and that was one time too many." His hand is wrapping carefully around Aida's upper arm, a gentle tug summoning her back -- if she doesn't come, he won't pull harder, but simply hold her there. "So this time, you're going to sort it out far more quickly. Are we all clear?"
Stilling when she's caught, Aida closes her eyes and lets herself be drawn back, giving no resistance to T'ral's tug. She wilts some for a few heartbeats, then lifts her chin again, squares her shoulders. Those eyes stay closed, though. "Again," she states quietly, voice quiet but steady, "I apologize. You don't have to do this, Tiv; he's got his mind well made up. This is...I don't even know what I could apologize for." Another hard swallow, and her chin drops again, jaw tightening.
D'ven keeps his eyes firmly forward throughout the entirity of T'ral's comments, and Aida's explanation that follows. He's got nothing useful to say right now, but he can't just sneak away. So he'll stay, standing beside Tiv, gazing across the room with a perfect poker face on.
"This is hardly a childish spat, T'ral." Br'ce responds absently. "Nor have I implied at any point that I would like for Aida to leave. We have had an adult disagreement." Yes, none of this really concerns him. He sounds as casual as ever. "There is nothing to apologize about. I respect your opinion, I am hardly going to require you to apologize for having one, even if I disagree."
"Never said I was expecting you to," T'ral notes to Aida in an aside, releasing his hold on her now her imminent departure has been halted. His attention now shifts to Br'ce, and he puffs his cheeks out to exhale slowly as he regards him. He goes so far, even, as to shake his head. "You really do have it in you to be an ass, man, you know that?" One large hand claps down on D'ven's shoulder -- a lesser man's knees would buckle under it. "Are you hearing this, D'ven?"
She won't be allowed to escape, and so Aida drops her bag off of her shoulder and back to the floor. One hand comes up to cover her face, and the other arm wraps in around her midsection as she curls in around herself a bit, shoulders hunching. Through the fingers that's trying to hide her face, it's fairly clear that her cheeks are flushing with color -- embarrassment, maybe shame. If the floor could open up and swallow her right now, there would be no objections on her part. She does not speak up to argue with Br'ce, not to say anything at all.
D'ven winces slightly when he hears T'ral's words, though it's clearly not a wince of pain. "Yes, Tiv, I'm hearing this." He replies, glancing between the three people in the room for a moment. He too looks very much like he wishes he could just vanish.
"Perhaps." Br'ce agrees as if it is of no moment. Still not turning around. He's quiet as well. It seems that, for once, neither he nor Aida have any words to say.
"Damn, just wanted to check." T'ral squeezes D'ven's shoulder, and releases him. "Because I was nurturing a faint hope that maybe I was just imagining Br'ce speaking to his woman this way. I can be like that, when I'm got out of bed all unwilling." With a huff of a sigh, he leaves the bronzerider's side, moving towards the shelf that holds Br'ce's stash. "You want a drink, man?" The question, over his shoulder, is for D'ven alone.
Hey, there's a sound from Aida. It's not, unfortunately, words. Instead, it's a little choked back almost sob noise that comes after T'ral's question of D'ven; she abandons her bag and steps out to the ledge, moving off to the side. She does at least take her hand from in front of her eyes so she can see where she's going. Out, away, and then there is deep breathing to keep from actually breaking down. Floor? Swallowing would be good, right about now. Since it doesn't oblige her, she curls her hand into a fist and bites down on a knuckle, staring down into the dark bowl below.
D'ven is clearly torn when he hears the little noise Aida makes, eyes sliding over to the girl. It's obvious he wants to go to her, but he's not about to make any sort of move without T'ral making it clear it's ok. So instead, he follows his friend and seizes gratefully upon the offered distraction. "I'd love one, Tiv."
The choked off sob gets a visible tic out of Br'ce--a sudden, slight hunching of the shoulders, as if someone's shot him between the shoulderblades with an arrow. Aside from that, however, there is little reaction; his back might as well be carved out of stone. If Aida wants to leave, he wants to make it as easy for her as possible.
"Good," T'ral replies simply, reaching up to select one of Br'ce's more expensive skins. It's a travesty, just breaking the seal and pouring without leaving the thing to air properly, but he does it nonetheless. A glass is slid along the table to D'ven, and he looks up long enough to jerk his chin out towards the ledge where Aida stands: permission granted. Then he takes up his own glass, turning to face Br'ce. It's raised in a mock toast. "To pompous detachment, you stupid bastard." And with a grin, he drinks.
With enough breaths taken, Aida can calm herself down from the danger zone, and so this is what she does. Quietly. She continues chewing on a knuckle and staring down towards the bowl, doing her best to ignore the three men still in the weyr. Breathing. Yes. Breathing is good.
"Thanks man." D'ven murmurs, his eyes conveying gratitude for much more than just the drink that's been slid his way. While he understands the correct way to treat wine, he just dosn't care right now. Glass in hand, he wanders out to the ledge and goes to stand silent beside Aida, joining her in contemplation of the bowl.
"Hardly pompous, T'ral." Br'ce seems to be floating somewhere where it's hard to reach, sinking into lethargy as thick and viscous as molasses. To mix a few metaphors. "I would rather not things have reached this point. ...I'm planning on leading our wing over Nabol, by the way." Just thought he'd mention it, nonchalantly. Pass the sugar, please?
T'ral responds to this news by slugging Br'ce's wine irreverently -- for a moment, his gaze tilts after D'ven, watching the bronzerider's retreat. Then back to Br'ce. "You'll lose your knot," he points out evenly. "I'm sick of dawn sweeps already, and it's only my third day. My 'leader'll nail me to something." Another slug. "You've got a bigger problem than that, though."
Stiffening promptly when she hears footsteps, Aida turns her head just enough to catch that it's D'ven, and then that extra tension fades right back away. He's only just out beside her when she shifts on her feet and turns, making to plant her forehead against his shoulder and lean against. Lean. No words are offered, and she does manage to avoid tears.
D'ven lets Aida lean against her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He dosn't offer any words himself, just letting her lean on him as he gazes out across the bowl. His own shoulders lose some of their tension, as he finds something useful he can do rather than just standing around in the middle of things.
"No one's invited you to come." Br'ce tosses back, with a pretense of their usual casual banter. "And I didn't ask for this knot in the first place. You know what they say. Easy come, easy go." It does get him to move, slightly, though; the thin veneer of normality allowing him to move. Aida and D'ven are ignored as he seats himself in T'ral's usual chair, it's back to the entrance.
"Fuck, you're some sort of idiot tonight." This is very nearly a first -- T'ral's tone is scornful. "Whatever, then let them take your knot. I'll take my sweeps, and we'll be back to where we were soon enough." His voice doesn't moderate as he turns, walking over to lean against the high back of Br'ce's chair -- his usual chair -- so he can speak more quietly to the man below. "If she walks out, she's gone. You don't want that, then you get out there and tell her you don't want her gone, got it? Won't be a thing I can do about it for you tomorrow. Your pride really the most valuable thing you got?"
D'ven is clearly in anugish as Aida clings to him, though he's doing his best to hide it. There's several glances back inside in the direction of T'ral's voice, like a dragon who wants to do one thing while a queen is telling him not to. Torn, he does his best to comfort Aida by wrapping his arms tighter around her. There's no reply for the moment, as he continues to argue with himself.
"I have never said, nor implied in any way, that I want her gone." Br'ce says quietly, in a voice that is perhaps only barely audible to those on the ledge. "I have told her, time and time again, that I love her, and that I want her to stay. Forever" Hands are folded, docilely, in his lap. "But she always wants to go. She leaves early, stays out late, later than merely work, I am sure... who am I to hold her down?" He looks down at his hands, so fascinating, fingers and thumbs, the way they move. "She always leaves." That, is perhaps, audible only to T'ral's ears.
T'ral doesn't glance back to where D'ven and Aida stand -- he is confident, perhaps, that they will still be where he left them when he turns. "If that's what you think, then this'll be easy," he returns to Br'ce evenly, only the way his accent is clipped giving away his displeasure. "You go out and tell forever once more. Shards, man, this isn't hard. You want to show off that breeding of yours, try showing me some intelligence."
The tightening of D'ven's arms was not the reaction she was looking for, and it's clear from the exasperated sigh that escapes. Aida gives up on it, just burying her face again, eyes closed, hunching down a little bit more as if she could make herself small enough to actually disappear. It appears that right at the moment, somebody's not feeling up to being much of a fighter.
D'ven winces slightly at the sigh, but begins to calm as the pleading stops and he's not longer being actively torn. Letting Aida bury her face in him, he stands there and just holds her. It may not be what she wanted, but at least it's something.
Peek. There's a look around the chair, at Aida and--hey! D'ven! There's a startled look--T'ral, what's going on? --and a double take at the pair. A sudden surge of jealousy, quickly surpressed, but not before a startled hiss escapes him. Though quickly he composes himself. "I've said enough, I think." One arm rests on the chair back as he gazes at the pair on the ledge. Too stubborn to back down.
From T'ral, a short, sharp exhalation of frustration. Br'ce makes it too easy for him, though -- he turns his head briefly to see where the other man's looking, then returns his gaze to where Br'ce is twisted around in that chair, perfectly positioned. One large hand goes down to grab Br'ce by the scruff of his neck, bunching up shirt collar and jacket and heaving so that the other man is hauled clean out of his chair and into a standing position. Then he's released, but not before the brownrider's added a hefty push against his back.
More silent leaning from Aida. If she just breathes and keeps her eyes closed, just leans, eventually this will all be over. There's only so much she'll have to deal with. Think of something else. She does, at least, seem to be starting to relax at least a little bit. Of course, the sharp exhale from T'ral snaps her back out of it, and she tenses again. Breathe.
D'ven seems totally calm after another moment of glass-eyed staring. While he is relaxed, he dosn't close his own eyes, keeping one of them on the direction of the room. There will, if things go well, be a point at which he'll need to gracefully withdraw, after all.
And the eye kept in the direction of the room is a well planned one, as Br'ce is propelled across the room, arms pinwheeling in an attempt to keep his balance. An undignified sounding squawk escapes him--"Look out!" as he crashes into the D'ven/Aida grouping.T'ral really needs a better judge of his own strength.
T'ral signally fails to lunge after Br'ce, to wince apologetically, or to display any sort of remorse at what he's done. What he does instead is turn to watch his friend's progress, leaning back against the chair and lifting his glass for a slow sip while the entertainment unfolds. He was sleeping, and got woken up, you know.
No, she really wasn't expecting that. Aida gives her own startled squeak, recoiling away from both D'ven and Br'ce at the rather abrupt shock back to the present in the form of flying weyrmates. She takes a moment to regain her balance once she's a good safe few feet away, blinking over at the both of them with...well, a lost, confused sort of look. Hunh? No comprehension.
"Oof!" Br'ce impacts against D'ven, the slender man mostly just bouncing off the larger one, beefier one. "Tiv!" There's a glare shot back over his shoulder as he hangs on to D'ven for stability and regains his feet. A momentary half-glare is shot at D'ven, as well (for the sake of balance, not particularly because he did anything wrong). A moment is taken to steel himself for the inevitable. Looking at Aida. It's done in fits and pieces. First standing with his body facing her general direction. Then the head, slowly swivels to face her as well. Eyes dart back and forth for a bit, before they finally settle on her, looking somewhat sullen. And yet, there's a gleam of hope in there. Don't kick the puppy, please?
In response to his name, T'ral lifts his glass in a silent toast, then takes another mouthful, draining it. No more than that, for now. He's watching.
Okay, so it was a flying Br'ce. His exclamation explains that, and as understanding settles in, Aida sends a look towards T'ral. Oh. Her eyes come back to Br'ce very swiftly, and as he looks at her, she raises an eyebrow. Another step backwards is taken, her arms sliding in to wrap around her midsection as she stares at him. Oh, those eyes are guarded, wary. Still, there's another glance cast towards T'ral, and then one towards D'ven, and finally settle back on Br'ce again, and she takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "Do you want me to go?" No strain there, now, no fight or argument.
As soon as Br'ce is back on his feet, D'ven is pulling away from the the brownrider. The half-glare goes ignored as he slips inside to T'ral's side, leaving the two alone on the ledge.
"No." It's a simple answer; and if Br'ce was the type, his hands would be in his pockets, and he'd be scuffing his toes. As it is, he's incapable of that, but still manages to give somewhat of that hangdog expression. "Please don't go." And please don't let his intense vulnerability at this moment give you any pause.
And that's T'ral's cue right there -- he's not slow to take it. D'ven earns himself a punch in the arm as he reaches the brownrider's side, and reaching out to claim the remainder of the wineskin as compensation for his trouble, T'ral slings an arm around the bronzerider's shoulders, faint pressure indicating a course towards the door. Time to leave Br'ce and Aida to it. "Just have a conversation, will you?" This is his parting shot as he makes for his dragon, and it sounds tired, rather than irritated.
Studying Br'ce silently for a moment after he's answered, Aida eventually just nods. She shifts on her feet and heads back inside without addressing him further, picking her bag up long enough to drop it off to the side, out of the way. T'ral and D'ven both get a cool, cool look, but no words are offered to them, either. No thanks from the young woman will be forthcoming tonight, it seems. Instead, she leans her hip up against the table with her back towards the door, reaching up to start untying the scarf in her hair again, routine started over.
D'ven lets T'ral steer him, glancing away from Aida when he sees the coolness in her look. He too makes for his dragon, and while he's restrained enough to continue at normal speed, it's clear he wants nothing more than to be away.
No words of thanks from Br'ce either, just a step to one side, and watching the two riders go. Instead the brownrider folds his arm and leans against the wall, nodding at either of them. "Inform the wing, D'ven." Is all he says, with a glance that promises--we will speak more later. About Nabol, and other things. Aida is watched, silently.
Darageth is already unfolding his wings as his scruffy rider hauls himself up, cradling the wineskin against his side carefully. He lifts his head long enough to offer D'ven a nod, and then he's gripping the dark brown's straps as Darageth throws himself off the ledge with uncharacteristic energy. Just as keen as his rider to get back to sleep, apparently.
Aida's scarf is folded, set down on the table. Then she's turning her head just so, ensuring she can hear the movements of the two dragons out on the ledge, and stilling again. Clearly waiting for them to absent themselves, and doing so in silence.
The others have left. Leaving Br'ce and Aida alone in a weyr that positively reeks of tension. "I'm sorry." Min told him that's a good way to start conversations with girls when they're angry at you. "I'll see you in bed?" Br'ce seems to be more than willing to get whole issue drop.
Starting to turn towards him at that apology, Aida is given pause by the question that follows it. Oh. She stills, looking down to the table and the scarf upon it, and then the tension bleeds away from her, at least. There is wilting, a drop of her shoulders. "Yeah," she says quietly, giving a little nod of her head and closing her eyes. "I'll be in in a few minutes."
There's a leaking of the stress out of Br'ce's posture as he simply nods in acquiescence, heading for the curtained off sleeping area. An implicit agreement to not fight about this anymore. No conversation, in direct contradiction to T'ral's orders. Oh well. Rustling noises emerge as he prepares for bed, donning his pajamas.
There are sounds; Aida getting into her bag, changing out into her own nightgown. Perhaps she's forgetting to take Trell into account, because while she takes a considerable amount of care in being quiet with the tears, given into an arm that's leaned up against the wall and supporting her weight, there's not really any hiding it from the dragon. It doesn't take her long to get the worst of it out of her system though, and soon enough (if there are no interruptions) she's washing her face and ghosting past the curtain to slip into bed.
No interruptions whatsoever. Merely quiet silence from Br'ce. And a silent invitation; the sheets are folded back, and a place left for Aida. It seems like he's done with words for today; they seem to have gotten him nowhere but in trouble. And so it is that all he offers is quiet physical comfort. No demands, just the warmth of his body, if she'll let him.
No words from Aida either; she slips into the bed, shifts to nestle in close against him. Her movements are slower than usual, not quite so precise, but she does eventually manage to settle in as normal, listless as she might be about it all. Once she's as comfortable as she's going to get she stops moving entire, closing her eyes and simply waiting for sleep.
When: Middle of Month 7, Turn 2
Where: Trellazoth's Ledge
What: Aida and Br'ce have a philosophical disagreement, so she decides to move out, and Br'ce decides to let her. D'ven is dispatched to pick her up, but T'ral comes along and intervenes.
Trellazoth's Ledge:
It's another quiet night at home. It's the typical scene that Aida comes home to--a pleasant blaze in the hearth, a few candles here and there for ambience. Br'ce seated in his usual chair with a book open in his lap and a wine glass slung with artful carelessness in his other hand. Unlike usual, though, he doesn't look tired. Instead, he looks irritated. The twin lines in his brow are threatening to become permanent in recent days, and he stares broodingly into the fire.
It's the second time in a row that she's been home before it was stupidly late, and she's even sober again. Aida thanks the pair that brought her up quietly, then slips into the weyr, sending a smile towards Br'ce in his chair as she slips for the table and starts untying the scarf in her hair. As has been her usual lately though, she's silent as she does so, letting that smile be her greeting for her. Not so very talkative, these days. If her routine is allowed to go without interruption, she will eventually be changed into an ankle length nightshirt, circling back around to try and crawl into Br'ce's lap.
It's allowed to continue, though Br'ce follows her briefly with his eyes, managing only to muster up a ghost of a smile in return. "I spoke with J'cor today." he says suddenly as Aida circles back around--the book remains in his lap, an implicit intimation of standoffishness. "Thread is due to fall over Nabol soon. And I do not believe he has any plans to arrange for coverage." The muscles in his neck bunch with tension.
Drawing up a few steps away when the book stays in his lap, Aida's eyes settle not on his face, but on the book. Her head tilts to the side, and she lifts one eyebrow slightly. Mmm. His words get no visible reaction from her, not for a long few moments. It's just the book. Eventually, she proves that she heard him despite being thwarted, and she lifts her gaze to settle blue eyes on his face. Calm, composed. "I see," she says. Neutral response, an implied prompt for him to continue. Again, that eyebrow goes up, and then she turns away from him, pacing to go pour herself a glass of wine, positioning herself so that her back is to him.
Oh, it's now carefully-avoid-looking-at-each-other time. Br'ce bows his head, hair falling to cover his eyes, looking down at the book--even absently flipping a page. On the surface, it looks as if it might be a quiet night at home. Except for the conversation, and a palpable tension in the air. "I do not feel that this is an acceptable decision. I plan on leading 3C and any other riders I can convince or coerce into following me into the skies over Nabol." There's a long pause. "I just...wanted to let you know." A sudden bit of hesitation; a blip in an otherwise smooth and calm-sounding delivery.
The glass of wine is poured, lifted, sipped from. Aida gives a little toss of her head to throw her hair back over her shoulder, then shifts on her feet just enough that when she turns her head, she can see him out of the corner of her eyes, presenting her profile. She is silent for a few very long moments, then exhales a soft sigh -- a tolerant sort of sigh, patient, perhaps resigned. So swiftly do things change. "You will handle the return this time differently than E'sere did," she informs him, turning fully back towards him and stepping over towards the chair. "Whoever participates, you will come back in small groups, you will return to your weyrs, you will not make a public confrontation out of it. It will be done, fine -- but you will do it quietly, and those who participate will participate because it is right, not because it will make them heroes. You will *not* undermine J'cor by making a public incident of it. There will certainly be rumors, but I will /not/ have him shamed again."
"I will have to accompany the injured riders back. And there is no way to arrange for injured dragons and riders to be inconspicuous. I don't plan on flaunting our disobedience either." Br'ce looks up through his overlong hair. "I would really rather not make a fuss out of this at all. If it were at all possible to do this coverage entirely anonymously, I would arrange for it to be done that way." Fleeting visions of a masquerade Fall flicker through his brain. "It is not my intention to shame /him/. He shames himself, High Reaches, and Pern through his inaction." There's a hint of a momentary snarl of anger in that, quickly suppressed. How does one typically deal with excessive self-guilt? Blame someone else. In this case, J'cor. "And Aida...I would like your help."
Circling around to her chair, Aida settles herself down into it, expression serene. His words just seem to roll off of her as much as his anger does as she pulls her legs up to tuck them beneath her. Another sip from her wine glass is taken, and only then does she lift her eyes to look at him. "Nabol is covered, without tithing. How long until High Reaches decides that they need not feed us, and Tillek as well? What do we eat then, Br'ce?" The questions are asked idly, her tone conversational. "He shames no one. He does what he, as Weyrleader, must do. And you, as a man who feels it must be flown regardless, do what you must do. Your anger is misplaced -- it is Lord Nabol who deserves your ire. I will not help you if this is done for any reasons but to do what is right, if it is not planned to be as quiet as it possibly can be. If it is used in any fashion to slap that man in the face. Yes, you will accompany the wounded back, but that does not mean the whole group need assemble in the bowl for everyone to see. Quietly. It must be done quietly."
That's not my purview." Br'ce responds, tightlipped. "There is a reason I am not weyrleader, nor Lord Holder. That is up to them. My responsibilities are more narrowly defined. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, there is a more immediate threat. The damage to Nabol after the last 'Fall was severe enough. I don't want it to add up." He looks up sharply at Aida, mouth compressing into a thin line. "Do you truly think me that petty, and self-involved? That I do this for the sake of glory and self aggrandizement? That's E'sere's role, not mine. If I could do this completely anonymously, I would." he says bitterly.
"No, it's not your purview," Aida agrees quietly, giving a light shake of her head and glancing to her glass for a moment, sipping from it once more and mulling over her words as the taste is rolled over her tongue. Once it's swallowed, she brings her gaze back up, this time setting it over on the hearth. "It is his. If you're going to blame him, if you're going to say he's doing wrong and is shaming himself, then you have to think about the questions I just posed to you. That's all, Br'ce. He is doing what he should. You are doing what you should. There's no place here for anger." That's allowed to sit on its own for a long few moments, and then she's swinging her eyes back to him, lifting an eyebrow. "You? No. Some of those who will fly with you? Yes. And that needs to be taken into and accounted for."
"If there is one thing that I have learned from history, it is that there is not one right answer. There are many answers, all of which may be right. Some of which may be a right thing, but still unforgiveable." Br'ce refuses to budge on the issue. "Someday historians will look back on this day and be able to tell. For now, we must consider the larger moral issue to supercede the political one." He places the wine glass down on the table, for once, not interested in the contents. "I am well aware of that much, Aida. I plan on making it clear before we fly. Either my way, or no way at all. A clear chain of command."
"Let me put this forth, then," Aida says, settling back in her chair comfortably, finally, taking another drink from her own glass and continuing to study him with that impossibly mild expression. "It is unlikely that he does not suspect very strongly that there will be another attempt to cover Nabol. It is unlikely that he thinks that all of you will just let them go uncovered. And yet...he has not forbid you from going. He has not had the queens ground you. Perhaps, Br'ce, you should consider what your punishment was last time, consider this situation a bit more carefully. I'm not asking you not to go. All I'm asking is that you take into consideration the larger picture, and don't hold the decision that he /has/ to make against him, because that's not just. It's not fair. If I were in his shoes, I'd be doing the same exact thing he is. There is no just setting aside the political issue so you can just blame him because it's easier, because what we have to eat is not just a 'political' issue."
"In the end, there is always a choice. I don't /have/ to fly over Nabol, either. Nobody is forcing me. Just as no one is forcing J'cor to make his decision." Br'ce shakes his head stubbornly once again. "Even if he is, as you seem to be implying, tacitly giving us permission to fly--he's doing so with the full knowledge that we can't do a complete job of it. And that my wing will likely take heavy casualties in trying. If what you say is true...I think that's even worse." He looks up at Aida from beneath furrowed brows. "It is not acceptable to say that he /has/ to make it. It may be likely that by continuing to cover areas that refuse to tithe may mean other areas may choose not to. It still does not mean it /will/ happen." A heavy sigh escapes him. "The fact that we must do our actions illicitly merely leaves him without a moral high ground to stand on. If we had official sanction, then the weyr gains the moral high ground."
"This has nothing to do with morality at all," Aida states, her tone finally touching flat and her expression touching with something annoyed. "He is the Weyrleader. He does have a choice, yes, but for him to choose to officially cover Nabol when they are not tithing is the *wrong* choice, because it gives all the holds permission, essentially, to stop tithing. All of them; not just those of High Reaches. And then we have a yet more serious problem on our hands. How can you not understand the implications of what that would do to all of Pern?"
"This has nothing to do with morality at all," Aida states, her tone finally touching flat and her expression touching with something annoyed. "He is the Weyrleader. He does have a choice, yes, but for him to choose to officially cover Nabol when they are not tithing is the *wrong* choice, because it gives all the holds permission, essentially, to stop tithing. All of them; not just those of High Reaches. And then we have a yet more serious problem on our hands. How can you not understand the implications of what that would do to all of Pern?"
"You are assuming ungrateful Lord Holders would immediately all cease tithing. I don't believe that would happen. You think too poorly of people." Br'ce shoots back. "Lord Odern may not be a very good Lord Holder, but many of the others are upright, moral individuals. Furthermore, it is not as if the /people/ of Nabol have done anything wrong. I, for one, do not want their blood on my conscience. It /is/ a moral issue, about what is right and what is wrong. An eye for an eye merely leaves both blind. Someonst take the high road and offer themselves up as sacrifice for a resolution that will benefit both sides." he argues passionately. "We cannot simply abandon these innocent people for a potential 'what if' that shows an entirely too pessimistic view of the future."
Exhaling a soft sigh, Aida shakes her head and gives Br'ce a Look. Yes, it's one of those 'are you dumb?' sorts of looks, really -- she's starting to lose her patience, it appears. "You've never raised children," she pointsout, tipping her head back to drain her wineglass all at once; it's set aside, and then she's bringing her fingers up so she can pinch at the bridge of her nose. "You take care of twelve children. If one of them misbehaves, you punish them -- not only because they need to learn not to misbehave, but because the other children need to see that there are consequences for their actions. If there are no consequences for the misbehavior, then all of the children decide that whatever that first child did, it's okay. It's not thinking poorly of people, Br'ce, it's reality. It's not 'an eye for an eye', it's the fact that there has to be repercussions. All of Pern is watching this little incident play out. I am not assuming that all of the Lord Holders would promptly stop tithing. I am assuming that they'd start thinking about it. That some of them would. That they'd stop sending as much. That corners would be cut. That...any number of things. Nabol's lack of tithing /can not be condoned/. But at the same time, no, we don't want that blood on our hands, and so /you/ fly it anyway. Without official sanction. It's not the best solution, because there is no good solution, here. It is the only one available. To any of us."
There's a curl of Br'ce's lips. "There are a number of flaws with your analogy." he points out with the precision of a trained logician. "What you are proposing is punishing three or four of the children for an action that was not their own, in order to try to scare other children from potentially doing wrong. That's not teaching consequences, that's simple bullying." His arms fold across his chest, uncompromisingly. "I am not saying that /Lord Odern/ should not be punished for his selfish decision. I am saying that it is not right to hold the people of Nabol accountable for his actions. He will be the last to succumb to famine and poverty." The classic argument against economic sanctions--the people it's aimed at are the last to suffer. "There are other ways to punish Lord Odern." He throws his hands up in the air. "What if there wasn't me? What would happen then? It's not as if ready made leaders exist with free wings of riders who would willingly go rogue for them. Are you trying to suggest that if I was not making arrangements, J'cor would find someone who would?" Arms descend to the sides of the chair. "This is where you are wrong. It is not the only one available. There are an infinite number of variations that can play out. He chose the actions he is taking. I chose the actions I am taking. I was not /forced/ to this by J'cor. I don't blame him, and excuse my actions by saying he is to blame. I am saying that he created a situation whereby I feel that I should take action, and that he did not need to create that situation in the first place." A subtle yet important distinction.
Smack. That would be Aida's palm hitting her forehead, and then it's dropping and she's giving him another wholly disbelieving look. "If you want to ignore the political *realities* of this situation, fine. Pretend it's all black and white, pretend it's all that easy. Bury your head in the sand. I'll help you, as I said I would, but I would just like to point out that you're being a naive fool. The laws and practices of our society do not give the Weyr other ways to punish Lord Odern. And Br'ce, there will always be a you. There will indeed always be someone, somewhere, that is willing to step up and do the right thing. J'cor did not create this situation. Lord Odern did. Just...I can't talk about this with you, because you're absolutely unwilling to think about the political side of this, to acknowledge that we have laws that govern precisely how we interact with the Holds. Just...no. I'll help. What do you need me to do?"
"I am hardly /ignoring/ the political realities." Br'ce shoots back, genuinely irritated now. "I am hardly burying my head in the sand. That would be those people who become so obssessed with the idea of politics that they forget the reasons why politics exist. The ultimate reason for politics is not the pursuit of power--it is getting the best possible advantage for the people that are your charge. Lord Odern has failed that. What advantage accrues to High Reaches from letting innocent people die?" He thumps the arm of the chair and stands abruptly to his feet, spilling the book out of his lap and onto the floor heedlessly. "Those laws exist for the purpose of protecting the people. There is a more important law governing the interactions; a moral law." Swift paces bring him to face the fire, leaning one arm against the hearth and leaving his back to Aida. "I don't need help. I just wanted you to know. I didn't want a fight like last time." he bites off.
"You're not even listening to me," Aida points out, rolling her eyes and sliding to her own feet, turning again to pace towards the curtained off area on light feet. "You asked for my help, so you can have it if you want it, if you need it. You don't want it just because I happen to think that J'cor is making the only reasonable choice available to him, fine." As she steps through the curtain, the nightshirt comes off, is tossed to the floor, and...yes, she is grabbing her clothing, it appears. "If we allow for Nabol to not tithe and still gain officially sanctioned coverage, everything will blow up. Not might blow up. Not could blow up. /Will/ blow up. This is the only way. We have no option but to officially deny it to Nabol, because our laws do not allow for any interference. The Lords as a whole have to step in here, and they're too busy waiting with baited breath to see if they're going to be able to get away with not tithing." Her shirt is pulled back on, left untied, and then she's stepping into her skirt.
Br'ce continues staring into the fire, back to the room. "I am not asking for your help because I feel that you would not be giving it for reasons that I could approve of." he says quietly. "Judging from history, I don't feel that your doomsday predictions are warranted. What I do know is that my wing, no matter how many extra riders we can squeeze in, cannot adequately protect Nabol. And we will take heavy casualties in trying to do so. All for the sake of plausible deniability, and a fear of what is yet to come." He straightens from leaning against the hearth, coming to a straight-backed position and clasping his hands behind his back as he looks at the painting above the mantlepiece. "It appears we have an insuperable difference of opinion here. I will arrange for Trellazoth to offer you a ride down, if that's what you truly desire." Eyes closed, listening to the sound of packing.
Scarf is tied around waist, another tied up in her hair, and then Aida is getting her socks and boots on. "I can't believe that you're absolutely unwilling to even consider my opinion and how I feel about this," she points out, only after she's fully dressed. She does indeed grab her bag, stuffing both her nightgown and another outfit into it, throwing it up over her shoulder. Once she has, she turns and slips back out to stare at his back. "I am at /least/ acknowledging and understanding your point of view. I'm not even saying that Nabol doesn't need to be covered. But you can't even give an inch. You can't even stop and /consider/ the other perspective here. You won't even *listen* to me."
"I /am/ listening." Br'ce says stoutly into the fire, providing Aida with an excellent silhouette of him. "I merely disagree. I have listened, considered, and rejected." he says flatly. "Listening does not necessarily require agreement. How have I not considered the other perspective? You feel that J'cor was forced to this decision due to political constraints, and fear of setting a bad precedent that would lead to a downward spiral of weyr prestige and the end of tithing. I feel this possibility to be unlikely, and therefore the important criteria for my decision making are altered thusly. You and I are proceeding from fundamentally different premises, Aida." he says with crisp, detached precision, keeping it purely on an intellectual level. "But allow me to point this out: In the two hundred years of Interval, despite not having the leverage of withholding coverage during Threadfall, the weyrs survived, and continued to recieve tithes."
"Whatever," Aida tells him, her voice tightening considerably. No, there's no more listening on her part -- the argument itself has, apparently, been given up on. "Have Trell call somebody to come and get me, please. I'd like it noted for the record that I'm not leaving because of Nabol or because of how you feel about it, but because you're being a dismissive jackass who can't even bother to acknowledge that I /might/ vaguely have a sharding point, and won't even accept my help because I don't agree with you. This? Does not feel good, Br'ce. Just so you know."
"There have been few things in recent times that have felt good. Even the right things feel wrong." Br'ce responds, never turning around to look. Silence falls. Apparently, Br'ce has nothing more to say, though Trellazoth rumbles unhappily.
To Teraneth: Trellazoth calls with the darkening skies of an incipient storm, tortured-sounding creaks and rumbles of old timber. << My rider and his mate require your and yours' assistance. They are angry with each other. Again. >> There's a strong note of confusion in there; Trellazoth doesn't quite understand why, he just knows that they're upset. A picture accompanies--a fuzzy one of an Aida with packed bags on one side of the room, and Br'ce with his back to her on the other side of the room.
To Darageth: Trellazoth touches minds with salt foam whipped to whitecaps. << Best you and yours' come. My rider and his mate are greatly upset with each other, once more. For even more confusing reasons this time. >>
Stare. That actually shuts Aida up entirely for a long few moments, her eyes going a little bit wide. Blink. Blink. Blink. Trell gets to see the shock, and then a stab of hurt, and then she's swallowing hard. "I see," she says, and her voice is strained. Tight. "Well. Okay." She turns abruptly, slipping back to the curtained area, and it's not hard to hear that she's stuffing more into that bag of hers.
Trellazoth> Teraneth sounds lazy and sensual as he replies, as if he has just been sleeping. << We will be right there. This is why mine does not have a mate. It is far too complicated. >>
Trellazoth> Darageth is as quiet as ever, dark shadows rousing themselves from what might have been a nap to respond wordlessly. There is simply a rumble of assent.
Shortly after Trellazoth calls out to him, Teraneth is landing on the ledge. Slipping down from the bronze, D'ven proceeds inside slowly, with a concerned look on his face. "My presence was requested?" The question mostly being rhetorical.
Br'ce stands wordlessly in front of the fire, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he stares blindly up at the painting above the mantlepiece. Aida is in the curtained area, stuffing more clothing into her bag. Trellazoth is hunched uneasily in his usual spot, casting worriedly-spinning eyes alternately at his rider and at his favorite non-rider. "That's enough, Trell." Br'ce says softly at the touch of a mental image--Aida's hurt face. "Yes, D'ven. Thank you for coming. Aida requires a ride down from here." His language is stilted and formal, nor does his posture change one whit; still keeping his back to the entire room.
T'ral is half a minute behind D'ven, riding jacket hanging open. He's rumpled, sleep-mussed, knuckling at his eyes as he strides in, shirt untucked. Someone was fast asleep, despite the fact that it's a bit early for bedtime. He sniffs his displeasure, coming to a half shoulder to shoulder with the bronzerider. As he speaks, he's leaning sideways to bang his weight against D'ven in silent greeting. "You woke me up." This is for Br'ce, baleful.
Stiffening when she hears D'ven's voice, Aida sets her jaw. She tosses her bag up over her shoulder a beat later, and when she turns her expression is set, stubborn. There's a little toss of her head given and she's turning to step out of the curtains, and then just stopping. Oh, look. Tiv, too. "Just in case he decides to fill your head with some nonsense about me leaving over Nabol? I'm not. I'm leaving because he's being nasty to me, and because apparently things haven't been right between us for a while. Of course, he only /just now/ bothered to mention this fact to me." These words are for Tiv, given where she's looking, and there is no hiding the defensive note in her voice. "I apologize to both of you for you being drawn into this." And with that said, she's stalking for the Tiv and D'ven, likely with the intent on breezing through towards Teraneth.
"What? No, I--Trell did." The arrival of T'ral startles a look over his shoulder from Br'ce, revealing a face pale and drawn, with lines of stress thrown into even starker relief by the firelight, and dark eyes that glitter with a bit more shine than usual. Aida's reentry returns him to his contemplation, his voice coming out as smoothly modulated and calm as if talking about the weather. "We have a fundamental disagreement over a matter of principle." he contradicts Aida. "Which she has chosen to interpret as an unwillingness to listen to her point of view." That's his story, at least. "I, also, must extend my sincerest apologies for your becoming involved. It was not my intention to cause further difficulties." His voice sounds more and more distant as he speaks, colder, and at heights far away from this mundane conversation.
Something's going on silently, for T'ral glances sideways to D'ven at the same moment, jaw squaring. Aida's almost allowed to make it past the pair, but just when she might consider herself safe, one of T'ral's large hands goes out to catch her -- he's gentle enough, but with their size differential, he can afford to be. "I was asleep," he informs the room, as though the news might not have registered the first time. "I have dawn sweeps. I have already played mother to you lot once this turn, and that was one time too many." His hand is wrapping carefully around Aida's upper arm, a gentle tug summoning her back -- if she doesn't come, he won't pull harder, but simply hold her there. "So this time, you're going to sort it out far more quickly. Are we all clear?"
Stilling when she's caught, Aida closes her eyes and lets herself be drawn back, giving no resistance to T'ral's tug. She wilts some for a few heartbeats, then lifts her chin again, squares her shoulders. Those eyes stay closed, though. "Again," she states quietly, voice quiet but steady, "I apologize. You don't have to do this, Tiv; he's got his mind well made up. This is...I don't even know what I could apologize for." Another hard swallow, and her chin drops again, jaw tightening.
D'ven keeps his eyes firmly forward throughout the entirity of T'ral's comments, and Aida's explanation that follows. He's got nothing useful to say right now, but he can't just sneak away. So he'll stay, standing beside Tiv, gazing across the room with a perfect poker face on.
"This is hardly a childish spat, T'ral." Br'ce responds absently. "Nor have I implied at any point that I would like for Aida to leave. We have had an adult disagreement." Yes, none of this really concerns him. He sounds as casual as ever. "There is nothing to apologize about. I respect your opinion, I am hardly going to require you to apologize for having one, even if I disagree."
"Never said I was expecting you to," T'ral notes to Aida in an aside, releasing his hold on her now her imminent departure has been halted. His attention now shifts to Br'ce, and he puffs his cheeks out to exhale slowly as he regards him. He goes so far, even, as to shake his head. "You really do have it in you to be an ass, man, you know that?" One large hand claps down on D'ven's shoulder -- a lesser man's knees would buckle under it. "Are you hearing this, D'ven?"
She won't be allowed to escape, and so Aida drops her bag off of her shoulder and back to the floor. One hand comes up to cover her face, and the other arm wraps in around her midsection as she curls in around herself a bit, shoulders hunching. Through the fingers that's trying to hide her face, it's fairly clear that her cheeks are flushing with color -- embarrassment, maybe shame. If the floor could open up and swallow her right now, there would be no objections on her part. She does not speak up to argue with Br'ce, not to say anything at all.
D'ven winces slightly when he hears T'ral's words, though it's clearly not a wince of pain. "Yes, Tiv, I'm hearing this." He replies, glancing between the three people in the room for a moment. He too looks very much like he wishes he could just vanish.
"Perhaps." Br'ce agrees as if it is of no moment. Still not turning around. He's quiet as well. It seems that, for once, neither he nor Aida have any words to say.
"Damn, just wanted to check." T'ral squeezes D'ven's shoulder, and releases him. "Because I was nurturing a faint hope that maybe I was just imagining Br'ce speaking to his woman this way. I can be like that, when I'm got out of bed all unwilling." With a huff of a sigh, he leaves the bronzerider's side, moving towards the shelf that holds Br'ce's stash. "You want a drink, man?" The question, over his shoulder, is for D'ven alone.
Hey, there's a sound from Aida. It's not, unfortunately, words. Instead, it's a little choked back almost sob noise that comes after T'ral's question of D'ven; she abandons her bag and steps out to the ledge, moving off to the side. She does at least take her hand from in front of her eyes so she can see where she's going. Out, away, and then there is deep breathing to keep from actually breaking down. Floor? Swallowing would be good, right about now. Since it doesn't oblige her, she curls her hand into a fist and bites down on a knuckle, staring down into the dark bowl below.
D'ven is clearly torn when he hears the little noise Aida makes, eyes sliding over to the girl. It's obvious he wants to go to her, but he's not about to make any sort of move without T'ral making it clear it's ok. So instead, he follows his friend and seizes gratefully upon the offered distraction. "I'd love one, Tiv."
The choked off sob gets a visible tic out of Br'ce--a sudden, slight hunching of the shoulders, as if someone's shot him between the shoulderblades with an arrow. Aside from that, however, there is little reaction; his back might as well be carved out of stone. If Aida wants to leave, he wants to make it as easy for her as possible.
"Good," T'ral replies simply, reaching up to select one of Br'ce's more expensive skins. It's a travesty, just breaking the seal and pouring without leaving the thing to air properly, but he does it nonetheless. A glass is slid along the table to D'ven, and he looks up long enough to jerk his chin out towards the ledge where Aida stands: permission granted. Then he takes up his own glass, turning to face Br'ce. It's raised in a mock toast. "To pompous detachment, you stupid bastard." And with a grin, he drinks.
With enough breaths taken, Aida can calm herself down from the danger zone, and so this is what she does. Quietly. She continues chewing on a knuckle and staring down towards the bowl, doing her best to ignore the three men still in the weyr. Breathing. Yes. Breathing is good.
"Thanks man." D'ven murmurs, his eyes conveying gratitude for much more than just the drink that's been slid his way. While he understands the correct way to treat wine, he just dosn't care right now. Glass in hand, he wanders out to the ledge and goes to stand silent beside Aida, joining her in contemplation of the bowl.
"Hardly pompous, T'ral." Br'ce seems to be floating somewhere where it's hard to reach, sinking into lethargy as thick and viscous as molasses. To mix a few metaphors. "I would rather not things have reached this point. ...I'm planning on leading our wing over Nabol, by the way." Just thought he'd mention it, nonchalantly. Pass the sugar, please?
T'ral responds to this news by slugging Br'ce's wine irreverently -- for a moment, his gaze tilts after D'ven, watching the bronzerider's retreat. Then back to Br'ce. "You'll lose your knot," he points out evenly. "I'm sick of dawn sweeps already, and it's only my third day. My 'leader'll nail me to something." Another slug. "You've got a bigger problem than that, though."
Stiffening promptly when she hears footsteps, Aida turns her head just enough to catch that it's D'ven, and then that extra tension fades right back away. He's only just out beside her when she shifts on her feet and turns, making to plant her forehead against his shoulder and lean against. Lean. No words are offered, and she does manage to avoid tears.
D'ven lets Aida lean against her, putting his arm around her shoulders. He dosn't offer any words himself, just letting her lean on him as he gazes out across the bowl. His own shoulders lose some of their tension, as he finds something useful he can do rather than just standing around in the middle of things.
"No one's invited you to come." Br'ce tosses back, with a pretense of their usual casual banter. "And I didn't ask for this knot in the first place. You know what they say. Easy come, easy go." It does get him to move, slightly, though; the thin veneer of normality allowing him to move. Aida and D'ven are ignored as he seats himself in T'ral's usual chair, it's back to the entrance.
"Fuck, you're some sort of idiot tonight." This is very nearly a first -- T'ral's tone is scornful. "Whatever, then let them take your knot. I'll take my sweeps, and we'll be back to where we were soon enough." His voice doesn't moderate as he turns, walking over to lean against the high back of Br'ce's chair -- his usual chair -- so he can speak more quietly to the man below. "If she walks out, she's gone. You don't want that, then you get out there and tell her you don't want her gone, got it? Won't be a thing I can do about it for you tomorrow. Your pride really the most valuable thing you got?"
D'ven is clearly in anugish as Aida clings to him, though he's doing his best to hide it. There's several glances back inside in the direction of T'ral's voice, like a dragon who wants to do one thing while a queen is telling him not to. Torn, he does his best to comfort Aida by wrapping his arms tighter around her. There's no reply for the moment, as he continues to argue with himself.
"I have never said, nor implied in any way, that I want her gone." Br'ce says quietly, in a voice that is perhaps only barely audible to those on the ledge. "I have told her, time and time again, that I love her, and that I want her to stay. Forever" Hands are folded, docilely, in his lap. "But she always wants to go. She leaves early, stays out late, later than merely work, I am sure... who am I to hold her down?" He looks down at his hands, so fascinating, fingers and thumbs, the way they move. "She always leaves." That, is perhaps, audible only to T'ral's ears.
T'ral doesn't glance back to where D'ven and Aida stand -- he is confident, perhaps, that they will still be where he left them when he turns. "If that's what you think, then this'll be easy," he returns to Br'ce evenly, only the way his accent is clipped giving away his displeasure. "You go out and tell forever once more. Shards, man, this isn't hard. You want to show off that breeding of yours, try showing me some intelligence."
The tightening of D'ven's arms was not the reaction she was looking for, and it's clear from the exasperated sigh that escapes. Aida gives up on it, just burying her face again, eyes closed, hunching down a little bit more as if she could make herself small enough to actually disappear. It appears that right at the moment, somebody's not feeling up to being much of a fighter.
D'ven winces slightly at the sigh, but begins to calm as the pleading stops and he's not longer being actively torn. Letting Aida bury her face in him, he stands there and just holds her. It may not be what she wanted, but at least it's something.
Peek. There's a look around the chair, at Aida and--hey! D'ven! There's a startled look--T'ral, what's going on? --and a double take at the pair. A sudden surge of jealousy, quickly surpressed, but not before a startled hiss escapes him. Though quickly he composes himself. "I've said enough, I think." One arm rests on the chair back as he gazes at the pair on the ledge. Too stubborn to back down.
From T'ral, a short, sharp exhalation of frustration. Br'ce makes it too easy for him, though -- he turns his head briefly to see where the other man's looking, then returns his gaze to where Br'ce is twisted around in that chair, perfectly positioned. One large hand goes down to grab Br'ce by the scruff of his neck, bunching up shirt collar and jacket and heaving so that the other man is hauled clean out of his chair and into a standing position. Then he's released, but not before the brownrider's added a hefty push against his back.
More silent leaning from Aida. If she just breathes and keeps her eyes closed, just leans, eventually this will all be over. There's only so much she'll have to deal with. Think of something else. She does, at least, seem to be starting to relax at least a little bit. Of course, the sharp exhale from T'ral snaps her back out of it, and she tenses again. Breathe.
D'ven seems totally calm after another moment of glass-eyed staring. While he is relaxed, he dosn't close his own eyes, keeping one of them on the direction of the room. There will, if things go well, be a point at which he'll need to gracefully withdraw, after all.
And the eye kept in the direction of the room is a well planned one, as Br'ce is propelled across the room, arms pinwheeling in an attempt to keep his balance. An undignified sounding squawk escapes him--"Look out!" as he crashes into the D'ven/Aida grouping.T'ral really needs a better judge of his own strength.
T'ral signally fails to lunge after Br'ce, to wince apologetically, or to display any sort of remorse at what he's done. What he does instead is turn to watch his friend's progress, leaning back against the chair and lifting his glass for a slow sip while the entertainment unfolds. He was sleeping, and got woken up, you know.
No, she really wasn't expecting that. Aida gives her own startled squeak, recoiling away from both D'ven and Br'ce at the rather abrupt shock back to the present in the form of flying weyrmates. She takes a moment to regain her balance once she's a good safe few feet away, blinking over at the both of them with...well, a lost, confused sort of look. Hunh? No comprehension.
"Oof!" Br'ce impacts against D'ven, the slender man mostly just bouncing off the larger one, beefier one. "Tiv!" There's a glare shot back over his shoulder as he hangs on to D'ven for stability and regains his feet. A momentary half-glare is shot at D'ven, as well (for the sake of balance, not particularly because he did anything wrong). A moment is taken to steel himself for the inevitable. Looking at Aida. It's done in fits and pieces. First standing with his body facing her general direction. Then the head, slowly swivels to face her as well. Eyes dart back and forth for a bit, before they finally settle on her, looking somewhat sullen. And yet, there's a gleam of hope in there. Don't kick the puppy, please?
In response to his name, T'ral lifts his glass in a silent toast, then takes another mouthful, draining it. No more than that, for now. He's watching.
Okay, so it was a flying Br'ce. His exclamation explains that, and as understanding settles in, Aida sends a look towards T'ral. Oh. Her eyes come back to Br'ce very swiftly, and as he looks at her, she raises an eyebrow. Another step backwards is taken, her arms sliding in to wrap around her midsection as she stares at him. Oh, those eyes are guarded, wary. Still, there's another glance cast towards T'ral, and then one towards D'ven, and finally settle back on Br'ce again, and she takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "Do you want me to go?" No strain there, now, no fight or argument.
As soon as Br'ce is back on his feet, D'ven is pulling away from the the brownrider. The half-glare goes ignored as he slips inside to T'ral's side, leaving the two alone on the ledge.
"No." It's a simple answer; and if Br'ce was the type, his hands would be in his pockets, and he'd be scuffing his toes. As it is, he's incapable of that, but still manages to give somewhat of that hangdog expression. "Please don't go." And please don't let his intense vulnerability at this moment give you any pause.
And that's T'ral's cue right there -- he's not slow to take it. D'ven earns himself a punch in the arm as he reaches the brownrider's side, and reaching out to claim the remainder of the wineskin as compensation for his trouble, T'ral slings an arm around the bronzerider's shoulders, faint pressure indicating a course towards the door. Time to leave Br'ce and Aida to it. "Just have a conversation, will you?" This is his parting shot as he makes for his dragon, and it sounds tired, rather than irritated.
Studying Br'ce silently for a moment after he's answered, Aida eventually just nods. She shifts on her feet and heads back inside without addressing him further, picking her bag up long enough to drop it off to the side, out of the way. T'ral and D'ven both get a cool, cool look, but no words are offered to them, either. No thanks from the young woman will be forthcoming tonight, it seems. Instead, she leans her hip up against the table with her back towards the door, reaching up to start untying the scarf in her hair again, routine started over.
D'ven lets T'ral steer him, glancing away from Aida when he sees the coolness in her look. He too makes for his dragon, and while he's restrained enough to continue at normal speed, it's clear he wants nothing more than to be away.
No words of thanks from Br'ce either, just a step to one side, and watching the two riders go. Instead the brownrider folds his arm and leans against the wall, nodding at either of them. "Inform the wing, D'ven." Is all he says, with a glance that promises--we will speak more later. About Nabol, and other things. Aida is watched, silently.
Darageth is already unfolding his wings as his scruffy rider hauls himself up, cradling the wineskin against his side carefully. He lifts his head long enough to offer D'ven a nod, and then he's gripping the dark brown's straps as Darageth throws himself off the ledge with uncharacteristic energy. Just as keen as his rider to get back to sleep, apparently.
Aida's scarf is folded, set down on the table. Then she's turning her head just so, ensuring she can hear the movements of the two dragons out on the ledge, and stilling again. Clearly waiting for them to absent themselves, and doing so in silence.
The others have left. Leaving Br'ce and Aida alone in a weyr that positively reeks of tension. "I'm sorry." Min told him that's a good way to start conversations with girls when they're angry at you. "I'll see you in bed?" Br'ce seems to be more than willing to get whole issue drop.
Starting to turn towards him at that apology, Aida is given pause by the question that follows it. Oh. She stills, looking down to the table and the scarf upon it, and then the tension bleeds away from her, at least. There is wilting, a drop of her shoulders. "Yeah," she says quietly, giving a little nod of her head and closing her eyes. "I'll be in in a few minutes."
There's a leaking of the stress out of Br'ce's posture as he simply nods in acquiescence, heading for the curtained off sleeping area. An implicit agreement to not fight about this anymore. No conversation, in direct contradiction to T'ral's orders. Oh well. Rustling noises emerge as he prepares for bed, donning his pajamas.
There are sounds; Aida getting into her bag, changing out into her own nightgown. Perhaps she's forgetting to take Trell into account, because while she takes a considerable amount of care in being quiet with the tears, given into an arm that's leaned up against the wall and supporting her weight, there's not really any hiding it from the dragon. It doesn't take her long to get the worst of it out of her system though, and soon enough (if there are no interruptions) she's washing her face and ghosting past the curtain to slip into bed.
No interruptions whatsoever. Merely quiet silence from Br'ce. And a silent invitation; the sheets are folded back, and a place left for Aida. It seems like he's done with words for today; they seem to have gotten him nowhere but in trouble. And so it is that all he offers is quiet physical comfort. No demands, just the warmth of his body, if she'll let him.
No words from Aida either; she slips into the bed, shifts to nestle in close against him. Her movements are slower than usual, not quite so precise, but she does eventually manage to settle in as normal, listless as she might be about it all. Once she's as comfortable as she's going to get she stops moving entire, closing her eyes and simply waiting for sleep.