I'm In Over My Head, Too
IC Date: Day 26, Month 9, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: R'zel, Vanya
Location: Vanya's Room
Synopsis: Late in the night, a visitor comes calling at Vanya's door. R'zel and Vanya talk, and she's not certain really what he's trying to say, but listens and at least tries to set his mind at ease.
Vanya's Room,
Late Night
There isn't much a person can do to disguise the fact this room is little more than a cave. The walls are stone, smoothed by hand or by some long-forgotten or long-gone machine used by those who first built the weyr. The door is solid wood, sturdy, the fixtures utilitarian. The basic furniture is all there -- bed, table, two chairs, wall shelves and a wooden storage chest. Simple. As is the occupant, since there is little in the way of fancy knickknacks or personal possessions. The bed has plain sheets, two down-filled pillows, and a warm, woven blanket in dark green. The chest holds clothes, and more blankets as a bastion against the cold, High Reaches winter. A glow basket hangs from the wall over the bed, another sits on the table, glows replenished whenever needed by those unseen people who perform this task.
On a shelf above the table are a bottle of ink, writing instruments, sand and some already prepared hides. Very rare and precious paper documents are carefully arranged on another shelf, held down by a polished stone collected from some place. Yet another shelf holds vials and bottles of lotions, astringents, and other containers of herbs and oils. The only luxurious thing here, if it can be called that, is a hand-made rug that lies beside the bed on top of a thick layer of reeds. Stone floors are notoriously cold on bare feet. A black cloak hangs on a peg by the door, as does a gittern, the instrument carefully wrapped in a protective bag. A basket, leather satchel and two pairs of boots sit on the floor beneath.
From behind the closed door come the soft, muffled sounds of music, and a voice that seems to be singing a tune popular about half a decade ago. The words aren't easy to distinguish through the thick door, but the song is a sad one, about lovers parted and never to meet again. No happy ending to the song, either. The corridor is damp and cold, deserted this late at night. Those few people about are either in the living cavern or making their way toward the residents' caverns.
Rest is for the weak, so R'zel finds himself pacing aimlessly, restlessly through the Weyr's hallways, thumbs hooked over his belt and curly golden head tucked down in frowning thought. Damp, cold, and deserted as this corridor is, the young bronzerider seems oblivious as he choose to take this way rather than the relatively more popular routes to the living cavern or the residents' caverns. He is already a few steps past one closed door before the music registers. Back he goes to squint at the door, then knock lightly, and the thoughtful frown from earlier smooths away into a bland expression.
It's a few minutes before the door opens a crack and Vanya's face peers out into the semi-darkness. "Yes? May I --" Surprise and recognition register. "R'zel, how nice to see you. Won't you come in?" The door is opened slightly wider, with Vanya standing there holding it open for the young rider. "What brings you calling at this hour?" The room is neat, though slightly darkened. The scent of lavender drifts out the door, and there's a gittern on the bed.
"I didn't have anything else to do." And R'zel actually frowns mournfully at that. "And I didn't feel like sleeping. So I've been wearing down the hallways, even though that's not at all productive." One lanky hand waves, and the young man summons up a quick smile as he steps though the open door with a brief grin at the scent of lavender. "Enough of my whining. I didn't know you sang so well. But's an awfully sad song to be singing, especially in the middle of the night." Beat. A quick glance takes in the room and pauses on the gittern before settling back on Vanya. "Er, I'm not interrupting, I hope?"
Vanya closes the door behind R'zel and shakes her head. "Oh, no, not interrupting anything at all," she assures him. "Would you like to sit down?" she offers, gesturing to one of the chairs at her table. "I've some wine, if you'd like?" She's not at all nervous about him visiting, and moves to bring down a glass for him, if he agrees. "It's Benden, so it's quite good," she says. "I find a glass of wine relaxes me before I try to sleep." Try. That would seem to indicate she doesn't always succeed. "It was a rather long, complicated day, and I thought playing would be a good way of ... well, I don't play very well, and you're very kind to say I sing well, but I'm not trained or anything. It's just something I do when I'm alone."
"Thank you," replies R'zel simply to the first two questions as he takes the indicated chair. Tilting his head, he studies the liquid in the glass for a moment, and a rueful smile curves his lips. "I'm not much of a wine connoisseur, I'm afraid. It'd probably be wasted on me." Leaving the glass on the table for now, he leans back in his chair. "And you play well enough. Long, complicated day--lots of hidework to go through, you mean?" Grin. "I'd volunteer to help you and the weyrwoman, but I'm sure you're both managing just fine. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all."
"What I know of wine I learned from E'sere," Vanya says, picking up her own glass after handing R'zel one. "He had this vintage in her weyr the first time I went there, after Yevide's death. He recommended it highly as a way to relax when things got too complicated." She studies the wine in her own glass for a moment, then sips as she moves back over to the bed, sitting down. "Not the hidework so much as the frustration," Vanya answers his other question. "I've been helping Sinopa with a few special projects, as well as hidework. Some research she wanted done."
"Ah. I'm a terrible student," R'zel murmurs, picking up the glass and peering at the wine some more. The dark liquid gets tilted in the glass, swirled around idly. "Special projects, huh? Too special to discuss, I'm guessing?" Draping his arm over the back of his chair, he swirls around the wine one more time before taking a long drink of it. "But do let me know if there's any way I can help you," he drawls out softly, his eyes leaving the glass for a moment to meet her gaze before resuming their scrutiny of the wine.
Vanya looks slightly torn. "I was asked not to discuss it with people, yes," she admits, "but, perhaps I'll ask Sinopa if she minds me discussing it with you," she says afterwards. "I do have need of transport who can be trusted, and I think you qualify for that. You've certainly proven yourself a friend since --" She doesn't say it, but it's there in her face. E'sere's trial. His conviction. His escape. "I'll ask her tomorrow if I may tell you of the project." Then, as if to reassure R'zel, she smiles. "It has nothing to do with E'sere, rest assured of that. We're not planning a daring rescue or anything like that, though, I admit, I've thought of finding someone who knows where the exiles are and asking them to take me there."
R'zel shakes his head slightly, offering a small, soothing smile. "It's fine--you needn't ask her on my behalf." Pause. "And I haven't proven very much, I think." Then he gazes steadily at her, then shakes his head again, exchanging the soothing smile for one that is bemused, almost fond. "You really are not very good at politicking and maneuvering." To lessen any perceptible slight to his words, he adds with a quick widening of his smile, "It's rather refreshing." He takes another drink of wine, though this time, he limits himself to a small sip. "What would you do, if you could get to the exiles' island?"
"I'm sure they could use a healer," Vanya replies. "E'sere didn't want me to go, said I'd be in danger if I did, so I promised him I would stay here and do what I could to help the weyr. And if her cheeks color a little at his remark of her not being very good at politicking and maneuvering, she looks down at her hands. "I'm not, no. I grew up around it and I hate it, R'zel. The holds and hall are full of politics, and I hate what it does to people. But, I /do/ know how it works. I made a choice /not/ to be like my grandfather and uncle." She moistens her lips, sipping the wine. "They're going to eat Sinopa alive here. She knows just enough to get herself in trouble, so I'm doing what I can to help her. I just hope it's enough. I'm in over my head, too."
R'zel raises the glass to his lips, but pauses to state firmly, "He's right, you know." Spoken behind the wineglass, his words take on a faint echo that brings a grin to his face, a fleeting grin that twists with melancholy as he adds, "As always." Finally, he sips at the wine. "The holds and halls aren't the only places with politics. But I'm sure you've realized that by now. So you're committed to helping her? Even if that means you have some formidable opponents before you? Why is that?" Bland as his tone is, he could have been asking about the weather.
Vanya's quiet and looks down at her hands. "I guess because she stands to lose everything if someone doesn't help her," she says, her voice very soft. "I know what that's like, R'zel. I very nearly lost all of my dreams once because someone was willing to do anything they could to ruin me. I don't know that Sinopa will be /bad/ for the weyr like some think she will. She's not perfect, but no one is. With the right weyrleader, she'll be all right." Vanya stares at her hands still, then lifts her eyes to R'zel. "Someone has to help her, and if no one else will, I guess I will."
R'zel stares through the wineglass at Vanya as she studies her hands. "Conditional on 'the right weyrleader,'" he repeats flatly, shaking his head yet again. As a faint, annoyed huff of breath escapes him, he sets down the glass in favor of propping up his chin with the newly freed hand. "I hope that means you two at least have some idea of who that'll be? Wingsecond D'ven? Wingsecond Ch'dais? The Weyrlingmaster?" He counts off the names on the fingers of his other hand.
"We've looked at the list, yes," Vanya admits. "D'ven ... yes, I think he could do the job well, so long as he can also be allowed to relax from time to time. R'vain --" She pauses. "I don't know him well enough to say if he'd be good in the position. Sinopa ... I don't know how she'd work with him. They don't seem to have much in common. Ch'dais? -- another unknown." She looks up at the young man. "And, there's yourself, R'zel. I know you're young, but unless you take Pangioth away from the weyr when either queen rises, he's going to chase. He's young, and he's strong. He could catch." Vanya pauses. "You have to realize that could happen, and should prepare yourself for that contingency."
R'zel nods along as Vanya lays out the considerations about each candidate, adding his own running commentary to go along with hers. "D'ven does a good job as 3C's wingsecond, and I'm sure his wingleader doesn't cut him slack for being friends. And as for needing to relax--weyrleadership changes a guy. The weyrlingmaster does well by his job. And Ch'dais might be an unknown to you, but Reaches knows him and thinks well." To the mention of himself, the youth first freezes, then scowls, jaw tensing, fists clenching under chin and around hapless wine glass, green eyes lit with a mix of emotions--anger, scorn, frustration, disdain. Silence falls, long enough for him to count to ten inside his head. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I'm going to pretend that was a joke, because that just eludes common sense," he says between clenched teeth. Pause. He rubs ruefully at his still taut jaw and adds in a dry tone, "And as a matter of fact, I was planning a visit to High Reaches Hold, then Bitra. Soon."
The healer's expression is quite serious, but she accepts what R'zel says. "That's what I meant," she says, voice quiet. "Pangioth will chase if you're here, and as much as the thought of him successfully catching either Citalth or Tialith scares you, I'm sure it scares at least one of the goldriders twice as much." Her lips curve into a wry smile. "When you consider Roa isn't much older than you, it rather puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Why is a young weyrwoman considered such a good thing and a young weyrleader isn't? I suppose it all boils down to the fact that any woman needs a man to guide her, doesn't it?" There's a sour note in there. "I mean, no woman could possibly be smart enough to know what to do without a man to tell her, could she?"
A snort, and R'zel's shaking his head for the nth time this meeting. "It's not like that. It's not good when both the weyrwoman and the weyrleader are young and new to this whole leadership deal. The other weyrs' leaders will think the Reaches is a weyr of children." Sigh. "If Diya were here, things'd be easier. Maybe." On impulse, he tips the rest of the wine down. "There are plenty of older bronzeriders who want the job, I'm sure, and not all of them are so bad. I'll bet Sinopa and D'ven would get along great. He's T'ral's friend." Whatever that has to do with the topic at hand. "And he's charming. And good at flirting back. They'd get along." Pause. He scowls again, this time at the now empty wine glass. "I'm not going to be anyone's pawn, and that's it."
"No one's asking you to be a pawn," Vanya says, her brow knitting. She blinks once, then twice. "Is ... is that what you think I was meaning when I said I needed someone trustworthy to --" She is totally amazed. "R'zel, no. That's not what I meant at all! I merely need someone who isn't going to run their mouth about what I'm doing for Sinopa, I'm not ... no. That's it. I just need someone who is trustworthy to take me a couple of places." She shakes her head. "No one's trying to make you into a pawn in this game anymore than /any/ of us are." She sighs, shaking her head again. "What I'm doing for Sinopa is just research. She's not asking me to ... oh, no. Not at all." The protest isn't overboard because she's guilty, but emphatic because she's been so horribly misunderstood. "I'm many things, but I'm not a pimp. I'm not trying to set you up with Sinopa so she can manipulate you."
"No, I wasn't questioning your motives for finding someone for transport, or suggesting that you might be setting me up as Sinopa's dupe," R'zel clarifies with a touch of exasperation. With that, he tilts the last drop of wine into his mouth. "It's just that..." His frustrated words tangle up in his throat and melt into a sigh, and he simply stares at Vanya in lieu of giving an explanation, perhaps hoping that if he could just stare long enough, the healer will psychically understand.
But Vanya doesn't seem to be picking up on what it is. "I ... R'zel, I can't read minds," she finally says. "I wish I could, it would make things a lot easier. Please, just tell me? I don't want to make any more mistakes. I can't afford many more errors in judgment. I've already jeopardized my knot for making poor choices and decisions." There's a swallow left in her own glass, and she downs it in one gulp. Rising she moves to the table, picking up the wine bottle and offering it to R'zel after pouring a small amount in her own glass. "Just ... tell me. Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as my imagination will make it."
Something in Vanya's words draws a wan laugh from R'zel, who reaches out for the offered bottle to pour himself a generous helping. "Er, sorry," he mumbles as his eyes take in Vanya's much smaller portion of wine. "I... don't know how to put it in words. I'll tell you, when I can. Just..." With a sigh, he rakes a hand through his curls, mussing them up. "It's difficult, befriending people like Sinopa. Just, just tread carefully, okay? Don't get involved in politics if you can avoid it. Try to play down your connection with her." Though he pauses there, he remains restless, picking at the nearest corner of the table. "There are people who will try to get at you to get at her." Somehow, the line still falls a little flat, and he frowns again.
This, however, seems to make sense to Vanya. "Yes, I know," she says nodding. "That game has been played on me more times than you know. E'sere was worried about that, too. That in order to get to him, they'd use me some way, or hurt me, or ... well, something like that." She sighs, sipping the wine and setting the empty glass on the table. "I'll be careful, R'zel." A pause. "Well, as careful as I can be. I'm not in anybody's way. It's like I told E'sere. I'm a nothing and a nobody. What can they do to me they haven't already done?" She smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. "They've taken everything they can from me already. I have nothing left to lose."
Baleful green eyes fix on the wine glass, and R'zel sips it slowly as Vanya speaks. He concludes his attentive silence with a slow nod, and a faint startled jolt answers the hand on his shoulder. His eyes flick from the hand to the woman, but a scant few seconds later, he averts his gaze to his drained cup. "I think I've imposed on you for too long this night. My thanks for the company and the wine. Take care, Vanya." Rising, he offers a quick bow before heading for the door. Once he's outside the door, there's a weary, half-hearted mutter of "Shut up, Pan," as the young bronzerider makes tracks for the living cavern, his steps no longer so brisk as when he first arrived.
Vanya closes the door behind R'zel, not certain what, exactly, transpired there. With slow steps, she gets undressed, puts the gittern back in its bag, and closes the glows. Then, in the dark, she gives in and lets the nightmares that haunt her begin for another night.
Players: R'zel, Vanya
Location: Vanya's Room
Synopsis: Late in the night, a visitor comes calling at Vanya's door. R'zel and Vanya talk, and she's not certain really what he's trying to say, but listens and at least tries to set his mind at ease.
Vanya's Room,
Late Night
There isn't much a person can do to disguise the fact this room is little more than a cave. The walls are stone, smoothed by hand or by some long-forgotten or long-gone machine used by those who first built the weyr. The door is solid wood, sturdy, the fixtures utilitarian. The basic furniture is all there -- bed, table, two chairs, wall shelves and a wooden storage chest. Simple. As is the occupant, since there is little in the way of fancy knickknacks or personal possessions. The bed has plain sheets, two down-filled pillows, and a warm, woven blanket in dark green. The chest holds clothes, and more blankets as a bastion against the cold, High Reaches winter. A glow basket hangs from the wall over the bed, another sits on the table, glows replenished whenever needed by those unseen people who perform this task.
On a shelf above the table are a bottle of ink, writing instruments, sand and some already prepared hides. Very rare and precious paper documents are carefully arranged on another shelf, held down by a polished stone collected from some place. Yet another shelf holds vials and bottles of lotions, astringents, and other containers of herbs and oils. The only luxurious thing here, if it can be called that, is a hand-made rug that lies beside the bed on top of a thick layer of reeds. Stone floors are notoriously cold on bare feet. A black cloak hangs on a peg by the door, as does a gittern, the instrument carefully wrapped in a protective bag. A basket, leather satchel and two pairs of boots sit on the floor beneath.
From behind the closed door come the soft, muffled sounds of music, and a voice that seems to be singing a tune popular about half a decade ago. The words aren't easy to distinguish through the thick door, but the song is a sad one, about lovers parted and never to meet again. No happy ending to the song, either. The corridor is damp and cold, deserted this late at night. Those few people about are either in the living cavern or making their way toward the residents' caverns.
Rest is for the weak, so R'zel finds himself pacing aimlessly, restlessly through the Weyr's hallways, thumbs hooked over his belt and curly golden head tucked down in frowning thought. Damp, cold, and deserted as this corridor is, the young bronzerider seems oblivious as he choose to take this way rather than the relatively more popular routes to the living cavern or the residents' caverns. He is already a few steps past one closed door before the music registers. Back he goes to squint at the door, then knock lightly, and the thoughtful frown from earlier smooths away into a bland expression.
It's a few minutes before the door opens a crack and Vanya's face peers out into the semi-darkness. "Yes? May I --" Surprise and recognition register. "R'zel, how nice to see you. Won't you come in?" The door is opened slightly wider, with Vanya standing there holding it open for the young rider. "What brings you calling at this hour?" The room is neat, though slightly darkened. The scent of lavender drifts out the door, and there's a gittern on the bed.
"I didn't have anything else to do." And R'zel actually frowns mournfully at that. "And I didn't feel like sleeping. So I've been wearing down the hallways, even though that's not at all productive." One lanky hand waves, and the young man summons up a quick smile as he steps though the open door with a brief grin at the scent of lavender. "Enough of my whining. I didn't know you sang so well. But's an awfully sad song to be singing, especially in the middle of the night." Beat. A quick glance takes in the room and pauses on the gittern before settling back on Vanya. "Er, I'm not interrupting, I hope?"
Vanya closes the door behind R'zel and shakes her head. "Oh, no, not interrupting anything at all," she assures him. "Would you like to sit down?" she offers, gesturing to one of the chairs at her table. "I've some wine, if you'd like?" She's not at all nervous about him visiting, and moves to bring down a glass for him, if he agrees. "It's Benden, so it's quite good," she says. "I find a glass of wine relaxes me before I try to sleep." Try. That would seem to indicate she doesn't always succeed. "It was a rather long, complicated day, and I thought playing would be a good way of ... well, I don't play very well, and you're very kind to say I sing well, but I'm not trained or anything. It's just something I do when I'm alone."
"Thank you," replies R'zel simply to the first two questions as he takes the indicated chair. Tilting his head, he studies the liquid in the glass for a moment, and a rueful smile curves his lips. "I'm not much of a wine connoisseur, I'm afraid. It'd probably be wasted on me." Leaving the glass on the table for now, he leans back in his chair. "And you play well enough. Long, complicated day--lots of hidework to go through, you mean?" Grin. "I'd volunteer to help you and the weyrwoman, but I'm sure you're both managing just fine. Too many cooks spoil the broth and all."
"What I know of wine I learned from E'sere," Vanya says, picking up her own glass after handing R'zel one. "He had this vintage in her weyr the first time I went there, after Yevide's death. He recommended it highly as a way to relax when things got too complicated." She studies the wine in her own glass for a moment, then sips as she moves back over to the bed, sitting down. "Not the hidework so much as the frustration," Vanya answers his other question. "I've been helping Sinopa with a few special projects, as well as hidework. Some research she wanted done."
"Ah. I'm a terrible student," R'zel murmurs, picking up the glass and peering at the wine some more. The dark liquid gets tilted in the glass, swirled around idly. "Special projects, huh? Too special to discuss, I'm guessing?" Draping his arm over the back of his chair, he swirls around the wine one more time before taking a long drink of it. "But do let me know if there's any way I can help you," he drawls out softly, his eyes leaving the glass for a moment to meet her gaze before resuming their scrutiny of the wine.
Vanya looks slightly torn. "I was asked not to discuss it with people, yes," she admits, "but, perhaps I'll ask Sinopa if she minds me discussing it with you," she says afterwards. "I do have need of transport who can be trusted, and I think you qualify for that. You've certainly proven yourself a friend since --" She doesn't say it, but it's there in her face. E'sere's trial. His conviction. His escape. "I'll ask her tomorrow if I may tell you of the project." Then, as if to reassure R'zel, she smiles. "It has nothing to do with E'sere, rest assured of that. We're not planning a daring rescue or anything like that, though, I admit, I've thought of finding someone who knows where the exiles are and asking them to take me there."
R'zel shakes his head slightly, offering a small, soothing smile. "It's fine--you needn't ask her on my behalf." Pause. "And I haven't proven very much, I think." Then he gazes steadily at her, then shakes his head again, exchanging the soothing smile for one that is bemused, almost fond. "You really are not very good at politicking and maneuvering." To lessen any perceptible slight to his words, he adds with a quick widening of his smile, "It's rather refreshing." He takes another drink of wine, though this time, he limits himself to a small sip. "What would you do, if you could get to the exiles' island?"
"I'm sure they could use a healer," Vanya replies. "E'sere didn't want me to go, said I'd be in danger if I did, so I promised him I would stay here and do what I could to help the weyr. And if her cheeks color a little at his remark of her not being very good at politicking and maneuvering, she looks down at her hands. "I'm not, no. I grew up around it and I hate it, R'zel. The holds and hall are full of politics, and I hate what it does to people. But, I /do/ know how it works. I made a choice /not/ to be like my grandfather and uncle." She moistens her lips, sipping the wine. "They're going to eat Sinopa alive here. She knows just enough to get herself in trouble, so I'm doing what I can to help her. I just hope it's enough. I'm in over my head, too."
R'zel raises the glass to his lips, but pauses to state firmly, "He's right, you know." Spoken behind the wineglass, his words take on a faint echo that brings a grin to his face, a fleeting grin that twists with melancholy as he adds, "As always." Finally, he sips at the wine. "The holds and halls aren't the only places with politics. But I'm sure you've realized that by now. So you're committed to helping her? Even if that means you have some formidable opponents before you? Why is that?" Bland as his tone is, he could have been asking about the weather.
Vanya's quiet and looks down at her hands. "I guess because she stands to lose everything if someone doesn't help her," she says, her voice very soft. "I know what that's like, R'zel. I very nearly lost all of my dreams once because someone was willing to do anything they could to ruin me. I don't know that Sinopa will be /bad/ for the weyr like some think she will. She's not perfect, but no one is. With the right weyrleader, she'll be all right." Vanya stares at her hands still, then lifts her eyes to R'zel. "Someone has to help her, and if no one else will, I guess I will."
R'zel stares through the wineglass at Vanya as she studies her hands. "Conditional on 'the right weyrleader,'" he repeats flatly, shaking his head yet again. As a faint, annoyed huff of breath escapes him, he sets down the glass in favor of propping up his chin with the newly freed hand. "I hope that means you two at least have some idea of who that'll be? Wingsecond D'ven? Wingsecond Ch'dais? The Weyrlingmaster?" He counts off the names on the fingers of his other hand.
"We've looked at the list, yes," Vanya admits. "D'ven ... yes, I think he could do the job well, so long as he can also be allowed to relax from time to time. R'vain --" She pauses. "I don't know him well enough to say if he'd be good in the position. Sinopa ... I don't know how she'd work with him. They don't seem to have much in common. Ch'dais? -- another unknown." She looks up at the young man. "And, there's yourself, R'zel. I know you're young, but unless you take Pangioth away from the weyr when either queen rises, he's going to chase. He's young, and he's strong. He could catch." Vanya pauses. "You have to realize that could happen, and should prepare yourself for that contingency."
R'zel nods along as Vanya lays out the considerations about each candidate, adding his own running commentary to go along with hers. "D'ven does a good job as 3C's wingsecond, and I'm sure his wingleader doesn't cut him slack for being friends. And as for needing to relax--weyrleadership changes a guy. The weyrlingmaster does well by his job. And Ch'dais might be an unknown to you, but Reaches knows him and thinks well." To the mention of himself, the youth first freezes, then scowls, jaw tensing, fists clenching under chin and around hapless wine glass, green eyes lit with a mix of emotions--anger, scorn, frustration, disdain. Silence falls, long enough for him to count to ten inside his head. Slowly, he shakes his head. "I'm going to pretend that was a joke, because that just eludes common sense," he says between clenched teeth. Pause. He rubs ruefully at his still taut jaw and adds in a dry tone, "And as a matter of fact, I was planning a visit to High Reaches Hold, then Bitra. Soon."
The healer's expression is quite serious, but she accepts what R'zel says. "That's what I meant," she says, voice quiet. "Pangioth will chase if you're here, and as much as the thought of him successfully catching either Citalth or Tialith scares you, I'm sure it scares at least one of the goldriders twice as much." Her lips curve into a wry smile. "When you consider Roa isn't much older than you, it rather puts things in perspective, doesn't it? Why is a young weyrwoman considered such a good thing and a young weyrleader isn't? I suppose it all boils down to the fact that any woman needs a man to guide her, doesn't it?" There's a sour note in there. "I mean, no woman could possibly be smart enough to know what to do without a man to tell her, could she?"
A snort, and R'zel's shaking his head for the nth time this meeting. "It's not like that. It's not good when both the weyrwoman and the weyrleader are young and new to this whole leadership deal. The other weyrs' leaders will think the Reaches is a weyr of children." Sigh. "If Diya were here, things'd be easier. Maybe." On impulse, he tips the rest of the wine down. "There are plenty of older bronzeriders who want the job, I'm sure, and not all of them are so bad. I'll bet Sinopa and D'ven would get along great. He's T'ral's friend." Whatever that has to do with the topic at hand. "And he's charming. And good at flirting back. They'd get along." Pause. He scowls again, this time at the now empty wine glass. "I'm not going to be anyone's pawn, and that's it."
"No one's asking you to be a pawn," Vanya says, her brow knitting. She blinks once, then twice. "Is ... is that what you think I was meaning when I said I needed someone trustworthy to --" She is totally amazed. "R'zel, no. That's not what I meant at all! I merely need someone who isn't going to run their mouth about what I'm doing for Sinopa, I'm not ... no. That's it. I just need someone who is trustworthy to take me a couple of places." She shakes her head. "No one's trying to make you into a pawn in this game anymore than /any/ of us are." She sighs, shaking her head again. "What I'm doing for Sinopa is just research. She's not asking me to ... oh, no. Not at all." The protest isn't overboard because she's guilty, but emphatic because she's been so horribly misunderstood. "I'm many things, but I'm not a pimp. I'm not trying to set you up with Sinopa so she can manipulate you."
"No, I wasn't questioning your motives for finding someone for transport, or suggesting that you might be setting me up as Sinopa's dupe," R'zel clarifies with a touch of exasperation. With that, he tilts the last drop of wine into his mouth. "It's just that..." His frustrated words tangle up in his throat and melt into a sigh, and he simply stares at Vanya in lieu of giving an explanation, perhaps hoping that if he could just stare long enough, the healer will psychically understand.
But Vanya doesn't seem to be picking up on what it is. "I ... R'zel, I can't read minds," she finally says. "I wish I could, it would make things a lot easier. Please, just tell me? I don't want to make any more mistakes. I can't afford many more errors in judgment. I've already jeopardized my knot for making poor choices and decisions." There's a swallow left in her own glass, and she downs it in one gulp. Rising she moves to the table, picking up the wine bottle and offering it to R'zel after pouring a small amount in her own glass. "Just ... tell me. Whatever it is, it can't be as bad as my imagination will make it."
Something in Vanya's words draws a wan laugh from R'zel, who reaches out for the offered bottle to pour himself a generous helping. "Er, sorry," he mumbles as his eyes take in Vanya's much smaller portion of wine. "I... don't know how to put it in words. I'll tell you, when I can. Just..." With a sigh, he rakes a hand through his curls, mussing them up. "It's difficult, befriending people like Sinopa. Just, just tread carefully, okay? Don't get involved in politics if you can avoid it. Try to play down your connection with her." Though he pauses there, he remains restless, picking at the nearest corner of the table. "There are people who will try to get at you to get at her." Somehow, the line still falls a little flat, and he frowns again.
This, however, seems to make sense to Vanya. "Yes, I know," she says nodding. "That game has been played on me more times than you know. E'sere was worried about that, too. That in order to get to him, they'd use me some way, or hurt me, or ... well, something like that." She sighs, sipping the wine and setting the empty glass on the table. "I'll be careful, R'zel." A pause. "Well, as careful as I can be. I'm not in anybody's way. It's like I told E'sere. I'm a nothing and a nobody. What can they do to me they haven't already done?" She smiles and places a hand on his shoulder. "They've taken everything they can from me already. I have nothing left to lose."
Baleful green eyes fix on the wine glass, and R'zel sips it slowly as Vanya speaks. He concludes his attentive silence with a slow nod, and a faint startled jolt answers the hand on his shoulder. His eyes flick from the hand to the woman, but a scant few seconds later, he averts his gaze to his drained cup. "I think I've imposed on you for too long this night. My thanks for the company and the wine. Take care, Vanya." Rising, he offers a quick bow before heading for the door. Once he's outside the door, there's a weary, half-hearted mutter of "Shut up, Pan," as the young bronzerider makes tracks for the living cavern, his steps no longer so brisk as when he first arrived.
Vanya closes the door behind R'zel, not certain what, exactly, transpired there. With slow steps, she gets undressed, puts the gittern back in its bag, and closes the glows. Then, in the dark, she gives in and lets the nightmares that haunt her begin for another night.