[Log] Burdened by Reputation
Who: E'sere, Diya
When: Early morning, day 21, month 4, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Hot Springs
What: Diya and E'sere chat about children, how they're raised, what rights they have based in birth, and how they might be burdened by the reputation of more (in)famous parents.
Hot Springs
This large natural cavern is heated by the same mechanism that warms the hatching sands. Fed by a spring, the waters that fill the center bowl are warm enough to steam and deep enough that a bronze might almost float after following the gentle slope down into the pool. There is room enough there for several dragons, provided they mind their wings.
To the right of the entrance tunnel, a second pool has been hollowed out of the rock. It's much smaller than the first and is intended for use by the human residents of the Weyr. Alcoves over the pool hold extra towels and pouches of 'sand.
Glowbaskets have been raised on poles around the lip of the larger of the two pools. They end three-quarters of the way into the cavern, leaving the rest in perpetual shadow. The rear of the cavern is gloomy, its wall broken by a number of small crevasses.
Contents:
E'sere
Bowl (B)
It's early morning, just prior to dawn, where even cooler spring airs prevail, that finds Diya in the dragon bathing caverns. Perhaps it's the early hour that keeps most riders and dragons away, their various duties and sleep far more important than baths, but Nenuith enjoys the vastness of the dragon pool in solitude, with her rider seated at the edge with a towel wrapped around her slender frame.
Another early riser slips into the bathing caverns alone, no dragon at his side this early; E'sere, with fresh lothes in hand, heads for the bathing pool at a slow walk, unhurried. Halfway there, though, his steps falter briefly before picking up, his direction a little changed for the maneuver. Now, his path is toward the seated weyrwoman and her gold, easily distinguishable. "Good morning, weyrwoman," he greets her lightly, very cheery for the hour.
The gold glints of Diya's hair glimmers in the low lighting offered by the glows and due to steam, seems nominally damp. Brushing loose locks out of her hair and careful to keep the towel wrapped well around her frame, she glances over her pale shoulder to favor E'sere with a long lingering look, as if uncertain of who he might be. Perhaps she hasn't had her morning klah yet, but the pause only last a few heartbeats before recognition flickers and she offers a swiftly emerging smile, and a pleasant, "Good morning, E'sere. Getting the grime out of the back of your ears and the tip of your nose?" Blithely spoken, any rancor or sarcasm can't be heard in her voice, and the hand that pats the side of the much larger dragon pool is warmly inviting.
E'sere smirks easily at Diya, nodding once. "Going to try, anyway, weyrwoman. You and Neuith are up early," he tells her easily as he sets his stuff down out of range of splashes. Matter-of-factly, he strips down and slides into the water to begin his bath; but at the moment, he only comes to lean against the side of the pool, looking up at the woman idly. "How are you this morning, weyrwoman? I... met your daughter, the other night."
"We're always up early," she returns, grave. The solemnity, however, only lasts a split second, as she flicks a low scattering of water droplets towards the half-submerged man. "You're too used to Sinopa's ways," continues Diya, the pleasant smile finding her lips once more and halting there at E'sere's next words. "Ah, so you did meet her. I wasn't sure if she was staring at me all night, or you. I'm not surprised." Delicately spoken, her voice as always represents more emotion than written on her face, and it's telling in regards to Mataiya.
E'sere quirks a brow at mention of Sinopa, restraining a smile. "Perhaps," he agrees vaguely, dipping his head once in acknowledgement. "I enjoy the mornings myself--easier to get things done when I'm fresh, and there's not so many people about." He shrugs idly, then sreleases that smile, nodding once. "Oh, really?" he wonders. "Perhaps she was staring at us both; I didn't notice. She's a very... interesting girl. Charming. I think she takes after you more than you realize, weyrwoman."
While a simple hand gesture would be enough to convey her dismissal of E'sere's conclusions, Diya compounds it with words in a case of a lady protesting too much. "She's interesting, I agree, but whether she's like me. I'm afraid," the weyrwoman shakes her head, mild sorrow conveyed, "We've spent perhaps a total of eight turns together, five of them when she could barely speak let alone learn mannerisms. Unless you mean she's as beautiful as her mother."
E'sere grins outright at that. "Oh, of course," he agrees, with wide innocent eyes. "But you'd be surprised what children will pick up from their mothers, no matter how little time they're with them. Maybe it's bred into them?" He smirks then, brows arching as he jibes gently at her. A shrug. "She seems an odd mix, to me--she talked maturely, but in some other ways she seemed so young--I don't think she was still all night. Perhaps I only notice that now, though, because I've outgrown that stage myself."
"And you found her mature?" Diya returns E'sere's look with wide eyes, though lacking considerably in innocence. While not frosty, the weyrwoman is physically closed off, the inviting hand that gestured him over, finding a placid home on her lap, and her other arm keeping her weight steady on the bath's rim. "She leads a life of leisure," there's faint disapproval there, "Without the expectations put on her of birth, such as some of the Weyr's children in the same position." Incautious, the older woman levels the wingleader a straight look.
"Not all of us are lucky enough to achieve that kind of life," notes E'sere wryly. The weyrwoman's retort doesn't phase him; he only returns a vague smile and nods once. "She seemed mature in some ways, yes. She seemed smart, and knowledgeable. I didn't say /all/ the time, though--children her age rarely are." A pause; he seems to be debating his next words. Finally: "She was much more... demonstrative than you, weyrwoman."
Diya's level gaze holds steady for moments longer, lingering to study each of E'sere's features, the twitches or lack thereof, and any other inconsistencies that might be present in his face. After a while, she agrees, returning her ocean gaze to the water, "Children her age rarely are, but unfortunately, Mataiya outgrew the age of children at least six turns prior. And-," while busying her hands with readjusting the bottom hem of her towel, her eyes lift to gift E'sere with a look of sharp amusement, bordering on wicked in her one word query that speaks of defiance of his final assessment, "Oh?"
Giving nothing away to the weyrwoman's searching gaze, E'sere maintains that same mild smile. "Indeed. Well, perhaps it's presumptuous of me to think so, but it's hard not to think of her as a child, considering my scant memories of her and the gap in our ages." A pause. Rather slyly: "Of course, I probably seem a child to you still." Her latter query, he's not about to touch.
"Demonstrative?" Diya isn't eager to let the subject just fade, the repetition of the word carrying more questions of the young man. It's followed quickly by laughter and a a smile that finally exudes warmth. The slight shake of her head accompanies her words, and while the flush on her cheeks may be steam-induced it's more likely the suppression of a more enthusiastic chuckle at her own expense. "I would imagine children enjoy each other's company and may find themselves in situations where," she pauses, head canting to concede, "Demonstrative gestures would be acceptable. I imagine she sought you out."
E'sere allows himself more emotion as well as Diya gives in to her laugh, smirking crookedly at the elder woman. "She did," he agrees with a nod. "Slipped me a note, as a matter of fact, as I was preparing to leave. Very cute--I hadn't seen that done in, oh, turns, it must be." He pauses there, quirking a brow and finally deigning to reply to the subject he brought up. "Demonstrative," he affirms. "Or perhaps 'familiar' is a better word. Apparently, Lord Reaches speaks of me on occasion--I'm flattered he'd remember me from our days at the Caucus." Though that hearsay doesn't quite lend itself to the connotation of 'familiar' he's suggesting.
"/Children/ do as they learn." Hardly a description of herself, Diya's lips pressing thin in regards to that. There's still a heavy sense of amusement that exudes, tempered by thoughtfulness of her daughter's various traits. "She's beautiful," the weyrwoman remarks, less proud than merely descriptive, "Of which I can't blame her, or you, for perhaps being more familiar than hold girls should be. And," her finger lifts, first to waggle at E'sere warningly, and then moving to tuck the top folds of her towel together so it'll stay firm over her chest, "Less flattery as much as, the inaugural Caucus class, I'm sure, was memorable in one way or the other to most of the upper echelon of Pern, student, instructor, or none of the above. Do -you- not think of your fellow Caucusmembers?"
E'sere arches a brow, then dips his head once toward the weyrwoman. "So they do," he concedes. He pauses again, then notes, "She was not improper--and I certainly know better than to be." But he shrugs it off and is silent, glancing briefly around the early-morning bathing caverns before continuing, without looking back at Diya. "I suppose so. I like to keep in touch with them, as many as I can."
"We've talked often of the Caucus' purposes, and if you hadn't kept in touch with some of them, I'd wonder what most people did take from the inaugural class." Diya unfolds her towel, a careful eye spared for Nenuith's near-slumbering bath before she slips into the heated pool. Slender arms find the walls of the bath to prop herself up, and fingers dip down into the lapping pool, playing ripples across the water's surface. "Improper. We live in a Weyr, and while our propriety is probably far more prudish than many of Holds and Crafts believe and my daughter's grown up in a Hold environment, I don't begrudge her a chance to sweep you off your feet." If she had champagne in her hand, it'd find its way to her lips at this point, a self-satisfied hidden quickly by the flute's rim. But there is no glass, and instead her half-smile curls into an expression that's louder than words.
"Oh?" E'sere, too, offers a half-smile that mimics Diya's. "You don't think it would be the other way around?ent The handsome young rider arrived to carry away the innocent holder-girl, like in all those stories? You know, she /did/ dream of marrying me when she was younger." He's grinning outright now, perhaps not entirely serious. Or perhaps he is, it's hard to tell.
Diya rolls her shoulders backward, sinking further into the water. Her backwards tipped head is propped by the stone bath's backing and her words are spoken to the air, "I'm surprised, if you saw past her note dropping note, how you believe that." Perhaps, just maybe, she knows her daughter better than their deliberate distance may make it seem.
E'sere's brows arch, surprise registering in his expression. "You think she was lying to me?" he notes, pressing a palm to his chest in shock. "How could she /not/ dream of such a thing? I thought /all/ the young girls did." Now he's plainly affecting the emotion for Diya's benefit, his reaction too exaggerated to be genuine.
And then again, maybe Diya doesn't know, and is just enjoying the production put on by the wingleader. Her head rolls just slightly to watch the dramatics and she laughs low. "Mataiya. Unlike both mother and father, sometimes children don't become their parents, when oft times they do. You've thought nothing of your own father all these turns? Whether it were G'thon or another rider?" Studiously, she watches the young man.
That question is quick to still E'sere, the bronzerider's expression flashing through brief confusion at the subject change toward calm neutrality. "Not in turns," he admits, a shrug sliding the query away. "Does it really matter now? I'm hardly even curious as to his identity. I have Mother, my fosterparents, and many others who've helped raise me, make me who I am, whether that's like them or not. I've never needed him."
Beyond turns, a natural instinct for discerning emotions has Diya thoughtfully quiet after E'sere's admission. "You are your mother's son."
E'sere's answer to that is to raise a brow in regard of Diya, then glance away again, no denial there. Finally, almost lightly: "It's hard enough, following in one person's footsteps." And, apparent non sequitor: "Your daughter has higher hopes than ensnaring a bronzerider."
For the first time, Diya seems pleased with Mataiya and having no reason to hide such pride, the blue-eyed woman lifts her lashes to regard E'sere. "If you had children, what kind of hopes would you have for them? Girls to Impress gold, and males to Impress bronze?" Curious, the weyrwoman slips both arms beneath the water's surface, shuddering at the sudden heat to cooler skin.
E'sere ponders that question a moment, eyes cutting sideways to the goldrider. "They'd have no claim of Blood," he remarks. "And crafts require talent and skill, impression only luck, as you've said. I'd hope for them the best I could give them--the best they could get." He shrugs, cocking a half-smile, wry.
"Mataiya," begins Diya narratively, "Has no claim to the Lemos line, and while I tend to believe the Weyrs offer more chances for productive work than the Holds with minds less hidebound, I hope for the best for her without my assistance or my name." The woman smiles faintly, reflecting long ago youth in that pursed set. "I'd like to see her aim further than a bronzerider, or a Lord Holder, but in the end, perhaps-," the alto trails off, followed by a quick deprecating shrug. "All parents hope, their methods just differ."
E'sere quirks a brow. "You don't think your reputation rubs off on her? I don't think there's any way to separate that from her: we inherit our parents' repuations as well; most people, however, are not... fortunate enough to inherit one as far-reaching as yours," he remarks with a shrug. Then, with a faint surprise, he wonders, "How much higher than a Lord Holder can she aim? A bronzerider, surely, but--"
Using her hands, Diya laps water towards her skin and exhales, luxuriating further in the heat offered by the cleansing water. "I can't imagine living here would have done her any better. You're absolutely right. We can't escape the reputation of our parents, but in another environment, perhaps it matters less than it would have here, and neither my failures or successes will be hers to dote on because simply, while the children of High Reaches Hold may be intrigued, nothing is more far removed than fame that's not within the boundaries of their confined spaces." The sole draconic occupant of the massive dragon bath stirs, her tail thumping beneath the water's surface. "Sadly," the woman inclines her head, concession in that gesture, "As the world grows smaller around you, so too do the boundaries of your life expand. I'm sure she capitalizes greatly on M'tai and myself's respective positions. As you might have done on Lexine's and the Blood, while displaced by Impression, still runs through you."
Quiet, E'sere listens to Diya's words, nodding briefly at the end. "Perhaps. I've never lived anywhere else; I don't know how that might play out. But I know how things work in the lower caverns. It's... almost beyond their comprehension, that this great person they know only by name and sight is a real person to you--the most impostant person, in fact: your mother," he tells her. "And that dims the effect." A shrug, and silence again, the bronzerider still in the water wearing a thoughtful expression. "Isn't that what Blood is? Capitalizing on the position of one's relations?" he notes, glancing askance at the goldrider.
"Life's about capitalizing on the position of your relatives. Whether it's Blooded or the children of a particularly favored herder." Diya shrugs. "We can't escape that aspect, I think, but it's the Blooded that have the widest area effect with their lineage. And sometimes, though rarely, succession follows the decision of the Lord Holder that deviates from his eldest son. You don't wonder of your father's birth rights?" The last question is inserted, non-sequitur as it is, after her comments, conversational and unvaried in tempo and intonation.
"You think he's Blooded?" inquires E'sere, brows raising. "Perhaps, perhaps not. There's far more riders here, I think, that could lay claim on me than Bloods. And," he adds, almost an afterthought, "it wouldn't do me any good if he were. I have Morelenth; no one would give me a Hold. And I wouldn't want one of them, anyway."
Gently, the weyrwoman corrects a misunderstanding, "There are more birth rights than just that of Blood. Or rather," she adds, grace coloring her words with faint bemusement, "The lack thereof of rights. A dragon makes up for everything. I think that's the most difficult part of having children. Those of riders never hold the same grasp of familial attention as other children born of other parents might. For us," dark eyes flicker to spy out the pearlescent cream of her dragon.
E'sere knits his brows briefly; perhaps he doesn't quite understand. "What other rights, then?" he inquires after a moment. And: "Yes, our jobs and our dragons come first, over our children. Perhaps it's better that way, though. My fosterparents did as well a job with me as anyone could, and Mother didn't abandon me, either." He pauses. "I suppose it would be even harder, now, to raise children--leaving them behind to face Thread, not knowing if you'll come back whole--come back at all. And to have them grow up with that worry... Well. Better they not know you after all."
"Better indeed." If E'sere doesn't understand Diya's meaning, it doesn't seem she's about to attempt a third explanation. "Have you thought of having children? Or is it a 'if it happens, it does' sort of thing?" Inquisitive eyes, upon finding this new question lingering between the pair, flick to the wingleader, and is followed by the not so subtle slyness of her next tease, "With Sinopa?"
"If it happens, it happens," agrees Es'ere, with a brief laugh. "Perhaps, with the right woman..." But he shakes his head, grinning. "Sinopa," notes the wingleader, "is a sweet, well-meaning girl, if... perhaps best suited to a career as a Lady Holder." I.e. looking pretty and doing absolutely nothing. E'sere continues smoothly, curious, "Did /you/ desire children? A daughter like Mataiya?"
"Children. I've always enjoyed the company of children, though it's one thing to enjoy children and quite another to actually plan for them. Mataiya was one of those 'just happeneds' as is the case with many children of riders." Diya flickers her fingers across the water, reaching back for the discarded towel behind her, ostensibly to haul herself back up and out. But the motion is only poised to continue, it doesn't actually complete. "There'll be far less births in the Weyr now that the Pass is on us, I'm sure. Children mean everything for the future, which is why, I suppose, I take great interest in the doings of the Caucus. As it's meant so we all have a more stable future, at least in theory."
E'sere observes Diya mildly, his frown only thoughtful. "Oh? You don't think it will make for more? Seeking some last comfort before a Fall, or a way to continue one's legacy after one is gone?" A shrug. "At the risk of sounding cliche, we're fight for the children and the future, to protect them both. Births are happy affairs, and I fear we're looking at too few of those already." Her brief words on the Caucus are met with curiousity, his interest a prompt for elaboration.
"The greenriders between far too often, and pregnancy is difficult to detect that early." Diya explains pedantically to the bronzerider, and thus ignorant male. "They are. I sometimes wish I had more progeny, but I'm sure they'd all find some difficult balance between reputations to live up to and the lack of attention. My own parents worked at the whim of the Lord Holders, though one would assume bitterness if they just heard that phrase on its own I imagine. They worked hard, and cared for their children as well as they could. Would you do whatever in your power to make sure your children's lives are easy? Or do you plan for them to gain surer footing on their own?"
"There's more than just greenriders out there," counters E'sere. But he shrugs anyway, deferring to the one with more practical experience. "I, personally, am glad I'm Mother's only child, though I can't say if she is. As for what I'd do for my children? I don't know. I can't say, not having that experience. I suspect, between my own duties, I'd do what I could to help them, make their lives easy, as you put it, but. You can't always count on other people to do things for you."
Diya grins broadly at his counter, completing the motion to haul herself up and into the folds of her towel lacking the shame of most holdbred girls. Then again, it's been decades. "True. But I meant there will be less children than the norm for the Interval. And the Weyr's numbers are usually bolstered by those who stand for candidacy." The grin shifts, sardonic and thinking. "Do you think your mother, your foster parents, or the absence of your father shaped your life more effectively?" A pause separates the query from her slow explanation, dark eyes drifting to look far away, "I ask, if only to understand Mataiya more, or put myself in her situation. Having never been there, it's sometimes difficult."
E'sere's brows furrow at her quiestion, as he debates it internally before putting a voice to his thoughts. "Mother," is his decision, confident and sure. "My fosterparents... provided my care and my basic manners. My father's absence... You seem to think that would be important? I don't think I understand your... interest in that. It's not that I wanted him or didn't want him; I didn't care either way. You... I suppose you wouldn't understand that, having both your parents so near. Were you close to your father, then?" he assumes, his words slower, more halting than usual as he sorts them into sentences.
"As close as a child can be, I suppose." Diya's bland regard of E'sere doesn't soften for his non-typical lack of coherence, except in a mild insertion of warmer tones into her voice. "He worked and provided the little things more than the Hold did." The older woman refolds the towel the way it was before E'sere arrived, Nenuith moving while the rider speaks and moves, to slide her neck along the way so the gold's chin rests on the stone next to Diya. "I had dreams of being a harper at one point in my life. Things worked out in the end, well as you can see." Affectionate, even in the curl of her fingers, the goldrider reaches to scritch the tip of her dragon's nose.
"My dreams," E'sere notes, "have always been to do exactly as I have done thus far."
"Then, aren't you fortunate." With no reproof or condescension in Diya's voice, she swings her legs out of the water and hops to the ground. Nenuith mirrors her rider's action, but in a more massive way, as the dragon makes her way out of the baths with a sheet of cascading down her form. "I hope you don't think poorly of me due to a teenager's thoughts of an absent mother. She's only eighteen, if even that, and a young one."
E'sere quirks a brow. "No, never," he reassures the woman solemnly. "I'd not let such a small thing change my opinion of you, weyrwoman. One's children are often one's hardest critics, after all."
Maybe there's a fleeting look of relief in Diya's eyes, or it's a trick of lighting. In any case, the weyrwoman flashes E'sere a more familiar smile where hints of her daughter emphasize the girl's lineage all the more. Her, "Then I don't envy Lexine your astute criticism," is accompanied by a wink to allay the connotation of her comments.
E'sere, wryly, smiles at that. "Indeed," he agrees simply, ducking his head. "Indeed. Good day, weyrwoman."
When: Early morning, day 21, month 4, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Hot Springs
What: Diya and E'sere chat about children, how they're raised, what rights they have based in birth, and how they might be burdened by the reputation of more (in)famous parents.
Hot Springs
This large natural cavern is heated by the same mechanism that warms the hatching sands. Fed by a spring, the waters that fill the center bowl are warm enough to steam and deep enough that a bronze might almost float after following the gentle slope down into the pool. There is room enough there for several dragons, provided they mind their wings.
To the right of the entrance tunnel, a second pool has been hollowed out of the rock. It's much smaller than the first and is intended for use by the human residents of the Weyr. Alcoves over the pool hold extra towels and pouches of 'sand.
Glowbaskets have been raised on poles around the lip of the larger of the two pools. They end three-quarters of the way into the cavern, leaving the rest in perpetual shadow. The rear of the cavern is gloomy, its wall broken by a number of small crevasses.
Contents:
E'sere
Bowl (B)
It's early morning, just prior to dawn, where even cooler spring airs prevail, that finds Diya in the dragon bathing caverns. Perhaps it's the early hour that keeps most riders and dragons away, their various duties and sleep far more important than baths, but Nenuith enjoys the vastness of the dragon pool in solitude, with her rider seated at the edge with a towel wrapped around her slender frame.
Another early riser slips into the bathing caverns alone, no dragon at his side this early; E'sere, with fresh lothes in hand, heads for the bathing pool at a slow walk, unhurried. Halfway there, though, his steps falter briefly before picking up, his direction a little changed for the maneuver. Now, his path is toward the seated weyrwoman and her gold, easily distinguishable. "Good morning, weyrwoman," he greets her lightly, very cheery for the hour.
The gold glints of Diya's hair glimmers in the low lighting offered by the glows and due to steam, seems nominally damp. Brushing loose locks out of her hair and careful to keep the towel wrapped well around her frame, she glances over her pale shoulder to favor E'sere with a long lingering look, as if uncertain of who he might be. Perhaps she hasn't had her morning klah yet, but the pause only last a few heartbeats before recognition flickers and she offers a swiftly emerging smile, and a pleasant, "Good morning, E'sere. Getting the grime out of the back of your ears and the tip of your nose?" Blithely spoken, any rancor or sarcasm can't be heard in her voice, and the hand that pats the side of the much larger dragon pool is warmly inviting.
E'sere smirks easily at Diya, nodding once. "Going to try, anyway, weyrwoman. You and Neuith are up early," he tells her easily as he sets his stuff down out of range of splashes. Matter-of-factly, he strips down and slides into the water to begin his bath; but at the moment, he only comes to lean against the side of the pool, looking up at the woman idly. "How are you this morning, weyrwoman? I... met your daughter, the other night."
"We're always up early," she returns, grave. The solemnity, however, only lasts a split second, as she flicks a low scattering of water droplets towards the half-submerged man. "You're too used to Sinopa's ways," continues Diya, the pleasant smile finding her lips once more and halting there at E'sere's next words. "Ah, so you did meet her. I wasn't sure if she was staring at me all night, or you. I'm not surprised." Delicately spoken, her voice as always represents more emotion than written on her face, and it's telling in regards to Mataiya.
E'sere quirks a brow at mention of Sinopa, restraining a smile. "Perhaps," he agrees vaguely, dipping his head once in acknowledgement. "I enjoy the mornings myself--easier to get things done when I'm fresh, and there's not so many people about." He shrugs idly, then sreleases that smile, nodding once. "Oh, really?" he wonders. "Perhaps she was staring at us both; I didn't notice. She's a very... interesting girl. Charming. I think she takes after you more than you realize, weyrwoman."
While a simple hand gesture would be enough to convey her dismissal of E'sere's conclusions, Diya compounds it with words in a case of a lady protesting too much. "She's interesting, I agree, but whether she's like me. I'm afraid," the weyrwoman shakes her head, mild sorrow conveyed, "We've spent perhaps a total of eight turns together, five of them when she could barely speak let alone learn mannerisms. Unless you mean she's as beautiful as her mother."
E'sere grins outright at that. "Oh, of course," he agrees, with wide innocent eyes. "But you'd be surprised what children will pick up from their mothers, no matter how little time they're with them. Maybe it's bred into them?" He smirks then, brows arching as he jibes gently at her. A shrug. "She seems an odd mix, to me--she talked maturely, but in some other ways she seemed so young--I don't think she was still all night. Perhaps I only notice that now, though, because I've outgrown that stage myself."
"And you found her mature?" Diya returns E'sere's look with wide eyes, though lacking considerably in innocence. While not frosty, the weyrwoman is physically closed off, the inviting hand that gestured him over, finding a placid home on her lap, and her other arm keeping her weight steady on the bath's rim. "She leads a life of leisure," there's faint disapproval there, "Without the expectations put on her of birth, such as some of the Weyr's children in the same position." Incautious, the older woman levels the wingleader a straight look.
"Not all of us are lucky enough to achieve that kind of life," notes E'sere wryly. The weyrwoman's retort doesn't phase him; he only returns a vague smile and nods once. "She seemed mature in some ways, yes. She seemed smart, and knowledgeable. I didn't say /all/ the time, though--children her age rarely are." A pause; he seems to be debating his next words. Finally: "She was much more... demonstrative than you, weyrwoman."
Diya's level gaze holds steady for moments longer, lingering to study each of E'sere's features, the twitches or lack thereof, and any other inconsistencies that might be present in his face. After a while, she agrees, returning her ocean gaze to the water, "Children her age rarely are, but unfortunately, Mataiya outgrew the age of children at least six turns prior. And-," while busying her hands with readjusting the bottom hem of her towel, her eyes lift to gift E'sere with a look of sharp amusement, bordering on wicked in her one word query that speaks of defiance of his final assessment, "Oh?"
Giving nothing away to the weyrwoman's searching gaze, E'sere maintains that same mild smile. "Indeed. Well, perhaps it's presumptuous of me to think so, but it's hard not to think of her as a child, considering my scant memories of her and the gap in our ages." A pause. Rather slyly: "Of course, I probably seem a child to you still." Her latter query, he's not about to touch.
"Demonstrative?" Diya isn't eager to let the subject just fade, the repetition of the word carrying more questions of the young man. It's followed quickly by laughter and a a smile that finally exudes warmth. The slight shake of her head accompanies her words, and while the flush on her cheeks may be steam-induced it's more likely the suppression of a more enthusiastic chuckle at her own expense. "I would imagine children enjoy each other's company and may find themselves in situations where," she pauses, head canting to concede, "Demonstrative gestures would be acceptable. I imagine she sought you out."
E'sere allows himself more emotion as well as Diya gives in to her laugh, smirking crookedly at the elder woman. "She did," he agrees with a nod. "Slipped me a note, as a matter of fact, as I was preparing to leave. Very cute--I hadn't seen that done in, oh, turns, it must be." He pauses there, quirking a brow and finally deigning to reply to the subject he brought up. "Demonstrative," he affirms. "Or perhaps 'familiar' is a better word. Apparently, Lord Reaches speaks of me on occasion--I'm flattered he'd remember me from our days at the Caucus." Though that hearsay doesn't quite lend itself to the connotation of 'familiar' he's suggesting.
"/Children/ do as they learn." Hardly a description of herself, Diya's lips pressing thin in regards to that. There's still a heavy sense of amusement that exudes, tempered by thoughtfulness of her daughter's various traits. "She's beautiful," the weyrwoman remarks, less proud than merely descriptive, "Of which I can't blame her, or you, for perhaps being more familiar than hold girls should be. And," her finger lifts, first to waggle at E'sere warningly, and then moving to tuck the top folds of her towel together so it'll stay firm over her chest, "Less flattery as much as, the inaugural Caucus class, I'm sure, was memorable in one way or the other to most of the upper echelon of Pern, student, instructor, or none of the above. Do -you- not think of your fellow Caucusmembers?"
E'sere arches a brow, then dips his head once toward the weyrwoman. "So they do," he concedes. He pauses again, then notes, "She was not improper--and I certainly know better than to be." But he shrugs it off and is silent, glancing briefly around the early-morning bathing caverns before continuing, without looking back at Diya. "I suppose so. I like to keep in touch with them, as many as I can."
"We've talked often of the Caucus' purposes, and if you hadn't kept in touch with some of them, I'd wonder what most people did take from the inaugural class." Diya unfolds her towel, a careful eye spared for Nenuith's near-slumbering bath before she slips into the heated pool. Slender arms find the walls of the bath to prop herself up, and fingers dip down into the lapping pool, playing ripples across the water's surface. "Improper. We live in a Weyr, and while our propriety is probably far more prudish than many of Holds and Crafts believe and my daughter's grown up in a Hold environment, I don't begrudge her a chance to sweep you off your feet." If she had champagne in her hand, it'd find its way to her lips at this point, a self-satisfied hidden quickly by the flute's rim. But there is no glass, and instead her half-smile curls into an expression that's louder than words.
"Oh?" E'sere, too, offers a half-smile that mimics Diya's. "You don't think it would be the other way around?ent The handsome young rider arrived to carry away the innocent holder-girl, like in all those stories? You know, she /did/ dream of marrying me when she was younger." He's grinning outright now, perhaps not entirely serious. Or perhaps he is, it's hard to tell.
Diya rolls her shoulders backward, sinking further into the water. Her backwards tipped head is propped by the stone bath's backing and her words are spoken to the air, "I'm surprised, if you saw past her note dropping note, how you believe that." Perhaps, just maybe, she knows her daughter better than their deliberate distance may make it seem.
E'sere's brows arch, surprise registering in his expression. "You think she was lying to me?" he notes, pressing a palm to his chest in shock. "How could she /not/ dream of such a thing? I thought /all/ the young girls did." Now he's plainly affecting the emotion for Diya's benefit, his reaction too exaggerated to be genuine.
And then again, maybe Diya doesn't know, and is just enjoying the production put on by the wingleader. Her head rolls just slightly to watch the dramatics and she laughs low. "Mataiya. Unlike both mother and father, sometimes children don't become their parents, when oft times they do. You've thought nothing of your own father all these turns? Whether it were G'thon or another rider?" Studiously, she watches the young man.
That question is quick to still E'sere, the bronzerider's expression flashing through brief confusion at the subject change toward calm neutrality. "Not in turns," he admits, a shrug sliding the query away. "Does it really matter now? I'm hardly even curious as to his identity. I have Mother, my fosterparents, and many others who've helped raise me, make me who I am, whether that's like them or not. I've never needed him."
Beyond turns, a natural instinct for discerning emotions has Diya thoughtfully quiet after E'sere's admission. "You are your mother's son."
E'sere's answer to that is to raise a brow in regard of Diya, then glance away again, no denial there. Finally, almost lightly: "It's hard enough, following in one person's footsteps." And, apparent non sequitor: "Your daughter has higher hopes than ensnaring a bronzerider."
For the first time, Diya seems pleased with Mataiya and having no reason to hide such pride, the blue-eyed woman lifts her lashes to regard E'sere. "If you had children, what kind of hopes would you have for them? Girls to Impress gold, and males to Impress bronze?" Curious, the weyrwoman slips both arms beneath the water's surface, shuddering at the sudden heat to cooler skin.
E'sere ponders that question a moment, eyes cutting sideways to the goldrider. "They'd have no claim of Blood," he remarks. "And crafts require talent and skill, impression only luck, as you've said. I'd hope for them the best I could give them--the best they could get." He shrugs, cocking a half-smile, wry.
"Mataiya," begins Diya narratively, "Has no claim to the Lemos line, and while I tend to believe the Weyrs offer more chances for productive work than the Holds with minds less hidebound, I hope for the best for her without my assistance or my name." The woman smiles faintly, reflecting long ago youth in that pursed set. "I'd like to see her aim further than a bronzerider, or a Lord Holder, but in the end, perhaps-," the alto trails off, followed by a quick deprecating shrug. "All parents hope, their methods just differ."
E'sere quirks a brow. "You don't think your reputation rubs off on her? I don't think there's any way to separate that from her: we inherit our parents' repuations as well; most people, however, are not... fortunate enough to inherit one as far-reaching as yours," he remarks with a shrug. Then, with a faint surprise, he wonders, "How much higher than a Lord Holder can she aim? A bronzerider, surely, but--"
Using her hands, Diya laps water towards her skin and exhales, luxuriating further in the heat offered by the cleansing water. "I can't imagine living here would have done her any better. You're absolutely right. We can't escape the reputation of our parents, but in another environment, perhaps it matters less than it would have here, and neither my failures or successes will be hers to dote on because simply, while the children of High Reaches Hold may be intrigued, nothing is more far removed than fame that's not within the boundaries of their confined spaces." The sole draconic occupant of the massive dragon bath stirs, her tail thumping beneath the water's surface. "Sadly," the woman inclines her head, concession in that gesture, "As the world grows smaller around you, so too do the boundaries of your life expand. I'm sure she capitalizes greatly on M'tai and myself's respective positions. As you might have done on Lexine's and the Blood, while displaced by Impression, still runs through you."
Quiet, E'sere listens to Diya's words, nodding briefly at the end. "Perhaps. I've never lived anywhere else; I don't know how that might play out. But I know how things work in the lower caverns. It's... almost beyond their comprehension, that this great person they know only by name and sight is a real person to you--the most impostant person, in fact: your mother," he tells her. "And that dims the effect." A shrug, and silence again, the bronzerider still in the water wearing a thoughtful expression. "Isn't that what Blood is? Capitalizing on the position of one's relations?" he notes, glancing askance at the goldrider.
"Life's about capitalizing on the position of your relatives. Whether it's Blooded or the children of a particularly favored herder." Diya shrugs. "We can't escape that aspect, I think, but it's the Blooded that have the widest area effect with their lineage. And sometimes, though rarely, succession follows the decision of the Lord Holder that deviates from his eldest son. You don't wonder of your father's birth rights?" The last question is inserted, non-sequitur as it is, after her comments, conversational and unvaried in tempo and intonation.
"You think he's Blooded?" inquires E'sere, brows raising. "Perhaps, perhaps not. There's far more riders here, I think, that could lay claim on me than Bloods. And," he adds, almost an afterthought, "it wouldn't do me any good if he were. I have Morelenth; no one would give me a Hold. And I wouldn't want one of them, anyway."
Gently, the weyrwoman corrects a misunderstanding, "There are more birth rights than just that of Blood. Or rather," she adds, grace coloring her words with faint bemusement, "The lack thereof of rights. A dragon makes up for everything. I think that's the most difficult part of having children. Those of riders never hold the same grasp of familial attention as other children born of other parents might. For us," dark eyes flicker to spy out the pearlescent cream of her dragon.
E'sere knits his brows briefly; perhaps he doesn't quite understand. "What other rights, then?" he inquires after a moment. And: "Yes, our jobs and our dragons come first, over our children. Perhaps it's better that way, though. My fosterparents did as well a job with me as anyone could, and Mother didn't abandon me, either." He pauses. "I suppose it would be even harder, now, to raise children--leaving them behind to face Thread, not knowing if you'll come back whole--come back at all. And to have them grow up with that worry... Well. Better they not know you after all."
"Better indeed." If E'sere doesn't understand Diya's meaning, it doesn't seem she's about to attempt a third explanation. "Have you thought of having children? Or is it a 'if it happens, it does' sort of thing?" Inquisitive eyes, upon finding this new question lingering between the pair, flick to the wingleader, and is followed by the not so subtle slyness of her next tease, "With Sinopa?"
"If it happens, it happens," agrees Es'ere, with a brief laugh. "Perhaps, with the right woman..." But he shakes his head, grinning. "Sinopa," notes the wingleader, "is a sweet, well-meaning girl, if... perhaps best suited to a career as a Lady Holder." I.e. looking pretty and doing absolutely nothing. E'sere continues smoothly, curious, "Did /you/ desire children? A daughter like Mataiya?"
"Children. I've always enjoyed the company of children, though it's one thing to enjoy children and quite another to actually plan for them. Mataiya was one of those 'just happeneds' as is the case with many children of riders." Diya flickers her fingers across the water, reaching back for the discarded towel behind her, ostensibly to haul herself back up and out. But the motion is only poised to continue, it doesn't actually complete. "There'll be far less births in the Weyr now that the Pass is on us, I'm sure. Children mean everything for the future, which is why, I suppose, I take great interest in the doings of the Caucus. As it's meant so we all have a more stable future, at least in theory."
E'sere observes Diya mildly, his frown only thoughtful. "Oh? You don't think it will make for more? Seeking some last comfort before a Fall, or a way to continue one's legacy after one is gone?" A shrug. "At the risk of sounding cliche, we're fight for the children and the future, to protect them both. Births are happy affairs, and I fear we're looking at too few of those already." Her brief words on the Caucus are met with curiousity, his interest a prompt for elaboration.
"The greenriders between far too often, and pregnancy is difficult to detect that early." Diya explains pedantically to the bronzerider, and thus ignorant male. "They are. I sometimes wish I had more progeny, but I'm sure they'd all find some difficult balance between reputations to live up to and the lack of attention. My own parents worked at the whim of the Lord Holders, though one would assume bitterness if they just heard that phrase on its own I imagine. They worked hard, and cared for their children as well as they could. Would you do whatever in your power to make sure your children's lives are easy? Or do you plan for them to gain surer footing on their own?"
"There's more than just greenriders out there," counters E'sere. But he shrugs anyway, deferring to the one with more practical experience. "I, personally, am glad I'm Mother's only child, though I can't say if she is. As for what I'd do for my children? I don't know. I can't say, not having that experience. I suspect, between my own duties, I'd do what I could to help them, make their lives easy, as you put it, but. You can't always count on other people to do things for you."
Diya grins broadly at his counter, completing the motion to haul herself up and into the folds of her towel lacking the shame of most holdbred girls. Then again, it's been decades. "True. But I meant there will be less children than the norm for the Interval. And the Weyr's numbers are usually bolstered by those who stand for candidacy." The grin shifts, sardonic and thinking. "Do you think your mother, your foster parents, or the absence of your father shaped your life more effectively?" A pause separates the query from her slow explanation, dark eyes drifting to look far away, "I ask, if only to understand Mataiya more, or put myself in her situation. Having never been there, it's sometimes difficult."
E'sere's brows furrow at her quiestion, as he debates it internally before putting a voice to his thoughts. "Mother," is his decision, confident and sure. "My fosterparents... provided my care and my basic manners. My father's absence... You seem to think that would be important? I don't think I understand your... interest in that. It's not that I wanted him or didn't want him; I didn't care either way. You... I suppose you wouldn't understand that, having both your parents so near. Were you close to your father, then?" he assumes, his words slower, more halting than usual as he sorts them into sentences.
"As close as a child can be, I suppose." Diya's bland regard of E'sere doesn't soften for his non-typical lack of coherence, except in a mild insertion of warmer tones into her voice. "He worked and provided the little things more than the Hold did." The older woman refolds the towel the way it was before E'sere arrived, Nenuith moving while the rider speaks and moves, to slide her neck along the way so the gold's chin rests on the stone next to Diya. "I had dreams of being a harper at one point in my life. Things worked out in the end, well as you can see." Affectionate, even in the curl of her fingers, the goldrider reaches to scritch the tip of her dragon's nose.
"My dreams," E'sere notes, "have always been to do exactly as I have done thus far."
"Then, aren't you fortunate." With no reproof or condescension in Diya's voice, she swings her legs out of the water and hops to the ground. Nenuith mirrors her rider's action, but in a more massive way, as the dragon makes her way out of the baths with a sheet of cascading down her form. "I hope you don't think poorly of me due to a teenager's thoughts of an absent mother. She's only eighteen, if even that, and a young one."
E'sere quirks a brow. "No, never," he reassures the woman solemnly. "I'd not let such a small thing change my opinion of you, weyrwoman. One's children are often one's hardest critics, after all."
Maybe there's a fleeting look of relief in Diya's eyes, or it's a trick of lighting. In any case, the weyrwoman flashes E'sere a more familiar smile where hints of her daughter emphasize the girl's lineage all the more. Her, "Then I don't envy Lexine your astute criticism," is accompanied by a wink to allay the connotation of her comments.
E'sere, wryly, smiles at that. "Indeed," he agrees simply, ducking his head. "Indeed. Good day, weyrwoman."