Log: Inviere Gets Advice and A Kiss
Who: Inviere, Milani
When: Afternoon, Day 11, Month 3, Turn 22
Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
What: Inviere has some questions and a request for Milani.
Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.
The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
The weather is shit, surprise, surprise, and even when there aren't eggs on the Sands, the Hatching Cavern is as good a place as any to stay warm, dry, and quiet. Of course, with eggs on the Sands -- and nearly ready to hatch, for that matter -- the low buzz of omnipresent humanity emanates from pairs and clusters of excited, speculating onlookers. Inviere, ducking out of the rain with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, doesn't look particularly enthusiastic about joining one of these groups. After a moment's dour consideration, she makes for a gap in the crowd -- though perhaps she nears Milani.
THe headwoman is amongst those clusters of onlookers, talking with some of the other candidates, head bobbing. "Yes, of course, that's just fine. You know what the rules are and those eggs will probably hatch sooner rather than later at this point." There's a little chorus of 'thank you headwoman' and the trio step away, down to the railing to lean there and chatter animatedly about the eggs and whatever they were just asking permission for. THe headwoman picks up her clipboard from the seat alongside and flips over pages idly, but doesn't really focus on any one thing, looking up as she hears footfalls nearby. "Oh, good afternoon, Inviere."
Nothing gets Inviere's attention like the sound of her own name. Her forward motion thus halted, she turns to seek the source-- and, lo and behold, she has something of a smile for Milani, even if it is entirely reflexive and polite. "Headwoman." The heat must already be getting to her, because her teeth catch her lower lip in a second's contemplation, and she says this: "--actually, I've been looking for you. Mind if I sit?"
"How are you doing? It's -- oh?" Milani's brows lift but then she smiles again, her own sincere. "No, please do. It's getting more crowded in here all of the time," the headwoman says with humor. "Excitement and anticipation and all that."
Inviere casts a vague look around their environs like either she's just noticing -- or has noticed and would rather pretend it's not happening. "No kidding," she says, bland. Her fingers pluck at her coat's buttons, freeing them as she drops into a seat next to Milani. "Seems like it's getting hotter in here, too. Does it? I admit I'm not an expert on dragon incubation. Is there, you know. Some... thing? That makes it, I don't know, go faster, near the end?"
"All these bodies in here, I wouldn't be surprised if it feels that way," Milani says with a little laugh and then she's eyeing the eggs for a moment. "I don't know about /faster/ ... but the shells are hardening of course." Her own jacket is folded over alongside her, a cute little white-and-blue striped hat on top with matching blue gloves and scarf.
Inviere's gaze does, in fact, fall to the Headwoman's discarded ensemble -- appreciative, perhaps -- and she sets her boring, utilitarian brown coat from the stores off to her own side. She pats it a little, with a wry half-smile. "Well. I'll just let this dry and harden for a while, then. Should take about two minutes." Her legs cross girlishly at the knees, and she turns her attention now to her hands. "Just how close is this thing?" Her tone suggests a weak attempt at a segue to some more serious conversation.
There's a brief look of sympathy about the coat. "Is the leather too far gone?" Milani questions and reaches over to test it out with a fingertip. "Because you know, we have other jackets." She means that kindly and then looks around the cavern again, the eggs in their sandy hillocks. "I'm no expert, but I don't think it'll be much longer. In terms of how long it usually takes, we're you know, pretty much there."
Inviere is obviously a little depressed about the jacket, but she tries to put a good face on it. "It really doesn't matter. It does the job, I guess. I go through them so fast, and get them so filthy, it's probably better to have... that..." --gross-- "...until after candidacy." She takes Milani's next assessment in quietly, picking at her cuticles. "That's a relief," she decides. "It's not what I thought it would be." She looks sideways at the Headwoman, meaningfully, hopefully.
"Really? You're getting that dirty over chores still?" Milani looks a little surprised, but she lets it go with a little nod. "Still, we do have things in stores that might be more comfortable," she says encouragingly and blows out a breath. "You mean, being a candidate? The Weyr?" A gesture around them. "There's been so many candidates this time around who've had ... issues."
Inviere's smile is wan. "My duty today is stables detail." Enough said, right? "--both, I suppose. But candidacy in particular. All those... issues," she says, deliberately selecting Milani's word, "in one dorm, with the same people, all the time..." She fumbles, squints down at her hands. "I'm one of the oldest, if not /the/ oldest, candidate. We don't really /get/ each other. You know what I mean?"
"Ohhh well, mmm," is about all Millie can muster for that, though again her expression is sympathetic, given she knows just how much Inviere just /loves/ the stables. "Different goals and outlook, sure," the headwoman agrees. "Though I think some of the convicts are of an age or older if I'm not mistaken. Not that that isn't it's own ... issue too."
Inviere does not seem to relish the idea of discussing the convicts. But here's the crux of it, summoned up with a flush in her cheeks not entirely attributable to the temperature: "So what do I /do/?"
Head-tilt. "About what? I mean, it's not like you're limited to only socializing with candidates," Milani points out, looking a little bit puzzled. "And I suppose really the question is ... what did you expect from this?"
Inviere fixes the Headwoman with a dry look: her brows in a line, her mouth in a line, everything straight and skeptical. "It's not that I feel limited to socializing with them, but they /are/ inescapable. And I don't know if you noticed, but I don't exactly have people lining up to be my bestest buddy." The second question is harder to answer, and for a solid minute, she can't. "I don't know," she admits at last. "Maybe I thought it would be more... prestigious." And fun?
"I've noticed," Milani says mildly, hands folding atop her clipboard. "Though it might help ... if you want friends, to be ... friendly?" she suggests and makes a little wry-face. "Prestigious," she echoes and looks away across the sands and the eggs towards Iovniath. "It's ... interval so it's harder to see it maybe, but being a rider isn't for chuckles. And admittedly, without Thread, it could look pretty cushy. And in the end ... I guess there's a certain amount of prestige from just being chosen because it's a job that not everyone can do. But. It's hard work."
If Inviere had hackles, they might bristle some now. "I'm not /trying/ to be... unfriendly," she insists. It's a weak defense, and it looks like she knows it. "But it's-- I mean, people make it hard." It's not HER fault, right? As to the glory of riding: it's evident this isn't the first time she's been given a dose of reality. She doesn't argue, though she does wonder: "Is that why you don't do it? I mean, what you do-- well. /I/ wouldn't."
"Do they, really?" Milani queries, looking over at Inviere seriously. "Because for all you can be polite and reasonable when you want to be, what I've seen and heard about is that you've been pretty difficult to get along with." No sugarcoating here. "Not that I don't think that everyone deserves friends, but it's a two way street." Her shoulders shift in a little shrug, then she blinks a couple of times. "Don't do what? Stand?"
Inviere scowls, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt. "Well. I guess there's two sides to every story," she says, haughty and sullen at once. She loses interest in that line of discussion and fast. But to the other: she straightens her shoulders, and even manages to focus her attention on Milani's face. "Yes. You have the option, don't you? As a... Weyr person? To just do it?"
Observing both scowl and fidgeting, Milani just shrugs again. Case in point. "For what it's worth, I used to be a complete brat and I'd just blurt out my opinion willy nilly. But I kind of learned to control that a bit because it makes it easier to get along with people." For that question though, Millie nods. "My parents are both riders. I've never been searched or had a dragon sniff at me, but I could ask to Stand. I've just never been all that interested. I like what I do. I'm good at my job. Why would I want to ditch that for a different career? Especially because I get a lot of the benefits of being a rider, without actually being one."
"Fair enough," Inviere concedes, neatly skipping over any insinuations about brattiness or impulsiveness. "It does seem to be your calling." Suddenly, her expression takes on a sly quality. "I suppose a good Headwoman would also have to be excellent at mothering people who feel depressed. You know. Like giving them a big hug and a kiss."
"I think it was my mother's last ditch effort to get me to 'do something' with my life. Luckily, it all worked out," Milani says with a laugh about the headwoman gig. THen she's grinning over at Inviere. "If you think that'd make you feel /better/ AND fulfill the challenge, well ..." she sets her clipboard down and holds her arms out a little.
See what she did there? You like that? Inviere pokes her bottom lip out in an exaggerated child's pout, and if she's usually not the hugging type, well-- "I can't deny I do savor the warm embrace of victory." Her stiff return hug isn't exactly warm and snuggly, but she does turn a cheek out to receive a kiss.
"It'll do," MIlani says laughingly and her hug is actually friendly, though kept brief and she drops a light kiss to the candidate's cheek. "Whatever happens when those eggs crack, Inviere, I hope that even if the Weyr hasn't been what you expected, that you'll be able to be happy with what comes next in your life. And that friendships might be a part of that." Sincere.
Drawing back with a start, Inviere's expression shows no vestiges of awkward smugness. Instead, she is all surprise, and-- is that /water/ in her eyes? Surely not. "Your mother sounds like a smart woman," she says at last, bright pink. She's already grabbing for her coat, a swift exit her new and immediate priority.
There's a moment of surprise caught on Milani's face, then she just smiles and gives Inviere's shoulder a gentle pat. "Well, I'm biased but I pretty much think she's the best mother ever and totally brilliant," the headwoman claims. Inviere's swift rising and exit mean that Milani calls after, though not loudly: "Good afternoon!" as she watches the candidate go, bemused.
Inviere, still at a loss for words, just smiles faintly as she buttons herself into that shabby old coat. "Thank you, Headwoman," she says, half over her shoulder. A few of the other candidates, sitting near, give her strange looks as she hustles past them and out, once again, into the rain.
When: Afternoon, Day 11, Month 3, Turn 22
Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
What: Inviere has some questions and a request for Milani.
Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr
Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black.
The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat.
The weather is shit, surprise, surprise, and even when there aren't eggs on the Sands, the Hatching Cavern is as good a place as any to stay warm, dry, and quiet. Of course, with eggs on the Sands -- and nearly ready to hatch, for that matter -- the low buzz of omnipresent humanity emanates from pairs and clusters of excited, speculating onlookers. Inviere, ducking out of the rain with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, doesn't look particularly enthusiastic about joining one of these groups. After a moment's dour consideration, she makes for a gap in the crowd -- though perhaps she nears Milani.
THe headwoman is amongst those clusters of onlookers, talking with some of the other candidates, head bobbing. "Yes, of course, that's just fine. You know what the rules are and those eggs will probably hatch sooner rather than later at this point." There's a little chorus of 'thank you headwoman' and the trio step away, down to the railing to lean there and chatter animatedly about the eggs and whatever they were just asking permission for. THe headwoman picks up her clipboard from the seat alongside and flips over pages idly, but doesn't really focus on any one thing, looking up as she hears footfalls nearby. "Oh, good afternoon, Inviere."
Nothing gets Inviere's attention like the sound of her own name. Her forward motion thus halted, she turns to seek the source-- and, lo and behold, she has something of a smile for Milani, even if it is entirely reflexive and polite. "Headwoman." The heat must already be getting to her, because her teeth catch her lower lip in a second's contemplation, and she says this: "--actually, I've been looking for you. Mind if I sit?"
"How are you doing? It's -- oh?" Milani's brows lift but then she smiles again, her own sincere. "No, please do. It's getting more crowded in here all of the time," the headwoman says with humor. "Excitement and anticipation and all that."
Inviere casts a vague look around their environs like either she's just noticing -- or has noticed and would rather pretend it's not happening. "No kidding," she says, bland. Her fingers pluck at her coat's buttons, freeing them as she drops into a seat next to Milani. "Seems like it's getting hotter in here, too. Does it? I admit I'm not an expert on dragon incubation. Is there, you know. Some... thing? That makes it, I don't know, go faster, near the end?"
"All these bodies in here, I wouldn't be surprised if it feels that way," Milani says with a little laugh and then she's eyeing the eggs for a moment. "I don't know about /faster/ ... but the shells are hardening of course." Her own jacket is folded over alongside her, a cute little white-and-blue striped hat on top with matching blue gloves and scarf.
Inviere's gaze does, in fact, fall to the Headwoman's discarded ensemble -- appreciative, perhaps -- and she sets her boring, utilitarian brown coat from the stores off to her own side. She pats it a little, with a wry half-smile. "Well. I'll just let this dry and harden for a while, then. Should take about two minutes." Her legs cross girlishly at the knees, and she turns her attention now to her hands. "Just how close is this thing?" Her tone suggests a weak attempt at a segue to some more serious conversation.
There's a brief look of sympathy about the coat. "Is the leather too far gone?" Milani questions and reaches over to test it out with a fingertip. "Because you know, we have other jackets." She means that kindly and then looks around the cavern again, the eggs in their sandy hillocks. "I'm no expert, but I don't think it'll be much longer. In terms of how long it usually takes, we're you know, pretty much there."
Inviere is obviously a little depressed about the jacket, but she tries to put a good face on it. "It really doesn't matter. It does the job, I guess. I go through them so fast, and get them so filthy, it's probably better to have... that..." --gross-- "...until after candidacy." She takes Milani's next assessment in quietly, picking at her cuticles. "That's a relief," she decides. "It's not what I thought it would be." She looks sideways at the Headwoman, meaningfully, hopefully.
"Really? You're getting that dirty over chores still?" Milani looks a little surprised, but she lets it go with a little nod. "Still, we do have things in stores that might be more comfortable," she says encouragingly and blows out a breath. "You mean, being a candidate? The Weyr?" A gesture around them. "There's been so many candidates this time around who've had ... issues."
Inviere's smile is wan. "My duty today is stables detail." Enough said, right? "--both, I suppose. But candidacy in particular. All those... issues," she says, deliberately selecting Milani's word, "in one dorm, with the same people, all the time..." She fumbles, squints down at her hands. "I'm one of the oldest, if not /the/ oldest, candidate. We don't really /get/ each other. You know what I mean?"
"Ohhh well, mmm," is about all Millie can muster for that, though again her expression is sympathetic, given she knows just how much Inviere just /loves/ the stables. "Different goals and outlook, sure," the headwoman agrees. "Though I think some of the convicts are of an age or older if I'm not mistaken. Not that that isn't it's own ... issue too."
Inviere does not seem to relish the idea of discussing the convicts. But here's the crux of it, summoned up with a flush in her cheeks not entirely attributable to the temperature: "So what do I /do/?"
Head-tilt. "About what? I mean, it's not like you're limited to only socializing with candidates," Milani points out, looking a little bit puzzled. "And I suppose really the question is ... what did you expect from this?"
Inviere fixes the Headwoman with a dry look: her brows in a line, her mouth in a line, everything straight and skeptical. "It's not that I feel limited to socializing with them, but they /are/ inescapable. And I don't know if you noticed, but I don't exactly have people lining up to be my bestest buddy." The second question is harder to answer, and for a solid minute, she can't. "I don't know," she admits at last. "Maybe I thought it would be more... prestigious." And fun?
"I've noticed," Milani says mildly, hands folding atop her clipboard. "Though it might help ... if you want friends, to be ... friendly?" she suggests and makes a little wry-face. "Prestigious," she echoes and looks away across the sands and the eggs towards Iovniath. "It's ... interval so it's harder to see it maybe, but being a rider isn't for chuckles. And admittedly, without Thread, it could look pretty cushy. And in the end ... I guess there's a certain amount of prestige from just being chosen because it's a job that not everyone can do. But. It's hard work."
If Inviere had hackles, they might bristle some now. "I'm not /trying/ to be... unfriendly," she insists. It's a weak defense, and it looks like she knows it. "But it's-- I mean, people make it hard." It's not HER fault, right? As to the glory of riding: it's evident this isn't the first time she's been given a dose of reality. She doesn't argue, though she does wonder: "Is that why you don't do it? I mean, what you do-- well. /I/ wouldn't."
"Do they, really?" Milani queries, looking over at Inviere seriously. "Because for all you can be polite and reasonable when you want to be, what I've seen and heard about is that you've been pretty difficult to get along with." No sugarcoating here. "Not that I don't think that everyone deserves friends, but it's a two way street." Her shoulders shift in a little shrug, then she blinks a couple of times. "Don't do what? Stand?"
Inviere scowls, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt. "Well. I guess there's two sides to every story," she says, haughty and sullen at once. She loses interest in that line of discussion and fast. But to the other: she straightens her shoulders, and even manages to focus her attention on Milani's face. "Yes. You have the option, don't you? As a... Weyr person? To just do it?"
Observing both scowl and fidgeting, Milani just shrugs again. Case in point. "For what it's worth, I used to be a complete brat and I'd just blurt out my opinion willy nilly. But I kind of learned to control that a bit because it makes it easier to get along with people." For that question though, Millie nods. "My parents are both riders. I've never been searched or had a dragon sniff at me, but I could ask to Stand. I've just never been all that interested. I like what I do. I'm good at my job. Why would I want to ditch that for a different career? Especially because I get a lot of the benefits of being a rider, without actually being one."
"Fair enough," Inviere concedes, neatly skipping over any insinuations about brattiness or impulsiveness. "It does seem to be your calling." Suddenly, her expression takes on a sly quality. "I suppose a good Headwoman would also have to be excellent at mothering people who feel depressed. You know. Like giving them a big hug and a kiss."
"I think it was my mother's last ditch effort to get me to 'do something' with my life. Luckily, it all worked out," Milani says with a laugh about the headwoman gig. THen she's grinning over at Inviere. "If you think that'd make you feel /better/ AND fulfill the challenge, well ..." she sets her clipboard down and holds her arms out a little.
See what she did there? You like that? Inviere pokes her bottom lip out in an exaggerated child's pout, and if she's usually not the hugging type, well-- "I can't deny I do savor the warm embrace of victory." Her stiff return hug isn't exactly warm and snuggly, but she does turn a cheek out to receive a kiss.
"It'll do," MIlani says laughingly and her hug is actually friendly, though kept brief and she drops a light kiss to the candidate's cheek. "Whatever happens when those eggs crack, Inviere, I hope that even if the Weyr hasn't been what you expected, that you'll be able to be happy with what comes next in your life. And that friendships might be a part of that." Sincere.
Drawing back with a start, Inviere's expression shows no vestiges of awkward smugness. Instead, she is all surprise, and-- is that /water/ in her eyes? Surely not. "Your mother sounds like a smart woman," she says at last, bright pink. She's already grabbing for her coat, a swift exit her new and immediate priority.
There's a moment of surprise caught on Milani's face, then she just smiles and gives Inviere's shoulder a gentle pat. "Well, I'm biased but I pretty much think she's the best mother ever and totally brilliant," the headwoman claims. Inviere's swift rising and exit mean that Milani calls after, though not loudly: "Good afternoon!" as she watches the candidate go, bemused.
Inviere, still at a loss for words, just smiles faintly as she buttons herself into that shabby old coat. "Thank you, Headwoman," she says, half over her shoulder. A few of the other candidates, sitting near, give her strange looks as she hustles past them and out, once again, into the rain.