The line between desire and helpless fascination. (And the fear of leftover punch.)
Who: Miniyal and Kazimir (NPCed by G'thon)
Where: Kazimir's study
When: The night before Miniyal and G'thon are scheduled to depart for Tillek. So about the 4th-5th day of the new turn or something. Around there anyway!
What: When Miniyal makes up her mind to do something she does it. Some might plan more or consider better what they are going to do. Instead of that she simply appears at the Masterharper's door and talks. And talks. And talks. She might have gotten a touch carried away in some places. She certainly was not as prepared for debate as she should have been. Oh, and she totally exposes herself. (Not like /that/.) And is so very much. . .what's the word? Clueless. Yes. Clueless.
Note: Kazimir is so frickin' awesome. G'thon is awesome by extension for letting me play with him.
1/9/2007 & 1/10/2007
They are leaving in the morning. Not too early although they could simply because they will be awake. But come morning, before noon, they will be off. She cannot help but be somewhat sad at leaving because, well, archives. But after dinner they have seen to their packing and still find themselves with hours to spare. There are many ways to spend that time, of course, and many of them will be used, but later. She paces around their room somewhat restlessly, pulled from her thoughts only when she catches him looking at her from his seat. This has, always, the same reaction. Her steps will stop and she will smile back. Then she will walk over to where he sits and lean down for a kiss.
But none of the kisses lead to anything else because she is off again. Finally she gives up and heads for the door. "I will be back." He can, likely, guess where she is going. What she has spent the night gathering up the courage to do and so was unable to sit or talk. Some of her nerves could easily be written off as regarding to their next stop on their trip. But not all of them. So without another word she is opening the door and gone. Once her mind is made up there is no sense waiting.
Over the turns, and especially this last one, it has been habit for her to visit with people of importance. It has instilled in her some decent idea of when is best to catch them. After dinner, not so much they are preparing for bed but late enough if they had planned guests they might be gone. So she moves slowly and purposefully towards her destination and when she arrives there pauses. It is one thing to decide to do a thing and another to, when actually faced with it, do it. But, she will not stand in the hallway like an idiot so outside the door to Kazimir's room she hesitates only long enough to smooth down her hair and tuck it behind her ears before she raps on the door three times, sharp and soft. Then the waiting game begins.
The door creaks open. Kazimir himself peeks out through the narrow gap; she has, then, likely estimated correctly his schedule, avoiding even the chance of any apprentices he may have being present for lessons or work. His thoughtful eyes regard her from his safety for a moment rather longer than good manners would allow, and then he draws back the door. "Oh, yes," he says, exactly as he did before. "Come in." Perhaps he sounds a little less delighted this time - but no less, it must be noted, as if he completely expects her.
The Masterharper's receiving room has changed. It would be a stretch to say it's good. It's still a clearinghouse for all of the silver-haired little man's precious furniture, and in all honesty, he's acquired more since she last saw the place. But a few pieces have disappeared, and certain things are, in a way, improved. The furniture has been arranged into several small groups, each one a sitting area all its own; most of them have an apparent theme of style or color, some more formal and some quite casual. The harp is still blocking part of the shelves, and its poor little chair still has music in the seat (one might guess it's remained untouched in all the time since). But several of the endtables and sidetables have had nicely-carved little racks attached to their sides, stained to match the tables themselves, and in each rack some sheaf of sheet music or records or book currently being read rests; thus the tops of these surfaces are mostly clean, ready to provide space for more transitory 'stuff' like cups and glasses of drink.
At the moment, no such cups are present, save the one in Kazimir's mottled little hand. He shuffles back from the door to allow his guest entry, the frayed hem of a harper-blue robe hiding even his feet.
Well, he asked her in so she does just that. Besides, neither of them, surely, wants to stand in his doorway all evening or even for a very small part of it. "It's odd," she remarks as she steps in. "Everyone does things differently and yet there is still some generic schedule most people seem to keep to regardless of their station or place of residence." Is it a traditional greeting? Not in the least. But it is all her own and that is what she has settled on for the evening. If she manages to mess things up horribly it will be because she was herself and not because she got tripped up pretending to be something she is not. Only once she has stepped in far enough to allow him to close the door does she pause to look around the room. "That corner over there." One hand lifts to gesture towards the opposite corner. "If you moved that ridiculous table out of the way the harp would fit nicely there and no longer block the shelves." Head tilting to one side she considers corner and then harp before nodding her head. Then she turns back to Kazimir, finally, and nods her head. "Thank you." She likes giving thanks without explaining why.
"Everyone mostly does things the same," replies Kazimir. Someone so close to the ground is hard to unbalance. "Only the outcomes differ." He closes the door behind G'thon's lover, then turns around to shuffle with his cup toward her side, so he can cast out his regard in the same direction she's pointed hers. "I don't need the books in that part of the shelf." The remark comes after a thoughtful moment's silence and a sip from the cup; it looks to contain juice. "So they make good company for the harp. Would you like to have a seat?"
"Then why do you keep them on the shelves? Why not put them up somewhere?" It is not logical to do it this way. "Then the shelves would be free for. . .Oh." Oh, yes. She's running off at the mouth again. Miniyal pulls her attention away from the harp and towards the owner of said instrument. "It's a nice harp. It just deserves better than to be left as it is." Now her brain reminds her a question was asked and she should be polite. "I was just. . .I mean. I was coming by. I don't want to take up too much of your time." Biting her lip she finally nods. "Sitting would be nice, thank you." Upon saying that she will wait to see where he will sit. Only then will she move from her spot. Only then might she speak again. After all, he might very well change his mind about speaking to her after this opening.
"The apprentices play it, from time to time." Kazimir's indifference for the harp is free of emotion, but absolutely obvious. He shuffles toward one of the groupings of furniture, one of the more casual ones, one of those farther from the door through which she came; he wends a pathway clearly demarked by rugs and the absence of rugs between two other furniture-settings to get to the one of his choice. It consists of the awful chair he sat in the last time she visited, with Gans; a sofa that does not entirely clash with the awful chair; and another chair that does not entirely clash with either the sofa or the awful chair. It would all be very nice furniture if the colors weren't out of fashion and, in the awful chair's case, sort of gross, especially when paired with Harper blue. Of course he goes toward that chair, so the pairing seems inevitable. But delayable: "Would you like a drink?"
She follows in silence then towards the grouping he wishes to sit at. The ones they walk around are studied and in her mind only she rearranges things. It is not as if she has any fashion sense herself. Any sense of decorating to make thins pleasant. It is only, how can one not tell when things are wrong. Furniture, clearly, is like shelving records. Things go together and things do not go together and it is with this belief that Miniyal rearranges. By the time she has reached where they will sit she can give a little satisfied nod. In her mind, at least, things are much more organized. Clearly where they need to be. It is this thought that is knocked from her brain when he speaks. "Oh. No, thank you, sir." Instead she will sit in the chair he does not use. Hands fold in her lap then and she maintains, despite the fluttering stomach, her usual calm demeanor. Well, the cracks in it at least are displayed in small doses. A fussing with her skirt. One hand smoothing hair behind her ear once more. Finally she settles down fully and allows her nerves to wreck havoc internally only. Of course now that she is here whatever she might have planned on saying seems to have fled her brain for the moment.
"I have juice, wine, and some leftover punch." Mmm. Leftover punch. Kazimir provides these options as if she had not declined his offer, but then he scoots up into his chair as if she had. One slipper leaps free of his foot as he inches back into the upholstery's embrace. "How have you enjoyed your stay?" These words barely lilt up at the end enough to confirm their status as questioning. Small talk so very small that answers are not even required.
When he catalogs what she might drink there is no response. She had said no, of course. But perhaps it is a ritual. Miniyal, more than many, is aware of social rituals. Things are planned to be said and are said. It is the way of rituals. So she lets him have what she perceives to be his even if that is not what it truly was. "I have, of course." Her words are earnest, more so than small talk deserves. It is just that she is unable to hide her enthusiasms anymore than she can hide her annoyance with certain things. "It's so fascinating. There's so much to be seen and the more I read the more I want to know and it's so. . .great." Oh, she's gushing. Let's stop that now, shall we. Clearing her throat she falls silent and instead decides to spend a moment staring at her hands. Look. Hands, folded, neat, not embarrassing like her enthusiasm for old hides.
"History is like that," agrees Kazimir without much inflection, but there's a little lean of his torso forward-bent and a curling of both hands around his cup for her to notice, if she would look. "Engrossing. Some of it may be 'great,' but some of it must settle for ordinary, and other of it for 'just plain bad.' But engrossing, sure." He nods slowly, as if the word were her choice, and he just agreeing with it.
"I don't think that's right." Something he said anyway and if she does not mean to argue it cannot be helped. "Nothing that comes before is. . .is less than great." Now she will lift her head, eyes wide and still eager as she explains. "There's so much to learn that tells us why things are as they are now. Everything ever done is a catalyst for this moment. And this moment, in turn, will bring about another and another. There's no stopping it and we try to so futilely by capturing it with ink on hides." Miniyal must pause here because breath demands it and some part of her thinks perhaps to slow down, but it is overrun in her need to talk about this, right now, right this instant. "It's wrong. Wrong that we take that which makes up our entire society and keep it hidden away to dole out to those believed to be deserving like the last of the candy brought back from the gather. There's so much good that could be done--and yes, there is much bad that could be done, but if we live in fear of that then we may as well not live. It is not engrossing." She will argue, of course. "It is overwhelming. Amazingly wonderful and overwhelming to consider the possibilities to be found if one just reads the right line at the right moment. But it's not just the words written, sir. That is such a small part of it. It is what could be done if they were discussed. If they were free to travel from conversation to thoughtfulness to action."
A habit, here, that Kazimir and G'thon have in common: hiding behind a cup. But the Masterharper looks a little silly at it, with one foot shod and the other hidden beneath the hem of his robe, two hands wrapped around his juice with the cup raised to his mouth to drink and held there. Over his knuckles he watches Miniyal while she speaks, and doesn't, probably, actually do any drinking. He has a long time to think about it, to do it slowly and with no swallowing noises, if he does. He doesn't bother to lower the cup and offer any sort of reply until she's been safely silent for several long seconds; then he just says, "Overwhelming is also a good term."
The lack of enthusiasm doesn't stop her. It is not daunting. Miniyal takes it for what it is, or at least what she believes it is. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to be so. . .carried away. It's just so. . .what I said." Well, she falters a little. It's to be expected. "Do you ever go there, sir? Just to read. Not to find something in particular, but to see what might be discovered? Or does so long with it right here make you indifferent to it?" Questions. Not ones she is sure will be answered, at least to her satisfaction, but it is a puzzle. "I would give anything to know I could just go whenever I wished and read so much on anything." Shaking her head she lets out a wistful sigh followed by a somewhat sheepish glance towards the man of so few words. As if he must be weary of her enthusiasm by now.
"I remember most of it," replies Kazimir in answer only to her direct question, and puts up his cup again so he can ostensibly drink juice and watch her over his knuckles. The foot still slippered wiggles a bit.
"So? I remember what I know at the weyr and I still like to go in there sometimes and see what I might not have seen before. And there's nothing there in comparison to here. Nothing I have not seen in all the time I have worked in there." A pause, a moment to consider and Miniyal adds, "Or when I have not been working in there. And even here. I mean, there's so much here, but there are things at holds and weyrs that would not be found. Items of importance forgotten because no one who has them thinks anything of them." There is a trace of agitation in her demeanor now. A tapping of one foot that she every now and again tries to still. A twisting of the ring on her finger that continues no matter if she seems to be trying not to. She should be pacing, but she does not. It's not something she would feel comfortable doing, but her brain has sped ahead of her body and it is desperate to catch up in some way and provide movement of its own. So, her foot taps, her fingers twist.
Kazimir puts down the cup - really puts it down, as in on the endtable nearest - when Miniyal starts talking. Then he inches back in the chair - he has a tendency to slump because his feet don't quite touch the floor - and folds his hands over his stomach. She says all that, and then twists and taps, and the Masterharper's foot wiggles in slower and slower little circles until he finally stops it and lets out words. "Yes." Long pause. "I do go, and just - skim, more than read. To bring the words back to the front of my mind, or for other reasons. Why do you ask?"
Oh, wow. He answered. Actually answered a question. This is not exactly how the conversation has been going so Miniyal is a bit lost for a moment. A mere moment. "Because I was curious. I wondered if knowing it was there and that you could always meant you wanted to less." And now she has her answer. So she says nothing else. Twitch of the foot, tapping, then that stills as well.
"There is some sort of line between desire and helpless fascination." Kazimir stretches one leg and the bared foot reaches down, toes (no socks) barely glimpsing from beneath the hem of the robe so they can curl and rub at the top of the still-slippered foot. "I would not claim to know where that line is, but I believe I do know which side of it I stand on."
"One is not always better than the other." It is possible someone might have taken his statement as insult of some sort. Miniyal, however, for once does not do that at all. Instead she thinks on it. After she has spoken those first words. It is not her best timing, but she has not had much practice lately. "Sometimes. . ." Sometimes what. There is a pause as the thought escapes her. "Sometimes it is good to give in to those helpless fascinations. To see what becomes of it. So long as you know when it is time to pull back there is little danger." Surely she is speaking of records still. Yes, of course. "Sometimes they are the same thing. But without experiencing them there is no way to tell. As for where the line is, sir?" There is the tiniest, slimmest, teensiest of teases in her voice now. "I imagine it is always just to the side of where we stand."
"I am certain I missed my opportunity to pull back some turns ago." Kazimir offers a little trace of a smile. "Perhaps we stand on opposite sides, Miniyal." His feet untangle and the bare one disappears again. A lean over lets him reclaim his cup and look into it, and when he slides down out of the chair, he asks again, "Would you like a drink." His head bows as he toes his escaped slipper back on, adding, perfectly pleasantly, "Now?"
Head tilting to one side the words are rolled around in her brain. Slowly, for a change. "I'm hopeless, sir. I admit that with very little hesitation. However, I am fortunate to have someone who reminds me that I must, on occasion, eat and not spend my life hunched over some book or other." Biting her lip at this question, Miniyal lets the trace of a smile curve her lips up a moment. "I would not take up so much of your time, sir." As if she has not already taken up time. As if a drink will take up that much longer. "However, I suppose considering I have droned on for some time my throat might appreciate something, please. Whatever is easiest for you." And we shall hope it is not leftover punch!
"Then how much of my time would you like?" Kazimir pauses there, his cup in hand, his slippers on, and regards her with one of those not-very-sharp looks that a clever mind would not trust to be dull at all. Then he turns and shuffles off to collect a carafe of juice on the sidetable closest to the rearmost door in the room. He pours his cup full again, then tries a couple of doors in the sidetable's cabinets before finding one that yeilds another, similar cup. With the carafe's neck in one hand and the cup's handle dangling from a fingertip, his juice in the other hand, the Masterharper shuffles back.
"Enough to know where I stand." Miniyal's answer is simple, greeting his regard with her own polite neutrality. As if she hasn't a care in the world other than what he will give her to drink in a few moments. This translates, of course, to her clamping down /firmly/ on her brain and telling it to shut up. Just because she thinks it does not mean she has to say and she will practice this right now. Right this very second. And if this resolve causes her foot to twitch once more and her fingers to twist at the ring she wears it is a small price to pay. When he turns about again to shuffle back she has stifled the fidgeting and is merely waiting politely for her promised drink.
Kazimir puts his cup down on the endtable by his chair and keeps moving, over to hand the cup intended for her out for Miniyal to take. If she will, he'll pour while she holds it. "You have already suggested you know. So I believe if you would like to move, you will need to take your feet into your own hands." Serious, grave, with not a hint that he's just said... what he said, the Masterharper concerns himself primarily with providing her that cupful of juice, then with setting the carafe down within her reach.
She will take the cup and hold it steady so he might pour. And while he pours Miniyal will not say anything. The silence lingers as her cup is left to her and she might take a drink from it. Only then, once the carafe is down and the business of juice is done will she speak again. After another small sip. "And if I were to ask why you tolerate me, sir? Allowing me to tag along with Gans as he does his own work. Allowing me to interrupt your own evening with poorly thought out. . .thoughts. Would you answer me? Or is that part of finding my own feet?" Hooray for props. She has a cup now she must tend to. By peering into it or merely holding it carefully in her lap. There is not yet another drink to take from it. Those uses of the prop should be used sparingly.
Kazimir retreats to his seat, hitching himself up into it. He manages to keep his slippers on this time. "You do your own work, while he does his, as I understand it." He reaches over to pick up his own juice, and like Miniyal might, he peers into it. "I would answer you, if I were aware of a question you need an answer for."
"So I don't need an answer for it?" Miniyal frowns thoughtfully into her juice. Puzzling out exactly what needs be said here. "Or maybe I should have phrased it differently. Fine then." More staring and one foot taps for a brief moment as she tries to sort out her thoughts once more. "How do you define what I need to know, sir? Gans could tell you I believe I need to know everything that comes to my mind to ask about. However, I shall not list the catalog of questions I have right now." Another time, perhaps. "No. How does anyone define what someone needs to know? Who gets to choose, sir? What information will be locked away and what will be given out to those in the greater society. More importantly, who gives anyone the right to define what knowledge should be shared?"
The Masterharper does not give in to meaningless syllables of bemusement. He looks up at his conversational counterpart, however, with an expression somewhat less bland than usual, and then puts the cup up in front of him for a drink. A sigh follows, pleased by the juice, and the cup goes back down, wrapped in both hands. "One, anyone, defines according to their own pleasure, or their belief in what is safest, or most advantageous. Selfishly, Miniyal. And I choose, as do Lords and Weyrleaders and Craftmasters all, and society gives us the right by allowing it to be so; by complaining ineffectively, or not at all. None of these questions will get you any answers you can use, or in fact don't know, Miniyal; would you like to try again?"
Oh, so it's going to be that way. The cup is picked up and a quiet sip taken from it. This thinking without the help of wine is a new experience. Rather than start and stop like she might have, Miniyal is silent when he finishes his question. Her prop is viewed as if the answers are there. "Do people go into these positions; Craftmaster, Weyrleader, Lord already determined to block knowledge or does it come after? Is it because they wish to hold onto their power that they do this? Or because they truly believe they know what is best. . .Yes, I know. You won't answer these. You can't answer them for anyone but yourself." But talking out loud helps her to think. It's not the best of habits, but she is wrapped up in juice and thoughts and sometimes, like now, barely even realises she is talking /to/ someone and not just thinking out loud somewhere out of the way. She nearly talks, mouth opening and words almost formed before she covers it up, poorly, with a drink from her juice. Silence then for another moment before she does speak. "It sets precedent. To do as one pleases. Locking away information, denying people their history. It leaves one open to abuse their power. Oh, there are plenty of reasons to abuse power by those who wish to, but this one. . .this one is shameful. Because it is done and it is allowed. By everyone." Rubbing her forehead she lets out a small sigh, frustrated over the inability to gather her thoughts into something coherently a question. "Every society needs leaders, but those leaders should be more concerned with those who follow them than with their own comforts and amusements." Gaze rising from her cup she lets out a little shrug as she looks at Kazimir. "And those who betray that responsibility should not be allowed to remain in power. But that is no question. So I suppose after all this I am not trying again."
Kazimir has, like any good harper, learned how to shut up and listen. It does not, if he sets his tangled and overfull mind to it, even require him to put the cup up to mask his mouth. But he leans forward a little bit, and when she does her first job of answering a question from his perspective without obliging him to do it himself, his foot begins to wiggle that slow circle again. The hem of his robe lifts and falls with each passage of his pointed, slippered toe. "You have not asked me any questions," he says once she seems finished. "So I can give you no answers. But I will ask you something. How should those leaders who are more concerned with their current people, those who live and breathe around them, followers and detractors both - how should leaders so concerned, not selfishly but without foresight either, how should they be handled?"
Another question that earns nothing but silence from Miniyal for several moments. The use of her cup as a prop is abandoned, likely because she cannot remember when to use it while thinking of an answer. Again the desire to pace kicks in and one foot twitches on the floor, toes tapping lightly to allow some removal of energy. Her gaze travels around the room as she chews on her lower lip and considers the question for a short while longer before hazarding to offer an answer. "You show them. With what we have. There are countless examples of leaders like that. Of what happens when they lose sight of the future. When they do not plan not just for those whom they lead now, but for those whom their children or their replacement might lead. You have to be able to see farther ahead. It's how you lead right. Not just seeing the present, but seeing the future. And if you can't do that then. . .well, then if you cannot be replaced you must be taught. You have to make them see it. I'm not trying to argue it is easy, but there is always a way to make people see the truth."
"And the best way to make them see it is to have it surround them. To make it commonplace knowledge." Kazimir's foot pauses in its wiggling; it might be percieved he looks at Miniyal a little harder then, until his toe starts circling again and he looks down into his cup. Hm. Juice. He raises the cup and drinks.
"Only those who do not need it beaten into their skull." Mumbled some, meant mostly humorously only because Miniyal chooses more subtle methods. That involve less talking. And yet here she is talking. "It is matter of consequences. If a resident at the weyr does not live up to their responsibility they can be cast out. If a weyrleader does not he is not. He is allowed to continue on as he does and it falls to those under him to try to keep things going. And that only if he has not placed those beneath him who are happy with the way he runs things. If a Lord messes up his Hold, what cares he if things are ruined for those who follow? It does not make a difference to him." Her own juice gets a look and then a taste. As if she'll find something better to say around that look and taste.
"One might think to ask," notes the Masterharper, after his sip and before another - the second places an unweildly pause in his words. After he puts the cup down again he looks up, at Miniyal, sort of; in a way, he looks past her, and in the same way he smiles a bit, distant and slight. "If you are already so displeased with the Reaches' leadership."
The statement nearly causes her to laugh. Nearly, but Miniyal quiets it with no more than a soft snort escaping. Because she is not sure if laughing is appropriate so she does not. "I've not even been home since the leaders changed, sir. I have no complaints about the possibilities of their leadership. I have nothing against any of the leaders my weyr has seen in my time." If there is a slight stress on the possessive of that word, weyr, surely she only means it in the way anyone might be possessive of where they have been born and raised. This is one of those times, surely, where nothing at all is meant but what is being said. Yes, indeed.
"Your time has been brief." He does not mean it as a criticism, nor even to suggest something particular about other leadership; Kazimir makes the statement as a matter of course, with almost a hint of wit, as if it were a tease. A tease like he teased her, by teasing her lover, about her status with G'thon when they visited before. The harper is much more solemn about it when he looks down into his cup again and says, "Let me describe to you our conversation thus far. I have greeted you; we have exchanged pleasantries. We have found a common topic to discuss - the archives - and then you have asked questions, and made some loaded statements." He looks up from his cup on that. "I have enjoyed them enough. But I do not wear the halter well, and I find myself wondering where you intend to lead. Enlighten me?"
She could if she were more practiced find a way to get around the question. Miniyal might have found any number of ways to do so, but instead she. . .well, does what she always does. His previous teasings were a brief respite from the more serious conversation and at least allowed her a moment to pretend as if she might be able to continue on with, what for her, was rather subtle. Really. She was doing so well. It is first thought of to apologise. Because it will bring forth nervousness, this talk of her leading the Masterharper anywhere. But this she stops by taking a too large drink and finishing off her juice. Holding onto her cup tightly with both hands now she watches him as she speaks. "I have a mission. It was my intention then to determine if you would be of assistance with it or if you should be worked around in the dark. Because I need what is here, sir, to do it. And in the end I will need assistance from someone of more importance than myself." There is a pause here, brief. "And I was curious."
"You will not get far claiming someone like me is of more importance than someone like you. Say I am of more prominence, or greater power, but don't call a bucket a carriage, here." He smiles that slight, distant smile again, then Kazimir does something he has not done before - gesture, overturning a hand and wriggling the fingers, come-hither. Then he wraps it around the cup again, joining the other, and makes obvious point of waiting.
"I would argue, sir, that in the eyes of society the Masterharper is of more importance than a kept woman." But she does not argue it, merely says it before looking at that hand. For a moment Miniyal retains her seat and then she sets her cup down on the table near her, by the carafe so thoughtfully left near her that she has not touched. Summoned so, she rises to her feet and crosses the space between her chair and his, curious but not showing it other than the spark of just that in her eyes.
Kazimir affects a blank look - it is poorly done, and not particularly meant to come across any better than it does, as he can't be bothered to fuss with actual deceit. "When did we shift again from discussing my inability to wear a halter and your ineffectiveness in getting one on me to talking about the broad assumptions of society?"
"Just now. For that brief moment, sir." Now she smiles, it may not last but for that flickering moment it is there and genuine enough. "Although we did not discuss it so much as I made a simple statement. I suppose by your commenting on it we have entered something of a discussion it. However short lived. But I apologise. Do go on, sir." Miniyal is, of course, being serious now. If she's a little too serious to entirely be believed that is not her problem.
And yet Kazimir just sits there, as if he had not commanded her come over, looking up at her with that blank - now almost puzzled - expression. "You need assistance, and you are curious." A pause. "Not that I necessarily believe those things to be related." Another pause, to sound less funny about it. "Explain?"
Her head tilts over to the side and some old memory kicks in perhaps. It's like reciting lessons when a child. So Miniyal folds her hands in front of her and watches Kazimir as she does explain. "Everything is related. Were I not the sort who allowed herself to be overly curious at times I would not wind up in positions where I required the assistance of people with greater power. More prominent men and women." She pauses only for breath here because if she does not she might forget entirely. "I seek to expose a truth, sir. One that needs desperately to come to light. Justice is deserved for everyone. No matter their station or the station of the one who wrongs them. I believe that if I believe anything."
There; -now- she gets the shifting forward in his chair, the leaning forward and the lowered tone that his gesture and her response, her nearness, promised. Kazimir bends forward, raising his face up, and murmurs. His murmur is a little creaky, unable to disguise flaws that he suppresses, or does not suffer, when speaking in a more sociable tone. "And your truth?"
Here Miniyal displays nervousness, her hands folded together allow her still to twist at her ring. While she is still other than that, as if she must be still or flee that is telling enough of an action. Several courses of action, several statements are open to her. But in the end there is little surprise in her own mind that she chooses to be direct and simply tell what she has to say. Consequences be damned. "That Telgar's weyrleader is a power abusing son of a bitch and no one has the right to hurt /anyone/ for any reason. There is /no/ excuse for it. None. And no matter the cost I will do everything I can to see he answers for his crime." If her words lack in volume they lack for nothing in other areas, most notably anger and determination.
"That's a little broader than I might have hoped," replies Kazimir in his conversational tone, and leans back, retracting his hands to their place around his cup; she is dismissed. But then he's talking, so she must not be dismissed too far. "If I am to be involved, I believe proof of a crime and a victim will be my first requirement. After that we might plan further." He raises his head like he might expect a response, but keeps going so as to steamroll it. "Unfortunately, Miniyal, being - as you say - a power-abusing son of a bitch will not inspire a Harper case or a guilty verdict alone. If that is your main complaint, I suggest you begin grooming a powerful and promising bronzerider at Telgar, and be done with what help I can provide you."
"If that were all it were, sir, I would allow Telgar to sort out its own problems. But what he does. . .it is not just Telgar's issue." Miniyal doesn't move from where she stands. Standing at least is better than sitting even if pacing is still the best. "It is an issue for all of us. He acted as a representative of all of us when he did what he did. And I do not believe that all of us would condone holding a woman for torture for two sevens. At least I know I do not." The whole requiring a victim thing. . .that is sort of not touched on. It being rather tricky.
Kazimir looks at Miniyal for a long time then, his hands around his cup, his feet squirming beneath the hem of his robe. In a while he says, quietly, "I am told she was probably Istan."
She can do calm. Calm and neutral and polite and what goes on in her head is masked then in careful neutrality. "I do believe, sir, that there is truth in that. However, it has been quite some time since it was that island she called home." Miniyal is, then, still not going to come out and say it, but neither is she going to conceal. It's like hiding in the shadows. A little light, a little dark.
Kazimir lets out a little sigh, then leans over and puts his cup down on the endtable. "Excuse me," he says, her only warning to make way, and then he's slipping forward in his chair so he can slide out of it and onto his feet. "Let me indulge you with a scenario," he says while turning from her to pad off through another cluster of stately (and less ugly) furniture toward the harp in the corner. He does not raise his voice as he goes. "Say there is an Istan rider who comes to another Weyr's beholden lands, and there commits some crime. A theft, or a violation. Another Istan rider - perhaps, but we do not assume the same one - returns some time later to try to set the situation right." This is apparently not pacing that the Masterharper's doing; he stops before the harp and stares at the strings, one hand coming up to cradle his chin.
Move back she does, but Miniyal remains standing, just a few paces back from where she was before. Hands remain clasped in front of her and it's with her eyes only she follows him as he moves. "Very well. Let us assume that." Well, there's no question there so what else is she to say?
"The Weyr at which the crime was committed catches and holds the second rider." Kazimir stands there staring at the harpstrings, his hand over his chin, thoughtful but doing nothing about it except explaining his scenario. "Let's say they torture him." Another pause, thoughtful or maybe just silent. "Whether their effort is to punish or to extract information never becomes clear. Now then." His head raises a little, and it becomes then apparent that he's been looking through the harp at the books behind it; for now his gaze slides up the wall, to those above. "Remember that we are obliged, in Pass especially, to behave as though Weyrs have great autonomy. We have no prior crimes to attach to the rider, and no proof that both riders are the same man. What person or place has rights that have been infringed upon? Whose authority has been compromised?"
How dare he sound almost logical about this? Really. Miniyal will not stand for it. Well, she does stand for it because she does not move from where she is, eyes watching him with thoughtful intensity. "I imagine, had information been the goal this person in question might simply have had his queen get it for him. There are any number of ways that do not involve torture. Which is /not/ a justifiable punishment. /Ever./ It is not a valid method to extract information. It should not be considered such and the fact that in our history it has been considered such is a sickening statement on what we allow as a society." A stop here so she might calm herself, several deep breaths and a half pace backwards that is all she allows herself before stilling once more. "The rights of the person who was held captive and tortured without even a trial. /That/ person's rights have been infringed upon. That person deserves to have someone see to it that justice is done. Those she answers to have had their authority compromised. Autonomous or not, doing such a thing on your own is a slap in the face to everyone else, authority or no. It is /wrong/. Some things, sir, are wrong. And if we, as a society, are not willing to act to correct such wrongs than we are no worse than those who commit those crimes. If no one is willing to stand up for those who are harmed then we what sort of people are we?"
Kazimir stares up at the books. "The kind who have no harmed person present to stand up for, and must go about it some other way," he murmurs - he said he would answer her, not that he would try to be audible about it. "And those he," because the Masterharper's example rider(s) was/were male, "answered to are - ?"
"So let someone find this person and get a statement. Then we have someone to stand up for. Problems cannot be swept under the rug like so much dirt one is too lazy to carry out. And sometimes you have to be willing to admit to past wrongs to correct current ones." Miniyal is quiet as she speaks, settling on an even tone with hardly any real emotion to it. As if it were just some exercise to be discussed and that is all. "The ones in charge of him. There are times, sir, when it is best to do things quietly and move slowly. And there are times when you have to take what you know and move forward from there without time lost. Time is running out."
"What we know," replies Kazimir, and now he sounds testy, "Is that we have no victim." He turns around and levels a look - and it really -is- testy - upon Miniyal, dropping his hand from his chin so it and the other can slip into harper-blue pockets hidden in the robe's ill-fit drape. "We also have reasonable belief she may once have been Istan. So I ask one more time. On whose authority would you, or anyone, be easiest, and first, able to claim wrong has been done?"
"It does not matter what she was. It matters what she is now. Were she still Istan I don't imagine he'd have done what he did. The person who is truly the authority she answers to has no say here now." It is, for Miniyal, increasingly difficult to maintain her calm and his testiness does not help. She would rather raise her voice and stomp her feet and storm out but she has learned that much. That those things accomplish nothing. So instead she takes a deep breath. "It shouldn't matter. And I know we have a victim, sir. You talk as if you have no control of what goes on. You are not helpless to change things. You can find out the truth. You can be the authority that speaks for her even if she is not 'yours'. Someone has to."
"Then find someone," replies Kazimir, his patience apparently expended - though he expresses it in no way other than in somewhat abrupt replies. "As I see it, I may provide you with two options. The first is that you bring her here and we build a case from her testimony. The second is that you consider this from the angle of authority; and win to your side the leaders whose authority Telgar Weyr chose to overstep. -That- is a case I am quite certain Harper could tend to, and yet leave you free to perform whatever other investigations on the core issue you might wish to pursue." His chin comes up a little and his mouth goes thin, and the Masterharper starts back toward her, shuffling. All of his grace, all of his fire is in those clear brown eyes. "Is there anything else?"
Shaking her head, Miniyal frowns lightly. "No, thank you for your time, sir." That said she turns and shows herself out. Anything else she might have said would surely only hurt her cause more so she does what she is good at, leave quietly.
Where: Kazimir's study
When: The night before Miniyal and G'thon are scheduled to depart for Tillek. So about the 4th-5th day of the new turn or something. Around there anyway!
What: When Miniyal makes up her mind to do something she does it. Some might plan more or consider better what they are going to do. Instead of that she simply appears at the Masterharper's door and talks. And talks. And talks. She might have gotten a touch carried away in some places. She certainly was not as prepared for debate as she should have been. Oh, and she totally exposes herself. (Not like /that/.) And is so very much. . .what's the word? Clueless. Yes. Clueless.
Note: Kazimir is so frickin' awesome. G'thon is awesome by extension for letting me play with him.
1/9/2007 & 1/10/2007
They are leaving in the morning. Not too early although they could simply because they will be awake. But come morning, before noon, they will be off. She cannot help but be somewhat sad at leaving because, well, archives. But after dinner they have seen to their packing and still find themselves with hours to spare. There are many ways to spend that time, of course, and many of them will be used, but later. She paces around their room somewhat restlessly, pulled from her thoughts only when she catches him looking at her from his seat. This has, always, the same reaction. Her steps will stop and she will smile back. Then she will walk over to where he sits and lean down for a kiss.
But none of the kisses lead to anything else because she is off again. Finally she gives up and heads for the door. "I will be back." He can, likely, guess where she is going. What she has spent the night gathering up the courage to do and so was unable to sit or talk. Some of her nerves could easily be written off as regarding to their next stop on their trip. But not all of them. So without another word she is opening the door and gone. Once her mind is made up there is no sense waiting.
Over the turns, and especially this last one, it has been habit for her to visit with people of importance. It has instilled in her some decent idea of when is best to catch them. After dinner, not so much they are preparing for bed but late enough if they had planned guests they might be gone. So she moves slowly and purposefully towards her destination and when she arrives there pauses. It is one thing to decide to do a thing and another to, when actually faced with it, do it. But, she will not stand in the hallway like an idiot so outside the door to Kazimir's room she hesitates only long enough to smooth down her hair and tuck it behind her ears before she raps on the door three times, sharp and soft. Then the waiting game begins.
The door creaks open. Kazimir himself peeks out through the narrow gap; she has, then, likely estimated correctly his schedule, avoiding even the chance of any apprentices he may have being present for lessons or work. His thoughtful eyes regard her from his safety for a moment rather longer than good manners would allow, and then he draws back the door. "Oh, yes," he says, exactly as he did before. "Come in." Perhaps he sounds a little less delighted this time - but no less, it must be noted, as if he completely expects her.
The Masterharper's receiving room has changed. It would be a stretch to say it's good. It's still a clearinghouse for all of the silver-haired little man's precious furniture, and in all honesty, he's acquired more since she last saw the place. But a few pieces have disappeared, and certain things are, in a way, improved. The furniture has been arranged into several small groups, each one a sitting area all its own; most of them have an apparent theme of style or color, some more formal and some quite casual. The harp is still blocking part of the shelves, and its poor little chair still has music in the seat (one might guess it's remained untouched in all the time since). But several of the endtables and sidetables have had nicely-carved little racks attached to their sides, stained to match the tables themselves, and in each rack some sheaf of sheet music or records or book currently being read rests; thus the tops of these surfaces are mostly clean, ready to provide space for more transitory 'stuff' like cups and glasses of drink.
At the moment, no such cups are present, save the one in Kazimir's mottled little hand. He shuffles back from the door to allow his guest entry, the frayed hem of a harper-blue robe hiding even his feet.
Well, he asked her in so she does just that. Besides, neither of them, surely, wants to stand in his doorway all evening or even for a very small part of it. "It's odd," she remarks as she steps in. "Everyone does things differently and yet there is still some generic schedule most people seem to keep to regardless of their station or place of residence." Is it a traditional greeting? Not in the least. But it is all her own and that is what she has settled on for the evening. If she manages to mess things up horribly it will be because she was herself and not because she got tripped up pretending to be something she is not. Only once she has stepped in far enough to allow him to close the door does she pause to look around the room. "That corner over there." One hand lifts to gesture towards the opposite corner. "If you moved that ridiculous table out of the way the harp would fit nicely there and no longer block the shelves." Head tilting to one side she considers corner and then harp before nodding her head. Then she turns back to Kazimir, finally, and nods her head. "Thank you." She likes giving thanks without explaining why.
"Everyone mostly does things the same," replies Kazimir. Someone so close to the ground is hard to unbalance. "Only the outcomes differ." He closes the door behind G'thon's lover, then turns around to shuffle with his cup toward her side, so he can cast out his regard in the same direction she's pointed hers. "I don't need the books in that part of the shelf." The remark comes after a thoughtful moment's silence and a sip from the cup; it looks to contain juice. "So they make good company for the harp. Would you like to have a seat?"
"Then why do you keep them on the shelves? Why not put them up somewhere?" It is not logical to do it this way. "Then the shelves would be free for. . .Oh." Oh, yes. She's running off at the mouth again. Miniyal pulls her attention away from the harp and towards the owner of said instrument. "It's a nice harp. It just deserves better than to be left as it is." Now her brain reminds her a question was asked and she should be polite. "I was just. . .I mean. I was coming by. I don't want to take up too much of your time." Biting her lip she finally nods. "Sitting would be nice, thank you." Upon saying that she will wait to see where he will sit. Only then will she move from her spot. Only then might she speak again. After all, he might very well change his mind about speaking to her after this opening.
"The apprentices play it, from time to time." Kazimir's indifference for the harp is free of emotion, but absolutely obvious. He shuffles toward one of the groupings of furniture, one of the more casual ones, one of those farther from the door through which she came; he wends a pathway clearly demarked by rugs and the absence of rugs between two other furniture-settings to get to the one of his choice. It consists of the awful chair he sat in the last time she visited, with Gans; a sofa that does not entirely clash with the awful chair; and another chair that does not entirely clash with either the sofa or the awful chair. It would all be very nice furniture if the colors weren't out of fashion and, in the awful chair's case, sort of gross, especially when paired with Harper blue. Of course he goes toward that chair, so the pairing seems inevitable. But delayable: "Would you like a drink?"
She follows in silence then towards the grouping he wishes to sit at. The ones they walk around are studied and in her mind only she rearranges things. It is not as if she has any fashion sense herself. Any sense of decorating to make thins pleasant. It is only, how can one not tell when things are wrong. Furniture, clearly, is like shelving records. Things go together and things do not go together and it is with this belief that Miniyal rearranges. By the time she has reached where they will sit she can give a little satisfied nod. In her mind, at least, things are much more organized. Clearly where they need to be. It is this thought that is knocked from her brain when he speaks. "Oh. No, thank you, sir." Instead she will sit in the chair he does not use. Hands fold in her lap then and she maintains, despite the fluttering stomach, her usual calm demeanor. Well, the cracks in it at least are displayed in small doses. A fussing with her skirt. One hand smoothing hair behind her ear once more. Finally she settles down fully and allows her nerves to wreck havoc internally only. Of course now that she is here whatever she might have planned on saying seems to have fled her brain for the moment.
"I have juice, wine, and some leftover punch." Mmm. Leftover punch. Kazimir provides these options as if she had not declined his offer, but then he scoots up into his chair as if she had. One slipper leaps free of his foot as he inches back into the upholstery's embrace. "How have you enjoyed your stay?" These words barely lilt up at the end enough to confirm their status as questioning. Small talk so very small that answers are not even required.
When he catalogs what she might drink there is no response. She had said no, of course. But perhaps it is a ritual. Miniyal, more than many, is aware of social rituals. Things are planned to be said and are said. It is the way of rituals. So she lets him have what she perceives to be his even if that is not what it truly was. "I have, of course." Her words are earnest, more so than small talk deserves. It is just that she is unable to hide her enthusiasms anymore than she can hide her annoyance with certain things. "It's so fascinating. There's so much to be seen and the more I read the more I want to know and it's so. . .great." Oh, she's gushing. Let's stop that now, shall we. Clearing her throat she falls silent and instead decides to spend a moment staring at her hands. Look. Hands, folded, neat, not embarrassing like her enthusiasm for old hides.
"History is like that," agrees Kazimir without much inflection, but there's a little lean of his torso forward-bent and a curling of both hands around his cup for her to notice, if she would look. "Engrossing. Some of it may be 'great,' but some of it must settle for ordinary, and other of it for 'just plain bad.' But engrossing, sure." He nods slowly, as if the word were her choice, and he just agreeing with it.
"I don't think that's right." Something he said anyway and if she does not mean to argue it cannot be helped. "Nothing that comes before is. . .is less than great." Now she will lift her head, eyes wide and still eager as she explains. "There's so much to learn that tells us why things are as they are now. Everything ever done is a catalyst for this moment. And this moment, in turn, will bring about another and another. There's no stopping it and we try to so futilely by capturing it with ink on hides." Miniyal must pause here because breath demands it and some part of her thinks perhaps to slow down, but it is overrun in her need to talk about this, right now, right this instant. "It's wrong. Wrong that we take that which makes up our entire society and keep it hidden away to dole out to those believed to be deserving like the last of the candy brought back from the gather. There's so much good that could be done--and yes, there is much bad that could be done, but if we live in fear of that then we may as well not live. It is not engrossing." She will argue, of course. "It is overwhelming. Amazingly wonderful and overwhelming to consider the possibilities to be found if one just reads the right line at the right moment. But it's not just the words written, sir. That is such a small part of it. It is what could be done if they were discussed. If they were free to travel from conversation to thoughtfulness to action."
A habit, here, that Kazimir and G'thon have in common: hiding behind a cup. But the Masterharper looks a little silly at it, with one foot shod and the other hidden beneath the hem of his robe, two hands wrapped around his juice with the cup raised to his mouth to drink and held there. Over his knuckles he watches Miniyal while she speaks, and doesn't, probably, actually do any drinking. He has a long time to think about it, to do it slowly and with no swallowing noises, if he does. He doesn't bother to lower the cup and offer any sort of reply until she's been safely silent for several long seconds; then he just says, "Overwhelming is also a good term."
The lack of enthusiasm doesn't stop her. It is not daunting. Miniyal takes it for what it is, or at least what she believes it is. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't mean to be so. . .carried away. It's just so. . .what I said." Well, she falters a little. It's to be expected. "Do you ever go there, sir? Just to read. Not to find something in particular, but to see what might be discovered? Or does so long with it right here make you indifferent to it?" Questions. Not ones she is sure will be answered, at least to her satisfaction, but it is a puzzle. "I would give anything to know I could just go whenever I wished and read so much on anything." Shaking her head she lets out a wistful sigh followed by a somewhat sheepish glance towards the man of so few words. As if he must be weary of her enthusiasm by now.
"I remember most of it," replies Kazimir in answer only to her direct question, and puts up his cup again so he can ostensibly drink juice and watch her over his knuckles. The foot still slippered wiggles a bit.
"So? I remember what I know at the weyr and I still like to go in there sometimes and see what I might not have seen before. And there's nothing there in comparison to here. Nothing I have not seen in all the time I have worked in there." A pause, a moment to consider and Miniyal adds, "Or when I have not been working in there. And even here. I mean, there's so much here, but there are things at holds and weyrs that would not be found. Items of importance forgotten because no one who has them thinks anything of them." There is a trace of agitation in her demeanor now. A tapping of one foot that she every now and again tries to still. A twisting of the ring on her finger that continues no matter if she seems to be trying not to. She should be pacing, but she does not. It's not something she would feel comfortable doing, but her brain has sped ahead of her body and it is desperate to catch up in some way and provide movement of its own. So, her foot taps, her fingers twist.
Kazimir puts down the cup - really puts it down, as in on the endtable nearest - when Miniyal starts talking. Then he inches back in the chair - he has a tendency to slump because his feet don't quite touch the floor - and folds his hands over his stomach. She says all that, and then twists and taps, and the Masterharper's foot wiggles in slower and slower little circles until he finally stops it and lets out words. "Yes." Long pause. "I do go, and just - skim, more than read. To bring the words back to the front of my mind, or for other reasons. Why do you ask?"
Oh, wow. He answered. Actually answered a question. This is not exactly how the conversation has been going so Miniyal is a bit lost for a moment. A mere moment. "Because I was curious. I wondered if knowing it was there and that you could always meant you wanted to less." And now she has her answer. So she says nothing else. Twitch of the foot, tapping, then that stills as well.
"There is some sort of line between desire and helpless fascination." Kazimir stretches one leg and the bared foot reaches down, toes (no socks) barely glimpsing from beneath the hem of the robe so they can curl and rub at the top of the still-slippered foot. "I would not claim to know where that line is, but I believe I do know which side of it I stand on."
"One is not always better than the other." It is possible someone might have taken his statement as insult of some sort. Miniyal, however, for once does not do that at all. Instead she thinks on it. After she has spoken those first words. It is not her best timing, but she has not had much practice lately. "Sometimes. . ." Sometimes what. There is a pause as the thought escapes her. "Sometimes it is good to give in to those helpless fascinations. To see what becomes of it. So long as you know when it is time to pull back there is little danger." Surely she is speaking of records still. Yes, of course. "Sometimes they are the same thing. But without experiencing them there is no way to tell. As for where the line is, sir?" There is the tiniest, slimmest, teensiest of teases in her voice now. "I imagine it is always just to the side of where we stand."
"I am certain I missed my opportunity to pull back some turns ago." Kazimir offers a little trace of a smile. "Perhaps we stand on opposite sides, Miniyal." His feet untangle and the bare one disappears again. A lean over lets him reclaim his cup and look into it, and when he slides down out of the chair, he asks again, "Would you like a drink." His head bows as he toes his escaped slipper back on, adding, perfectly pleasantly, "Now?"
Head tilting to one side the words are rolled around in her brain. Slowly, for a change. "I'm hopeless, sir. I admit that with very little hesitation. However, I am fortunate to have someone who reminds me that I must, on occasion, eat and not spend my life hunched over some book or other." Biting her lip at this question, Miniyal lets the trace of a smile curve her lips up a moment. "I would not take up so much of your time, sir." As if she has not already taken up time. As if a drink will take up that much longer. "However, I suppose considering I have droned on for some time my throat might appreciate something, please. Whatever is easiest for you." And we shall hope it is not leftover punch!
"Then how much of my time would you like?" Kazimir pauses there, his cup in hand, his slippers on, and regards her with one of those not-very-sharp looks that a clever mind would not trust to be dull at all. Then he turns and shuffles off to collect a carafe of juice on the sidetable closest to the rearmost door in the room. He pours his cup full again, then tries a couple of doors in the sidetable's cabinets before finding one that yeilds another, similar cup. With the carafe's neck in one hand and the cup's handle dangling from a fingertip, his juice in the other hand, the Masterharper shuffles back.
"Enough to know where I stand." Miniyal's answer is simple, greeting his regard with her own polite neutrality. As if she hasn't a care in the world other than what he will give her to drink in a few moments. This translates, of course, to her clamping down /firmly/ on her brain and telling it to shut up. Just because she thinks it does not mean she has to say and she will practice this right now. Right this very second. And if this resolve causes her foot to twitch once more and her fingers to twist at the ring she wears it is a small price to pay. When he turns about again to shuffle back she has stifled the fidgeting and is merely waiting politely for her promised drink.
Kazimir puts his cup down on the endtable by his chair and keeps moving, over to hand the cup intended for her out for Miniyal to take. If she will, he'll pour while she holds it. "You have already suggested you know. So I believe if you would like to move, you will need to take your feet into your own hands." Serious, grave, with not a hint that he's just said... what he said, the Masterharper concerns himself primarily with providing her that cupful of juice, then with setting the carafe down within her reach.
She will take the cup and hold it steady so he might pour. And while he pours Miniyal will not say anything. The silence lingers as her cup is left to her and she might take a drink from it. Only then, once the carafe is down and the business of juice is done will she speak again. After another small sip. "And if I were to ask why you tolerate me, sir? Allowing me to tag along with Gans as he does his own work. Allowing me to interrupt your own evening with poorly thought out. . .thoughts. Would you answer me? Or is that part of finding my own feet?" Hooray for props. She has a cup now she must tend to. By peering into it or merely holding it carefully in her lap. There is not yet another drink to take from it. Those uses of the prop should be used sparingly.
Kazimir retreats to his seat, hitching himself up into it. He manages to keep his slippers on this time. "You do your own work, while he does his, as I understand it." He reaches over to pick up his own juice, and like Miniyal might, he peers into it. "I would answer you, if I were aware of a question you need an answer for."
"So I don't need an answer for it?" Miniyal frowns thoughtfully into her juice. Puzzling out exactly what needs be said here. "Or maybe I should have phrased it differently. Fine then." More staring and one foot taps for a brief moment as she tries to sort out her thoughts once more. "How do you define what I need to know, sir? Gans could tell you I believe I need to know everything that comes to my mind to ask about. However, I shall not list the catalog of questions I have right now." Another time, perhaps. "No. How does anyone define what someone needs to know? Who gets to choose, sir? What information will be locked away and what will be given out to those in the greater society. More importantly, who gives anyone the right to define what knowledge should be shared?"
The Masterharper does not give in to meaningless syllables of bemusement. He looks up at his conversational counterpart, however, with an expression somewhat less bland than usual, and then puts the cup up in front of him for a drink. A sigh follows, pleased by the juice, and the cup goes back down, wrapped in both hands. "One, anyone, defines according to their own pleasure, or their belief in what is safest, or most advantageous. Selfishly, Miniyal. And I choose, as do Lords and Weyrleaders and Craftmasters all, and society gives us the right by allowing it to be so; by complaining ineffectively, or not at all. None of these questions will get you any answers you can use, or in fact don't know, Miniyal; would you like to try again?"
Oh, so it's going to be that way. The cup is picked up and a quiet sip taken from it. This thinking without the help of wine is a new experience. Rather than start and stop like she might have, Miniyal is silent when he finishes his question. Her prop is viewed as if the answers are there. "Do people go into these positions; Craftmaster, Weyrleader, Lord already determined to block knowledge or does it come after? Is it because they wish to hold onto their power that they do this? Or because they truly believe they know what is best. . .Yes, I know. You won't answer these. You can't answer them for anyone but yourself." But talking out loud helps her to think. It's not the best of habits, but she is wrapped up in juice and thoughts and sometimes, like now, barely even realises she is talking /to/ someone and not just thinking out loud somewhere out of the way. She nearly talks, mouth opening and words almost formed before she covers it up, poorly, with a drink from her juice. Silence then for another moment before she does speak. "It sets precedent. To do as one pleases. Locking away information, denying people their history. It leaves one open to abuse their power. Oh, there are plenty of reasons to abuse power by those who wish to, but this one. . .this one is shameful. Because it is done and it is allowed. By everyone." Rubbing her forehead she lets out a small sigh, frustrated over the inability to gather her thoughts into something coherently a question. "Every society needs leaders, but those leaders should be more concerned with those who follow them than with their own comforts and amusements." Gaze rising from her cup she lets out a little shrug as she looks at Kazimir. "And those who betray that responsibility should not be allowed to remain in power. But that is no question. So I suppose after all this I am not trying again."
Kazimir has, like any good harper, learned how to shut up and listen. It does not, if he sets his tangled and overfull mind to it, even require him to put the cup up to mask his mouth. But he leans forward a little bit, and when she does her first job of answering a question from his perspective without obliging him to do it himself, his foot begins to wiggle that slow circle again. The hem of his robe lifts and falls with each passage of his pointed, slippered toe. "You have not asked me any questions," he says once she seems finished. "So I can give you no answers. But I will ask you something. How should those leaders who are more concerned with their current people, those who live and breathe around them, followers and detractors both - how should leaders so concerned, not selfishly but without foresight either, how should they be handled?"
Another question that earns nothing but silence from Miniyal for several moments. The use of her cup as a prop is abandoned, likely because she cannot remember when to use it while thinking of an answer. Again the desire to pace kicks in and one foot twitches on the floor, toes tapping lightly to allow some removal of energy. Her gaze travels around the room as she chews on her lower lip and considers the question for a short while longer before hazarding to offer an answer. "You show them. With what we have. There are countless examples of leaders like that. Of what happens when they lose sight of the future. When they do not plan not just for those whom they lead now, but for those whom their children or their replacement might lead. You have to be able to see farther ahead. It's how you lead right. Not just seeing the present, but seeing the future. And if you can't do that then. . .well, then if you cannot be replaced you must be taught. You have to make them see it. I'm not trying to argue it is easy, but there is always a way to make people see the truth."
"And the best way to make them see it is to have it surround them. To make it commonplace knowledge." Kazimir's foot pauses in its wiggling; it might be percieved he looks at Miniyal a little harder then, until his toe starts circling again and he looks down into his cup. Hm. Juice. He raises the cup and drinks.
"Only those who do not need it beaten into their skull." Mumbled some, meant mostly humorously only because Miniyal chooses more subtle methods. That involve less talking. And yet here she is talking. "It is matter of consequences. If a resident at the weyr does not live up to their responsibility they can be cast out. If a weyrleader does not he is not. He is allowed to continue on as he does and it falls to those under him to try to keep things going. And that only if he has not placed those beneath him who are happy with the way he runs things. If a Lord messes up his Hold, what cares he if things are ruined for those who follow? It does not make a difference to him." Her own juice gets a look and then a taste. As if she'll find something better to say around that look and taste.
"One might think to ask," notes the Masterharper, after his sip and before another - the second places an unweildly pause in his words. After he puts the cup down again he looks up, at Miniyal, sort of; in a way, he looks past her, and in the same way he smiles a bit, distant and slight. "If you are already so displeased with the Reaches' leadership."
The statement nearly causes her to laugh. Nearly, but Miniyal quiets it with no more than a soft snort escaping. Because she is not sure if laughing is appropriate so she does not. "I've not even been home since the leaders changed, sir. I have no complaints about the possibilities of their leadership. I have nothing against any of the leaders my weyr has seen in my time." If there is a slight stress on the possessive of that word, weyr, surely she only means it in the way anyone might be possessive of where they have been born and raised. This is one of those times, surely, where nothing at all is meant but what is being said. Yes, indeed.
"Your time has been brief." He does not mean it as a criticism, nor even to suggest something particular about other leadership; Kazimir makes the statement as a matter of course, with almost a hint of wit, as if it were a tease. A tease like he teased her, by teasing her lover, about her status with G'thon when they visited before. The harper is much more solemn about it when he looks down into his cup again and says, "Let me describe to you our conversation thus far. I have greeted you; we have exchanged pleasantries. We have found a common topic to discuss - the archives - and then you have asked questions, and made some loaded statements." He looks up from his cup on that. "I have enjoyed them enough. But I do not wear the halter well, and I find myself wondering where you intend to lead. Enlighten me?"
She could if she were more practiced find a way to get around the question. Miniyal might have found any number of ways to do so, but instead she. . .well, does what she always does. His previous teasings were a brief respite from the more serious conversation and at least allowed her a moment to pretend as if she might be able to continue on with, what for her, was rather subtle. Really. She was doing so well. It is first thought of to apologise. Because it will bring forth nervousness, this talk of her leading the Masterharper anywhere. But this she stops by taking a too large drink and finishing off her juice. Holding onto her cup tightly with both hands now she watches him as she speaks. "I have a mission. It was my intention then to determine if you would be of assistance with it or if you should be worked around in the dark. Because I need what is here, sir, to do it. And in the end I will need assistance from someone of more importance than myself." There is a pause here, brief. "And I was curious."
"You will not get far claiming someone like me is of more importance than someone like you. Say I am of more prominence, or greater power, but don't call a bucket a carriage, here." He smiles that slight, distant smile again, then Kazimir does something he has not done before - gesture, overturning a hand and wriggling the fingers, come-hither. Then he wraps it around the cup again, joining the other, and makes obvious point of waiting.
"I would argue, sir, that in the eyes of society the Masterharper is of more importance than a kept woman." But she does not argue it, merely says it before looking at that hand. For a moment Miniyal retains her seat and then she sets her cup down on the table near her, by the carafe so thoughtfully left near her that she has not touched. Summoned so, she rises to her feet and crosses the space between her chair and his, curious but not showing it other than the spark of just that in her eyes.
Kazimir affects a blank look - it is poorly done, and not particularly meant to come across any better than it does, as he can't be bothered to fuss with actual deceit. "When did we shift again from discussing my inability to wear a halter and your ineffectiveness in getting one on me to talking about the broad assumptions of society?"
"Just now. For that brief moment, sir." Now she smiles, it may not last but for that flickering moment it is there and genuine enough. "Although we did not discuss it so much as I made a simple statement. I suppose by your commenting on it we have entered something of a discussion it. However short lived. But I apologise. Do go on, sir." Miniyal is, of course, being serious now. If she's a little too serious to entirely be believed that is not her problem.
And yet Kazimir just sits there, as if he had not commanded her come over, looking up at her with that blank - now almost puzzled - expression. "You need assistance, and you are curious." A pause. "Not that I necessarily believe those things to be related." Another pause, to sound less funny about it. "Explain?"
Her head tilts over to the side and some old memory kicks in perhaps. It's like reciting lessons when a child. So Miniyal folds her hands in front of her and watches Kazimir as she does explain. "Everything is related. Were I not the sort who allowed herself to be overly curious at times I would not wind up in positions where I required the assistance of people with greater power. More prominent men and women." She pauses only for breath here because if she does not she might forget entirely. "I seek to expose a truth, sir. One that needs desperately to come to light. Justice is deserved for everyone. No matter their station or the station of the one who wrongs them. I believe that if I believe anything."
There; -now- she gets the shifting forward in his chair, the leaning forward and the lowered tone that his gesture and her response, her nearness, promised. Kazimir bends forward, raising his face up, and murmurs. His murmur is a little creaky, unable to disguise flaws that he suppresses, or does not suffer, when speaking in a more sociable tone. "And your truth?"
Here Miniyal displays nervousness, her hands folded together allow her still to twist at her ring. While she is still other than that, as if she must be still or flee that is telling enough of an action. Several courses of action, several statements are open to her. But in the end there is little surprise in her own mind that she chooses to be direct and simply tell what she has to say. Consequences be damned. "That Telgar's weyrleader is a power abusing son of a bitch and no one has the right to hurt /anyone/ for any reason. There is /no/ excuse for it. None. And no matter the cost I will do everything I can to see he answers for his crime." If her words lack in volume they lack for nothing in other areas, most notably anger and determination.
"That's a little broader than I might have hoped," replies Kazimir in his conversational tone, and leans back, retracting his hands to their place around his cup; she is dismissed. But then he's talking, so she must not be dismissed too far. "If I am to be involved, I believe proof of a crime and a victim will be my first requirement. After that we might plan further." He raises his head like he might expect a response, but keeps going so as to steamroll it. "Unfortunately, Miniyal, being - as you say - a power-abusing son of a bitch will not inspire a Harper case or a guilty verdict alone. If that is your main complaint, I suggest you begin grooming a powerful and promising bronzerider at Telgar, and be done with what help I can provide you."
"If that were all it were, sir, I would allow Telgar to sort out its own problems. But what he does. . .it is not just Telgar's issue." Miniyal doesn't move from where she stands. Standing at least is better than sitting even if pacing is still the best. "It is an issue for all of us. He acted as a representative of all of us when he did what he did. And I do not believe that all of us would condone holding a woman for torture for two sevens. At least I know I do not." The whole requiring a victim thing. . .that is sort of not touched on. It being rather tricky.
Kazimir looks at Miniyal for a long time then, his hands around his cup, his feet squirming beneath the hem of his robe. In a while he says, quietly, "I am told she was probably Istan."
She can do calm. Calm and neutral and polite and what goes on in her head is masked then in careful neutrality. "I do believe, sir, that there is truth in that. However, it has been quite some time since it was that island she called home." Miniyal is, then, still not going to come out and say it, but neither is she going to conceal. It's like hiding in the shadows. A little light, a little dark.
Kazimir lets out a little sigh, then leans over and puts his cup down on the endtable. "Excuse me," he says, her only warning to make way, and then he's slipping forward in his chair so he can slide out of it and onto his feet. "Let me indulge you with a scenario," he says while turning from her to pad off through another cluster of stately (and less ugly) furniture toward the harp in the corner. He does not raise his voice as he goes. "Say there is an Istan rider who comes to another Weyr's beholden lands, and there commits some crime. A theft, or a violation. Another Istan rider - perhaps, but we do not assume the same one - returns some time later to try to set the situation right." This is apparently not pacing that the Masterharper's doing; he stops before the harp and stares at the strings, one hand coming up to cradle his chin.
Move back she does, but Miniyal remains standing, just a few paces back from where she was before. Hands remain clasped in front of her and it's with her eyes only she follows him as he moves. "Very well. Let us assume that." Well, there's no question there so what else is she to say?
"The Weyr at which the crime was committed catches and holds the second rider." Kazimir stands there staring at the harpstrings, his hand over his chin, thoughtful but doing nothing about it except explaining his scenario. "Let's say they torture him." Another pause, thoughtful or maybe just silent. "Whether their effort is to punish or to extract information never becomes clear. Now then." His head raises a little, and it becomes then apparent that he's been looking through the harp at the books behind it; for now his gaze slides up the wall, to those above. "Remember that we are obliged, in Pass especially, to behave as though Weyrs have great autonomy. We have no prior crimes to attach to the rider, and no proof that both riders are the same man. What person or place has rights that have been infringed upon? Whose authority has been compromised?"
How dare he sound almost logical about this? Really. Miniyal will not stand for it. Well, she does stand for it because she does not move from where she is, eyes watching him with thoughtful intensity. "I imagine, had information been the goal this person in question might simply have had his queen get it for him. There are any number of ways that do not involve torture. Which is /not/ a justifiable punishment. /Ever./ It is not a valid method to extract information. It should not be considered such and the fact that in our history it has been considered such is a sickening statement on what we allow as a society." A stop here so she might calm herself, several deep breaths and a half pace backwards that is all she allows herself before stilling once more. "The rights of the person who was held captive and tortured without even a trial. /That/ person's rights have been infringed upon. That person deserves to have someone see to it that justice is done. Those she answers to have had their authority compromised. Autonomous or not, doing such a thing on your own is a slap in the face to everyone else, authority or no. It is /wrong/. Some things, sir, are wrong. And if we, as a society, are not willing to act to correct such wrongs than we are no worse than those who commit those crimes. If no one is willing to stand up for those who are harmed then we what sort of people are we?"
Kazimir stares up at the books. "The kind who have no harmed person present to stand up for, and must go about it some other way," he murmurs - he said he would answer her, not that he would try to be audible about it. "And those he," because the Masterharper's example rider(s) was/were male, "answered to are - ?"
"So let someone find this person and get a statement. Then we have someone to stand up for. Problems cannot be swept under the rug like so much dirt one is too lazy to carry out. And sometimes you have to be willing to admit to past wrongs to correct current ones." Miniyal is quiet as she speaks, settling on an even tone with hardly any real emotion to it. As if it were just some exercise to be discussed and that is all. "The ones in charge of him. There are times, sir, when it is best to do things quietly and move slowly. And there are times when you have to take what you know and move forward from there without time lost. Time is running out."
"What we know," replies Kazimir, and now he sounds testy, "Is that we have no victim." He turns around and levels a look - and it really -is- testy - upon Miniyal, dropping his hand from his chin so it and the other can slip into harper-blue pockets hidden in the robe's ill-fit drape. "We also have reasonable belief she may once have been Istan. So I ask one more time. On whose authority would you, or anyone, be easiest, and first, able to claim wrong has been done?"
"It does not matter what she was. It matters what she is now. Were she still Istan I don't imagine he'd have done what he did. The person who is truly the authority she answers to has no say here now." It is, for Miniyal, increasingly difficult to maintain her calm and his testiness does not help. She would rather raise her voice and stomp her feet and storm out but she has learned that much. That those things accomplish nothing. So instead she takes a deep breath. "It shouldn't matter. And I know we have a victim, sir. You talk as if you have no control of what goes on. You are not helpless to change things. You can find out the truth. You can be the authority that speaks for her even if she is not 'yours'. Someone has to."
"Then find someone," replies Kazimir, his patience apparently expended - though he expresses it in no way other than in somewhat abrupt replies. "As I see it, I may provide you with two options. The first is that you bring her here and we build a case from her testimony. The second is that you consider this from the angle of authority; and win to your side the leaders whose authority Telgar Weyr chose to overstep. -That- is a case I am quite certain Harper could tend to, and yet leave you free to perform whatever other investigations on the core issue you might wish to pursue." His chin comes up a little and his mouth goes thin, and the Masterharper starts back toward her, shuffling. All of his grace, all of his fire is in those clear brown eyes. "Is there anything else?"
Shaking her head, Miniyal frowns lightly. "No, thank you for your time, sir." That said she turns and shows herself out. Anything else she might have said would surely only hurt her cause more so she does what she is good at, leave quietly.