Burn
Location: Diya's Weyr
Time: Later evening on Day 13, Month 3, Turn 2
Players: Diya and Roa
Scene: Roa visits Diya to learn the truth of certain rumors and to see what remains of their friendship.
West Weyr
Unlike the larger weyrs in this complex, this weyr is small enough that it lacks the sitting area and almost lacks room enough for a working area. A small desk has been squeezed into a corner, settled on a hand-woven rug of brown and red. The walls above the desk have had shelves installed and these shelves are filled with a number of rolled hides. In the opposite corner is a bed made up in thick quilts. Flanking the entrance are two wardrobes, one for clothing and personal effects, the other for riding gear.
Directly ahead from the entrance is the curtained archway that leads out onto the weyr's ledge. The stone couch reserved for the junior gold is padded with rushes and the ledge itself has an impressive view of the northern bowl stretched out below it. It's also sheltered somewhat from the wind by the outward jut of the Senior's ledge-- a boon that is balanced by the fact that this larger ledge rests at the perfect angle to have a good view of its neighbor.
In spite of what softly spoken rumors there might be, Diya's weyr is a picture of neat austerity. Her hides are well-managed in tidy stacks on her desk, the bed is made with a heavy quilt folded at the end, and her press seems to be in order, at least from the closed-door exterior. The weyrwoman herself sits at the desk, her fingers twirling a quill around her fingers in an idle fashion as the spread hide before her contains one ink dot -- a word begun, thought of, and then 'rethunk'. By her elbow sits a long-cooled mug of mint and lemon tea.
Soft footsteps make their way up the steps and towards the opening of the junior weyrwoman's weyr. There's a timid knock to announce her arrival before Roa steps silently inside, lingering by the doorway. "Good evening...Diya? Are you..." she takes a small breath, hands clasping in front of her. "Is this a good time?"
It'd probably be understandable to most if it weren't, the weyrwoman noticeably not taking audience with many of late, but as the quiet voice interrupts her idle thoughts, recognition skids through the regal woman's dark eyes. Slowly, the angular face turns and tilts upwards to catch sight of the smaller goldrider, and with a seeming dismissive toss of her hair returns to her hides. Brisk, she intones, "I doubt there are many good times to interrupt a letter home, but as it seems words have escaped my quill and you propose such extraordinary company with your presence, I could be convinced-," the wry amusement Diya's old friends with surges forward not just in her voice, but also in the casual twist of her lips and the sidelong glance of assessment spared the Telgari woman. "Convinced to set such taxing endeavors aside for now."
"I'm sorry. I hadn't realized you were..." busy? Writing? Angry with her? But the words Diya offers, Roa seems to construe as an invitation to enter more fully and she slips out of the doorway and towards the usual chair she sits in when she's in this weyr. Usually, however, the Reachian junior is in the other chair. Not so much tonight. Never the less, Roa sinks down, hands settling in her lap, as she peers at the other weyrwoman behind her desk. "How are you?" she asks softly, and really, that question could cover a great deal of territory.
Not so much tonight, as Diya lingers in the rickety wooden affair by her desk. The quill too, doesn't leave her hand, allowing her the semblance of busy without being actually productive. "I am," is the continued dryness of her voice in the two-worded conclusion of Roa's initial statement. You were, I am. "I am still alive, rumored reports aren't to be believed that I am not." An easy smile finds her lips, the note of falseness contained within near imperceptible to most, and after tapping the quill once more to her hide, the weyrwoman finally turns to survey Roa, her gaze impassive. "Shouldn't I be asking that of you, my girl with two left feet?"
The Telgari's own smile is rather flat and wry. "I'm improving," she says by way of her little mishap. "But much as my feet get me into mischief, it's my mouth I'm worried about tonight." Her head lifts a little, eyes moving until they find Diya's bland expression, and there they settle. "You are displeased with me." It's not a question. "Would you tell me why?"
"Am I?" That seems to settle Diya's expression out a bit, bemusement hooking into that smile and diminishing it considerably. One thin brow lifts, unspoken query carried in the noticeable gesture.
Roa's head cants a little to the side. "Unless I am completely misreading all of the little signals you've been throwing out. Yes. I believe you are." She quiets, save for a sharp swallow.
Diya's poised quill drops, tapping against the wooden desk and leaving yet another blemish on its abused surface. "Given, weyrwoman, that we have not spent much time together of late, I cannot believe there are enough little signals for you to interpret either way." The bemusement lays thick in the richness of the weyrwoman's alto. "Perhaps you can be sure to enlighten me of the signals and I'll be sure to curb my subconscious from throwing them out. You are well, in fact?"
Roa exhales, slowly, her gaze again sliding away, settling elsewhere. On her knees, the corner of the room, the fallen quill. "I am," is Roa's simple reply to the simple question. "Physically, I am on the mend. Thank you."
"Congratulations," Diya turns her head, though not the set of her shoulders and torso, back to survey the wordless letter. Her words muffle as they are cast to the wall rather than to the other goldrider, "I think you might win the award of the most accident-prone student in many a turn, though I almost wonder if the Igenite representative turns previous wasn't more likely to fall into a nonexistent hole." The first word is finally stumbled on with a catch in Diya's breath and interrupt her pleasantly conversational voice. Scrawling it buys the goldrider time, and afterwards, she spares Roa a faint smile, "I am well enough. We both are."
As Diya speaks, Roa's arms move to wrap themselves just a little around her own midriff, fingers curling into the cloth of her shirt on either side. "Did you know," she begins, light and casual, "that the Captain of the Guard found Derek's old dagger a few sevens ago? Buried in his wall, no less. Since then, accidents seem to be happening a bit more frequently."
"Oh?" It's clear Diya's only pretending interest, or at least pretending to pretend interest. Or something similar to that effect, but which it is -- that's unclear. Her scrawl garners more musing, a tilt of her head before she relinquishes her quill to the table and with a curl of her hand around the tea mug, gets to her feet. Still. "Coincidence, you think? Or just timeliness?"
"I'm believing less and less in coincidences, these days," is Roa's response. Her glance moves to Diya, moves away again. She will try one final thing. "Issa tells me...you are leaving?"
"As do I," Diya returns, looming tall over the seated goldrider with her gaze dropped to keep Roa's glossy hair in sight. "Coincidence has very little to do with the timeliness of many these days it seems." The query ignites movement, causing the goldrider to glide forward with effortless grace and sink down into her usual seat. "Issa is a vtol with long ears and a wide mouth."
Roa's lips twitch just a little in the corners, as if they'd like to curl upwards but have instead been restrained. "I would have to agree with you on that," she says by way of coincidences. "Issa's mouth isn't so wide. I don't believe she's told anyone else." She watches the weyrwoman as she seats herself and presses, "Is it true?"
Diya continues to make herself comfortable in her seat, rearranging the cross of her legs and the position of her mug along that armchair. "It is not a discussion of Telgar's concern, though perhaps you have more insights for me, weyrwoman?" The warmth of yore finds the Reaches' woman's intonation and more surprisingly in the frank look granted the rider that pulls lines on the older woman's otherwise strong face. "It is not."
Brows arch a little at the gentle rebuke. Jaw clenches. Telgar's concern. "So much of weyrhunting then, I see," Roa says rather flatly. The fingers that gather the cloth of her shirt squeeze it more tightly. "J'cor seems a good man who wishes to focus on restoring Reaches' wings," a slight emphasis on the name of the weyr. "G'thon seems...a little lost, I think. Yevide I have not spoken with since before Ulyath...well, since before. It was my understanding," and now Roa's voice softens, "that we all wanted rather the same thing in the end."
"So much of?" Diya turns mild eyes onto Roa. "You will have uses to the desert wanderers who have laid lawless claim to our Weyr." It is the first anger that treads past the sense of collected calm that leaks in the coldly spoken words, and then is quickly curbed with a sharp breath. Kinder yet, she murmurs soothingly, "I am sure your transfer will conclude at some point as you seem to have an awareness that transcends that of a normal Caucus student. Much like," the dark blue eyes look past Roa, studious to a rug that decorates her wall, "Another ambitious Caucus student we both seem to know, though myself less well than you."
"You see?" Roa counters. "You are displeased with me. And I would prefer, if you please, not to be quite so closely compared to her." Hands slowly disengage, settle in her lap, squeeze one another instead of the cloth. "What would you have me do?"
Diya, without words, stares at Roa. In that gaze is the old saying: 'If the shoe fits,' with little leeway for forgiveness. "I am not displeased with you. Age, I thought once, brought with it a certain awareness of events around a being. Apparently, given my track record of thrice betrayed in the span of two sevendays, I have not yet reached this stage of a life without naivety. No, Roa," the smile she manages is again too easy, "I am displeased with myself, but thank you for your concern to my well-being and that of my dragon's while you, yourself, seem to be suffering a series of unfortunate coincidences."
"I didn't..." Roa closes her mouth and shakes her head. "It was never my intention to..." no, that won't do either. So instead she just nods several times and swallows once. Shoulders square and she tucks her own slightly hurt expression behind the calm and composed gaze that every weyrwoman must master at some point in their tutelage. "Thank you for letting me visit, weyrwoman. I have enjoyed our time together." She is moving to rise now. "And I am pleased to hear that the rumors I was concerned with were unfounded. The Reaches needs you."
"The Reaches," Diya watches Roa, "Seems to have already had its decision made for the people by interlopers. But I will do what I deem is best, as I have always done. Not just for me, but for the population as a whole. You see, Roa," the woman's ruddy hair shifts backwards as she lifts her chin to seek out the standing goldrider, "It may seem that ambition drives my past and current decisions, that turning your father and the Instigators in with one word was to propel myself as a decision maker of Pern, but in doing so, countless lives were saved. There are some of us that put others before their own attempts at power, however softly spoken they are, or warm and welcome they might seem. I hope you are happy with the lot you have cast."
Having risen from her chair, Roa pauses long enough to listen. Her head lowers into a respectful nod, deep enough to perhaps even be labeled a bow. "For one who professes being misjudged, you seem quick to do the same to others." To me. "Good night, ma'am." And now she is turning and walking away, shoulders back, spine stiff, head high.
Time: Later evening on Day 13, Month 3, Turn 2
Players: Diya and Roa
Scene: Roa visits Diya to learn the truth of certain rumors and to see what remains of their friendship.
West Weyr
Unlike the larger weyrs in this complex, this weyr is small enough that it lacks the sitting area and almost lacks room enough for a working area. A small desk has been squeezed into a corner, settled on a hand-woven rug of brown and red. The walls above the desk have had shelves installed and these shelves are filled with a number of rolled hides. In the opposite corner is a bed made up in thick quilts. Flanking the entrance are two wardrobes, one for clothing and personal effects, the other for riding gear.
Directly ahead from the entrance is the curtained archway that leads out onto the weyr's ledge. The stone couch reserved for the junior gold is padded with rushes and the ledge itself has an impressive view of the northern bowl stretched out below it. It's also sheltered somewhat from the wind by the outward jut of the Senior's ledge-- a boon that is balanced by the fact that this larger ledge rests at the perfect angle to have a good view of its neighbor.
In spite of what softly spoken rumors there might be, Diya's weyr is a picture of neat austerity. Her hides are well-managed in tidy stacks on her desk, the bed is made with a heavy quilt folded at the end, and her press seems to be in order, at least from the closed-door exterior. The weyrwoman herself sits at the desk, her fingers twirling a quill around her fingers in an idle fashion as the spread hide before her contains one ink dot -- a word begun, thought of, and then 'rethunk'. By her elbow sits a long-cooled mug of mint and lemon tea.
Soft footsteps make their way up the steps and towards the opening of the junior weyrwoman's weyr. There's a timid knock to announce her arrival before Roa steps silently inside, lingering by the doorway. "Good evening...Diya? Are you..." she takes a small breath, hands clasping in front of her. "Is this a good time?"
It'd probably be understandable to most if it weren't, the weyrwoman noticeably not taking audience with many of late, but as the quiet voice interrupts her idle thoughts, recognition skids through the regal woman's dark eyes. Slowly, the angular face turns and tilts upwards to catch sight of the smaller goldrider, and with a seeming dismissive toss of her hair returns to her hides. Brisk, she intones, "I doubt there are many good times to interrupt a letter home, but as it seems words have escaped my quill and you propose such extraordinary company with your presence, I could be convinced-," the wry amusement Diya's old friends with surges forward not just in her voice, but also in the casual twist of her lips and the sidelong glance of assessment spared the Telgari woman. "Convinced to set such taxing endeavors aside for now."
"I'm sorry. I hadn't realized you were..." busy? Writing? Angry with her? But the words Diya offers, Roa seems to construe as an invitation to enter more fully and she slips out of the doorway and towards the usual chair she sits in when she's in this weyr. Usually, however, the Reachian junior is in the other chair. Not so much tonight. Never the less, Roa sinks down, hands settling in her lap, as she peers at the other weyrwoman behind her desk. "How are you?" she asks softly, and really, that question could cover a great deal of territory.
Not so much tonight, as Diya lingers in the rickety wooden affair by her desk. The quill too, doesn't leave her hand, allowing her the semblance of busy without being actually productive. "I am," is the continued dryness of her voice in the two-worded conclusion of Roa's initial statement. You were, I am. "I am still alive, rumored reports aren't to be believed that I am not." An easy smile finds her lips, the note of falseness contained within near imperceptible to most, and after tapping the quill once more to her hide, the weyrwoman finally turns to survey Roa, her gaze impassive. "Shouldn't I be asking that of you, my girl with two left feet?"
The Telgari's own smile is rather flat and wry. "I'm improving," she says by way of her little mishap. "But much as my feet get me into mischief, it's my mouth I'm worried about tonight." Her head lifts a little, eyes moving until they find Diya's bland expression, and there they settle. "You are displeased with me." It's not a question. "Would you tell me why?"
"Am I?" That seems to settle Diya's expression out a bit, bemusement hooking into that smile and diminishing it considerably. One thin brow lifts, unspoken query carried in the noticeable gesture.
Roa's head cants a little to the side. "Unless I am completely misreading all of the little signals you've been throwing out. Yes. I believe you are." She quiets, save for a sharp swallow.
Diya's poised quill drops, tapping against the wooden desk and leaving yet another blemish on its abused surface. "Given, weyrwoman, that we have not spent much time together of late, I cannot believe there are enough little signals for you to interpret either way." The bemusement lays thick in the richness of the weyrwoman's alto. "Perhaps you can be sure to enlighten me of the signals and I'll be sure to curb my subconscious from throwing them out. You are well, in fact?"
Roa exhales, slowly, her gaze again sliding away, settling elsewhere. On her knees, the corner of the room, the fallen quill. "I am," is Roa's simple reply to the simple question. "Physically, I am on the mend. Thank you."
"Congratulations," Diya turns her head, though not the set of her shoulders and torso, back to survey the wordless letter. Her words muffle as they are cast to the wall rather than to the other goldrider, "I think you might win the award of the most accident-prone student in many a turn, though I almost wonder if the Igenite representative turns previous wasn't more likely to fall into a nonexistent hole." The first word is finally stumbled on with a catch in Diya's breath and interrupt her pleasantly conversational voice. Scrawling it buys the goldrider time, and afterwards, she spares Roa a faint smile, "I am well enough. We both are."
As Diya speaks, Roa's arms move to wrap themselves just a little around her own midriff, fingers curling into the cloth of her shirt on either side. "Did you know," she begins, light and casual, "that the Captain of the Guard found Derek's old dagger a few sevens ago? Buried in his wall, no less. Since then, accidents seem to be happening a bit more frequently."
"Oh?" It's clear Diya's only pretending interest, or at least pretending to pretend interest. Or something similar to that effect, but which it is -- that's unclear. Her scrawl garners more musing, a tilt of her head before she relinquishes her quill to the table and with a curl of her hand around the tea mug, gets to her feet. Still. "Coincidence, you think? Or just timeliness?"
"I'm believing less and less in coincidences, these days," is Roa's response. Her glance moves to Diya, moves away again. She will try one final thing. "Issa tells me...you are leaving?"
"As do I," Diya returns, looming tall over the seated goldrider with her gaze dropped to keep Roa's glossy hair in sight. "Coincidence has very little to do with the timeliness of many these days it seems." The query ignites movement, causing the goldrider to glide forward with effortless grace and sink down into her usual seat. "Issa is a vtol with long ears and a wide mouth."
Roa's lips twitch just a little in the corners, as if they'd like to curl upwards but have instead been restrained. "I would have to agree with you on that," she says by way of coincidences. "Issa's mouth isn't so wide. I don't believe she's told anyone else." She watches the weyrwoman as she seats herself and presses, "Is it true?"
Diya continues to make herself comfortable in her seat, rearranging the cross of her legs and the position of her mug along that armchair. "It is not a discussion of Telgar's concern, though perhaps you have more insights for me, weyrwoman?" The warmth of yore finds the Reaches' woman's intonation and more surprisingly in the frank look granted the rider that pulls lines on the older woman's otherwise strong face. "It is not."
Brows arch a little at the gentle rebuke. Jaw clenches. Telgar's concern. "So much of weyrhunting then, I see," Roa says rather flatly. The fingers that gather the cloth of her shirt squeeze it more tightly. "J'cor seems a good man who wishes to focus on restoring Reaches' wings," a slight emphasis on the name of the weyr. "G'thon seems...a little lost, I think. Yevide I have not spoken with since before Ulyath...well, since before. It was my understanding," and now Roa's voice softens, "that we all wanted rather the same thing in the end."
"So much of?" Diya turns mild eyes onto Roa. "You will have uses to the desert wanderers who have laid lawless claim to our Weyr." It is the first anger that treads past the sense of collected calm that leaks in the coldly spoken words, and then is quickly curbed with a sharp breath. Kinder yet, she murmurs soothingly, "I am sure your transfer will conclude at some point as you seem to have an awareness that transcends that of a normal Caucus student. Much like," the dark blue eyes look past Roa, studious to a rug that decorates her wall, "Another ambitious Caucus student we both seem to know, though myself less well than you."
"You see?" Roa counters. "You are displeased with me. And I would prefer, if you please, not to be quite so closely compared to her." Hands slowly disengage, settle in her lap, squeeze one another instead of the cloth. "What would you have me do?"
Diya, without words, stares at Roa. In that gaze is the old saying: 'If the shoe fits,' with little leeway for forgiveness. "I am not displeased with you. Age, I thought once, brought with it a certain awareness of events around a being. Apparently, given my track record of thrice betrayed in the span of two sevendays, I have not yet reached this stage of a life without naivety. No, Roa," the smile she manages is again too easy, "I am displeased with myself, but thank you for your concern to my well-being and that of my dragon's while you, yourself, seem to be suffering a series of unfortunate coincidences."
"I didn't..." Roa closes her mouth and shakes her head. "It was never my intention to..." no, that won't do either. So instead she just nods several times and swallows once. Shoulders square and she tucks her own slightly hurt expression behind the calm and composed gaze that every weyrwoman must master at some point in their tutelage. "Thank you for letting me visit, weyrwoman. I have enjoyed our time together." She is moving to rise now. "And I am pleased to hear that the rumors I was concerned with were unfounded. The Reaches needs you."
"The Reaches," Diya watches Roa, "Seems to have already had its decision made for the people by interlopers. But I will do what I deem is best, as I have always done. Not just for me, but for the population as a whole. You see, Roa," the woman's ruddy hair shifts backwards as she lifts her chin to seek out the standing goldrider, "It may seem that ambition drives my past and current decisions, that turning your father and the Instigators in with one word was to propel myself as a decision maker of Pern, but in doing so, countless lives were saved. There are some of us that put others before their own attempts at power, however softly spoken they are, or warm and welcome they might seem. I hope you are happy with the lot you have cast."
Having risen from her chair, Roa pauses long enough to listen. Her head lowers into a respectful nod, deep enough to perhaps even be labeled a bow. "For one who professes being misjudged, you seem quick to do the same to others." To me. "Good night, ma'am." And now she is turning and walking away, shoulders back, spine stiff, head high.