Application for Renata Leynier (Darkover canon)

[renata_leynier]

A mist swirls in the middle of the Sorting Room. Out of this mist steps a young woman in long woolen skirts, her copper hair held back from her face with a butterfly clasp. She looks uncertain, though not disoriented or distraught, and she answers aloud the questions posed to her. A Dictaquill takes down the answers so that persons who arrive at

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[gillians_fury]

"Hi," Gillian said shyly, bobbing in a sort of curtsey as an afterthought. The application had said something about being a lady, so Gillian thought she'd better try her best, manners-wise. She half-smiled at Renata, hoping she hadn't offended her. "Um, this laran you talk about, is that some kind of power?"

To one who could read minds, there would be no doubt what sort of power Gillian meant, as it was rolling off her in waves and only barely leashed.

[renata_leynier]

Renata curtseyed deeply and gracefully, as one who has been trained to it from a young age. The chaos in this young woman's mind the monitor sensed at once, and it troubled her deeply.

(Young woman, yes: to Renata, Gillian was no child, but a woman grown. In the Seven Domains a woman was marriageable at sixteen or even fifteen; it had been a great concession won from Dom Erlend Leynier that Renata should not be forced to marry until she was twenty, and in the end she had been married before that, and borne the heir to Aldaran besides. No, Gillian would receive no leniency on account of age from Renata Leynier.)

"Laran is a gift of the mind," she said gently, "and there are different strains of it, different gifts, found among different families. It has been known too for laran to be discovered outside the families of Comyn, among people not accustomed to send their children for training, or even to have access to monitoring at all. Such children may suffer terribly, untaught. For that matter our own children suffer at the

[gillians_fury]

"Do you - do you think you could train me?" Gillian asked hesitantly. "I - have trouble with controlling it.

Maybe she should mention this to Simon, and she probably would, later. Maybe Gillian should consider Renata's safety more carefully, make sure she knew what she was getting into before giving her promise. But she seemed powerful, and yet very in control, and at peace with her abilities - everything Gillian wanted to be, and the girl couldn't help reaching out.

"If it's too much to ask, that's okay," Gillian added respectfully, the hope in her voice still evident. "I mean, I'll still vote you and everything, But - could you?"

[renata_leynier]

"Too much to ask?" repeated Renata, almost incredulous. "Oh, kinswoman, it is far from that. It is only your right to ask it, and my duty to assist. You may do yourself great harm without the tools to control your gift." That is to say nothing of the harm you may do to others, she thought sadly, but she knew she need not say it. The trepidation in the girl's voice made clear to Renata the girl already knew all too well what harm might be caused. Again she thanked Avarra. Had the girl reveled in her power -- Dorilys was all the example Renata needed of what could result.

[agentsgent]

"Good evening, madam. Is there anything I can do to make you make you more comfortable?"

[renata_leynier]

Renata turned to the servant -- for such his carriage marked him to be -- with the unembarrassed ease of one accustomed to receiving such service. She sensed no malice from him; why should she mistrust? "I am not uncomfortable at present," she said. "I have come here with nothing but the clothes on my back, I fear. What sort of provision is made for persons who have arrived under such conditions?"

[agentsgent]

It's always a comfort when someone knows how to react to him. "Through a generous donation from one of our current students, we can very easily create a comfortable room and board for you; when you are sorted, your own room and linens will be provided, and I can see to it that additional clothing be provided. I can also provide a meal or simple refreshments now, should you care to partake."

[renata_leynier]

"I thank you," replied Renata, her gratitude unfeigned. "Linens and clothing I shall certainly need, and a hot bath when this is over, I think. I can manage very well without a bathwoman."

[eclipse_demon]

((Eclipse is innately telepathic and a demon, neither of which he attempts to hide. If Renata can perceive differences between races by the feel of their minds/auras/etc., she might notice?))

Eclipse would have passed by the latest Sorting entirely had he not sensed, faintly, the telltale psychic hum that frequently accompanied the presence of a telepath. Not a fellow demon, of that he was certain. This woman had a markedly different feel, possessed a certain quality, psychically speaking, he wasn't sure he'd ever encountered before; human, likely, but not the sort he was familiar with.

Curiosity thus piqued, he remained toward the back of the gathering, simply observing for a long while. When there appeared to be a lull in the Sorting, he gradually drew nearer. The manner in which he carried himself showed he was of a high caste, despite his relatively simple method of dress and lack of adornment -- save a single earring, mostly hidden by his hair.

Upon approaching the woman, he asked, "Have you any idea how you came here, or why

[renata_leynier]

(( Thanks for the heads-up -- I know nothing about his canon, but Renata would definitely sense something there! ))

Though the newcomer hung back awhile, Renata was aware of his presence as soon as he entered the chamber in which she had found herself holding a sort of impromptu and unasked-for court. There was power there, recognisable yet alien to Renata, and it made her curious, genuinely curious beyond the mirroring of his own curiosity that her empathy might have induced. Like Joachim, he carried himself as though he were Comyn, though she knew well he could not be such.

Therefore, when he did approach at last, there was a question in her eyes. Aloud she only gave him answer to the question he had asked. "Indeed I have no notion why I should find myself here, vai dom. As to how, I can only hazard the supposition I may have wandered astray in the Overworld."

[eclipse_demon]

He took note of the unvoiced question, but chose not to address it yet. The honourific left him puzzled, and he briefly attempted to place the language it belonged to. It was a futile effort.

"The Overworld," he echoed. "And that is...? You mentioned it not being bound to a single time, so I presume it is not a physical location."

[renata_leynier]

"Indeed it is not a realm of the physical," Renata confirmed. "It is a formless plane, upon which we appear as we see ourselves, not as we are, and the consciousness may travel through the Overworld with the speed of thought, disregarding distance. Only one leaves one's body behind, when one travels so; and somehow I have brought mine with me!"

[starkwhitesnow]

Jon's face remains stolid throughout the application -- a rarity, really. Usually there's something about a new applicant that startles or baffles him. This woman, however, seems oddly and comfortably familiar.

He offers her a small bow. "Good day. My name is Lord Commander Jon Snow, of the Night's Watch of Westeros."

[renata_leynier]

Renata swept him a curtsey. Because he had introduced himself by title, she introduced herself not as she thought of herself truly, but by her own title, bitter on her tongue though it was. "Domna Renata Leynier of Aldaran. You lend us grace, Lord Commander," she said, the formal phrase she would have used regardless of circumstance. A happy miracle whatever translation field gripped this castle put it across in a common language rather than retaining the fluid casta she would have used: s'dia shaya likely would have made very little sense to Snow.

[starkwhitesnow]

He lifts his chin at the greeting. "I feel your world and mine are much the same; at the very least it would be more familiar than this one."

[renata_leynier]

And yet Renata sensed no laran in this one, not even the faintest spark; in her world, such a one would not be raised to such high status as a Lord Commander of anything much. That would be reserved for a Comyn lord, perhaps a younger son, perhaps not sufficiently gifted for Tower work, but of the blood of Hastur and Cassilda nonetheless. She gave him a troubled smile.

"That may be, for true," she said, acknowledging the similarity in their manner despite that fundamental difference which to her was as clear as anything visible. "Westeros is not a word I know, nor do I know of the Night's Watch; yet who knows what lies beyond the Wall Around The World?" That mountain range was impassable.

[ugly_old_hat]

"Oooooh, embroidery? I've only got jewels and baubles and pins and zombie hands and tentacles, but I haven't got any embroidery. What sort of pattern can you do, and will you do it on my brim?" The Hat flapped its straps suggestively.

[renata_leynier]

It was no illusion, no puppet; the hat spoke, for true! Undaunted, Renata regarded it with curiosity.

"Of a certainty I can do so, and in most any pattern you might wish. Would it not hurt you, to be pierced with needles?"

[ugly_old_hat]

"Well, a hat doesn't live for thousands of years without taking a little bit of pain, hmmmmm? I've been hexed and cursed and...oh, and worst of all, I've had to rest on some truly greasy hair. So a series of pinpricks is nothing to me, lassie!" The Hat could not let its pride and pain tolerance be challenged!

"Hmmmmmm, what pattern to get. This is so exciting! I feel like I'm getting one of those human ink tat-toe things!" The Hat paused to contemplate for a moment. "I know! How about a picture of another hat!"

[renata_leynier]

The Hat put Renata in mind of some of her more ... mentally unstable ... kin. The Aillard and Ardais clans notoriously ran toward madness, due to faults in their breeding. She had an elderly Aillard kinswoman-by-marriage who could be by turns alarming and endearing, and the Hat struck her as very similar.

"Should the image of this hat resemble yourself?" she asked gamely.