Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman 
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Post by Azhdarchid on Jan 7, 2012 19:56:17 GMT -5
Q'sis took the stairs. Unath followed him outside, fluttering up ledge-to-ledge, laying her head close to the Bowl wall at each stop as if she could hear her rider scurrying around inside.
The Records Room. Haunt of the Weyr's leadership. Off-limits, unless you were summoned. Q'sis, replete in his red-lined ebony coat and shiniest gold-buckled belt, had been. He just did not know by who. Or why. The location of the meeting granted its own assumptions, and he had outfitted himself accordingly. Though he took the steps at a relaxed pace, he did not use the free time to examine the results of his efforts again. He had already taken care of that at the weyr: beard trimmed, pallid brown hair combed to order, skin scrubbed like its imperfections were the dirt to be removed. The only untidiness he never managed to erase, no matter the depths of his preparations, were the faint blue traces under his eyes. But that could be standard decor for any rider in the time of Thread.
As he removed dark gloves from his hands, he considered again the intended mystery of the rendezvous. He supposed it served two purposes: to keep him from preparing for whatever he was tasked with, and to inform him that he did not possess enough standing to receive the details of his commands. Once he had put away his gloves in his pockets, he followed them with his hands. The early days of Autumn had been promising, but by now the wind spat ice at his back even this far up the Weyr corridors. It was the preemptive breed of cold that froze the leaves from the trees before they could bleach over.
In his right pocket, his thumb ran against the stump of the nearest finger as his heavenward trek finally heaved him into a broad cavern. There was no one else in the first room, and as Q'sis paused to look it over he estimated it was less populated by the historical scraps Dalibor valued so highly. Still...
Wrapping his hand over the back of the nearest chair, the Tanrider started to survey the scrolls he could catch fragments of text or images off of, which were few in number since the Records were kept well-groomed in their humble prison. But the texture under his fingers surprised him, and he glanced down to discover a silken cushioning spread along the chair's back and seat. The ex-trader leaned down far enough to count the threads on the surface, then returned his eyes to the Records while he could. He made a show of sitting down in the meantime. The chair was wide enough, but short. No matter. He was used to distributing the length of his legs in an ungainly sprawl. He was lucky enough to have a study table to hide them this time.
Still he searched, not quite turning his head after the curiosities of the room, but intent on spotting a snippet of what he needed. Not what he had been summoned for, of course, but still important. A chart, a picture of stars, a list of places and days; Threadfall patterns could be communicated in many forms, and he needed-
Movement from the other room. Not necessarily anything to do with him, but it checked his activity anyway. He leaned back against the chair cushion, wrapped his hands over the ends of the armrests, and looked around with the mild interest more typical of an uninvolved Weyrling.
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Admin
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Post by Admin on Mar 1, 2012 18:17:57 GMT -5
I wish you would tell me,
How you really feel,
But you never tell me,
Cause that's not our deal.
Movement in the Records Room was rarely unrelated to Fajra. Or if it was not related to her, then it was related to Avalle or Rayna. Add in the rest of the wingleaders and you'd have nearly all of the legal movement in the stuffy space covered. The Weyrwoman wasn't fond of individuals touching what she so carefully maintained without permission and certainly without a good reason. Besides the possessive nature of her relationship with the Records Room, Fajra also owned the rooms directly adjacent to it, all of the entrances connected to a tunnel or room belonging to Weyr leadership. Thus it was Fajra who moved in the other room and her movement related to Q'sis, as she was moving to meet him. She expected timeliness, so he had that going for him at least.
"Hello, Weyrling Q'sis;" the Weyrwoman said, voice cold, controlled as she emerged from between the shelves. She offered him no smile, not even giving him the slightest of nods. With purposeful steps, she approached the table and then took the seat across from him, movements crisp and appropriate for her training. She carried a few loose pieces of parchment in one hand and she set them in front of her, arranging them perfectly, one on top of the other. While she exhibited no outward anger, it could be easily detected by anyone less thick than a brick that she was not in a good mood. She had not called Q'sis there for a social call or to congratulate him, because there was no twinkle of satisfaction in her blue eyes. The lines in her face were deep from sheer sternness.
"Thank you for being so prompt;" Fajra said, starting there as an effort for diplomacy that she knew was needed. Q'sis was not her enemy and he was a child, at least in comparison to her age and experience. More importantly, his dragon was a child compared to hers. However, even though he was merely a weyrling, he had managed to vex her. There were things that caused her greater concern, but despite those things, he still managed to concern her. She did not like to be concerned. "This meeting will be brief, as we both have other duties to which we can attend and to which we need to attend, but I have been informed that you are not content with your position or your future. Is this true?" She kept emotion and morality out of it, asking him on a clinical level.
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal,
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
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Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 1, 2012 23:21:04 GMT -5
"Weyrwoman," Q'sis replied, voice cool but not audibly coiled like hers, waiting to strike. Additionally he nodded where she had not, though he failed to lower his bearded chin completely and close his eyes for the brief but meaningful blink that should have accompanied the gesture. He needed his eyes, though they flicked down to the papers she carried only as they first touched the table, then immediately ascended to her face. He did not spend all his time challenging her eye-to-eye either: he searched the creases weathering her cheeks, he watched her lips.
He was rapidly settling with the imminent reprimand. He could take it as a well-deserved scolding for a lack of technique, rather than whatever its face value was supposed to be. Too bold, that Hatching night. Too incensed by his own cleverness and desire. This was a late punishment, but maybe it took that long for whatever malicious whisper betrayed him to percolate through the Weyr. In addition to adding up the various levies the woman might burden him with, he began to calculate how much of the story he could change to protect Samael from her own toll.
Strange that it was harder to keep the smirk that came to him then from showing than the results of his sour arithmetic: the prompting idea was that there was little they could do to Samael anyway. Or maybe it was that this queenrider would take the time to find what was unpleasant to each of her subjects. She did not strike him as being so meticulous in her cruelty though. In fact when she spoke again, it sounded more that she was ready to pass on from him. His eyes lit, eager to serve that motive.
Except she was not talking of Samael, or anything else he might have expected. He listened, and replied before he could take the full sum of her words: "Depends on the future. My current position will be resolved in a matter of some sevendays. Why do you ask?" Hm. And he used to be so good at improvisation. Outside, Unath was dismissed from her crawler-like splay against the wall, and sent up to the Rim where she could watch for the fiery shine of Kalith. The queen's current imposition was not absent from Q'sis' analysis, but unless he heard her Rising shriek he would allow that she factored little into Fajra's icy presentation.
He'd been surprised by her tone-- no, he had been continuously surprised since she entered the room. But of her voice, maybe it was only that he had not heard her speak in anything but public relations before. No one could be the character they wore for speeches all the time. The ex-trader collected his confusion in his brow, let it wrinkle, so as to temper his careless question with genuine concern. "I do not have trouble with the tests of Weyrlinghood, such as they are with the Pass, if that was what someone led you to believe." And who would lie so insidiously that could actually hold the Weyrwoman's ear?
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Post by Admin on Mar 3, 2012 8:18:13 GMT -5
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal,
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal.
Fajra took a moment to decide on what she wanted to say, though it was only a moment and a short one at that. The turns had made her good on her feet, if rather methodical. His words and his general response to her fixed in her mind, she examined him, trying to process this man she knew from numbers, reports, and distant observations into an actual person. Truthfully, she hated people. She hated that they were unpredictable. She hated their quarrelsome differences in morality, but hate did not change the fact she had to deal with them. She needed to understand Q'sis's motivations and beliefs, every tiny aspect of them. Sadly, she felt his expression and words failed to articulate his true feelings. In fact, from reports, she was certain he was avoiding providing the exact information she needed and would have greatly preferred to receive immediately from him. He appeared to be missing the point and was thus wasting her time, a fact that irked her additionally though she refrained from showing it.
"You have succeeded only in the basic tests, those with quantifiable results. While useful and preferable due to relative accuracy, they are not the sum of weyrlinghood;" Fajra informed the tanrider. She paused to measure his expression again, meeting his gaze with the clarity of her purpose evident in her eyes, before continuing. "A rider can succeed in weyrlinghood and still fail as a rider. Every single member of the renegades passed weyrlinghood; they passed every test. Many of them are excellent fliers, but at some point, they failed their Weyrs. Weyrlinghood is not solely about the individual. Any selfishness that hurts ones' peers shows a failure to rise up to meet another test of weyrlinghood." Fajra paused again, emphasizing her last sentence.
"Any questions or concerns should be raised now, so they can be addressed." At last, the Weyrwoman was done, her speech complete. She hoped that even if he failed to talk to her, he would get the point. If nothing else, it was a warning. She expected him to understand that any reckless rebellion under her would not be tolerated, as she did not have the resources or time to spare for idiocy. The question of why she asked was ignored, partially because she would not tell him of Tasakhori and mainly because it was not his place to question why they were there. She respected the fact that he at least gave the appearance of respect, but from what she had heard, it was a sham. He could act respectful, but she feared under the true stress of fall and fire, he would give.
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal,
That's not your deal,
That's not my deal.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 3, 2012 13:52:53 GMT -5
At first he thought again this conversation would divert to his indiscretion, distant as it was, unrepeated as it was since clever timing had not come by him since then. "Sum of weyrlinghood" indeed. But as Fajra went on, it became clear that, despite what vagaries touched her words, she would not and could not confront him on that matter. Her knowledge remained incomplete. He wanted to be satisfied with that, but he quickly noticed the lecture that took the accusation's place. Lecturing was a peculiarity largely confined to stonebloods and their emissaries, the Harpers. He raised his eyebrows at the invitation to question.
"You spoke of my future," he began lightly enough, eyes searching the empty air between them as though the future were some solid thing to be harvested after eighteen months' work. "But you have no hand in it. It is the Weyrleader's assignment." His lips pressed together, a showy, thoughtful pause, as he leaned back and bent his left arm at the elbow, stroking the bone of his cheek with an extended finger before resting his face to his hand while he watched her. "I am going to assume you are not usurping him," the Weyrling proposed. "And that you are acting here because you presume yourself my future Wingleader, should I pass the...sum of weyrlinghood. This is not some domestic issue falling to you as Weyrwoman, as far as I can tell, though your warnings make nothing plain."
Q'sis leaned forward, taking each elbow from its rest and blunting it against the table, crossing his arms, shoulders hunched by the effort. It was all the posturing of a secret whispered across a game table. Q'sis' voice, though, was loud and articulate. "But allow me to be very clear." His top arm unwound to point at the Weyrwoman. "You will never be my Wingleader. I will never fly Thread below fighting altitude. I will not follow a woman into battle." Reserve cropped up long enough for him to blink, but he continued: "Nor will I ride under the incompetent."
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Post by Admin on Mar 15, 2012 23:02:18 GMT -5
Keep drinkin' coffee,
Stare me down across the table,
While I look outside,
So many things I'd say if only I were able.
Fajra remained calm. In fact, she felt only the barest flickering of new emotion when Q'sis suggested she had no hand in his future. It was only a suggestion, of course, because if there was any statement more patently false, it was that she did not have a hand in every aspect of her Weyr's future. However, as he continued, her lips pursed, her frustration growing in tiny increments. She presumed nothing; she knew. He apparently did not, however, know nor did he understand or comprehend the workings of the Weyr. Perhaps this was a failing of his weyrlingmaster, but that was not her immediate concern. She focused on the issue at hand: the many faults of Q'sis, all laid out before her, all true, all now confirmed. She was faced with a useless wingrider. If she was incompetent, he was the scum beneath a tunnelsnake's foot and good for nothing more.
In an effort to appear more kindly than she felt, Fajra took a moment to straighten out her papers. She offered Q'sis a cold, unforgiving smile. "You seem to have failed to learn anything about the Weyr. Of Dalibor, certainly. Your home. It seems you did not only fail the sum of weyrlinghood but one of the integral, quantitative parts." There was a trace of sadness in her voice. She always could use more wings, more bodies, more flames, more of everything. It seemed a shame to waste potential talent, but she preferred the integrity of her Weyr to dead bodies created by incompetence. "The Weyrleader trusts my judgments. I am not a silent party within this Weyr; I am certainly no such thing when it comes to wingriders that were destined to be mine from the moment they Impressed." Fajra was cold as ice, staring him down across the table.
"At this moment, however, I am not your wingleader. I am merely your Weyrwoman." She conceded such points fairly, though if the tanrider thought Weyrwomanship was anything less, he was a fool, one who had not spent nearly enough time around Weyrwomen to see what they did. "As your Weyrwoman, I can assure you that you will be flying in Horizon upon your graduation. You will find no incompetence there from myself, Rayna, or Avalle, but if that is not enough to pacify you, so be it." Fajra straightened a few inches, evidently preparing to make a statement she would not take back. "You will fly under me or you will not fly at all. You can be removed from the graduation list quite easily and join the Cloudchasers. They currently still have flight limits. If you still need to learn what it means to be a wing, then I'm sure W'al would love to have you."
You've got opinions, man,
We're all entitled to 'em,
But I never asked,
So let me thank you for time.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
azhct[M:-1490]
Totes.
Posts: 1,627
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Post by Azhdarchid on Mar 16, 2012 11:53:00 GMT -5
The tanweyrling did not bother smiling back at his Weyrwoman. He did not interrupt her either. The Weyrleader trusted her? His jaw set at her claim to him, but she immediately relinquished it, at least in the present sense. His shoulders slid down from their high, defiant set. Then Fajra took back his words. His declaration. She was trying to assure him, but the man's back stiffened, and his fingers clenched around the ends of the armrests.
"I will not fly with you," he answered. "It must be very nice for you, to sit at the top and submit to an inquiry run solely by yourself. Fajra, you saw this Weyr to war. You let your dragon sit idle on the Sands while a hatchling queen was killed. You are not only responsible for her, but for all she would have begot. You failed to discover the meaning of the assassins, who killed one of mine and injured another. They were Weyrlings who trusted you." Loto and Samael had of course not meant anything to Q'sis the Candidate, but he had marked the occasion's entire effect, and had only recently arrived at a more personal possessiveness over some of the victims.
He could just about feel the cleaning pole he'd used to strike down one of the attackers- a woman -grinding against his palms. "You appoint little girls and crippled greens to oversee the training of dragonriders. Your blindness to incompetence saw a flamethrower in the hall where your riders ate. Where they are supposed to be safe!" Q'sis struck his fist to the tabletop, then uncurled his fingers slowly and laid his palm flat to the cool surface. "When I first arrived here, I thought it odd that you went against the traditions of your kind and kept your children close, where they interfere with your duties."
A few strands of brown hair fell out of alignment to one side of his forehead. He did not tuck them back. "But the moment that boy was put in the care of workers you and the Headwoman are supposed to be managing, he was destroyed. The Headwoman herself paid too. Your people were burned and maimed, and it was by your negligence. I can see why you like playing Wingleader. It is much easier than your actual position of Weyrwoman, and mother." He raised his head, taking in the set of the conversation, the clean and orderly shelves of Records that comprised the Weyrwoman's nest. "Why would I ever fly with you?" It was an empty question to which he was not seeking a new answer.
The Weyrling's calm returned more as an answer to prolonged stress than as a willful repression of his feelings. Q'sis was not big on repression. "You and your queenriders should relinquish your commands and fulfill your obligations to this Weyr instead. Your home. And mine. Your inadequacy at playing both roles has been written in blood and smoke, so do not try and tell me otherwise again."
At last he reached up and flicked back the errant lock of brown. "I will report to W'al once the Tideturners have graduated. Perhaps the Weyrleader can find some room in the upper flights by the time we have this conversation again."
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Post by Admin on Mar 16, 2012 18:30:55 GMT -5
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road,
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go,
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why,
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time.
"I can assure you that O'sho will have no interest in you flying in his wing. Nor would R'len enjoy you flying in his - under Astrid and Durian." Fajra would not have Q'sis forgetting that there were many female riders who outranked him. It seemed like too much effort to explain to him that his dragon would most likely be a mother herself one day, one who would leave a void in her wing for the four months it took her eggs to hatch and one would have to watch as her hatchlings struggled to find their matches on the sands. In fact, some of them might not even find such a match and Unath of Q'sis could mourn as hundreds had mourned before her at Fort and at Benden, at Southern and at Dalibor, at all the Weyrs of Pern. No, explaining all of that and so much more was too much effort for Fajra, because such lessons were taught in blood if not already understood.
"You may go;" Fajra said. She stood, picking up her papers and turning to the shelves that surrounded them. Q'sis's failure to graduate would need to be marked in the appropriate places within the records and she had much work to complete after their meeting, work to be completed as Weyrwoman, wingleader, weyrmate, mother, sister, teacher, rider, dragon confidante, counselor, mentor, egg-tender, records keeper, and a great many other things. Listening to Q'sis whine was low on her list of priorities, especially given, look at that, he hadn't even managed to become a wingrider. He must be so proud. As she pulled out an inkwell, her thoughts turned to Kalith. Hopefully the copper would sleep a while longer. Overall, she was calm, worn and frustrated but still exceptionally calm.
So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind,
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time,
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial,
For what it's worth it was worth all the while.
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