IC Time: The morning after Fedayth's second flight
Summary: Compromises are had all around.
FWM - Wednesday, July 19, 2006, 7:53 PM
Though less sizable than the outer weyr, the weyrwoman's personal apartment is still large. The floor is smoothed stone, covered in many places by carpets, and the walls and ceiling are impressively smooth.
Near the entrance, a simple sitting room has been appointed around the hearth -- a sofa, two chairs, a table, and a rug. Adjacent to this, also placed on a rug, is a desk usually overflowing with hidework. A simple stone table carved from the rock, set with four chairs, serves as a place to take a meal, with a dumbwaiter in a nearby shaft.
A partial partition of stone juts about a third of the way across the width of the weyr. Behind this are the simple bed of pale wood, draped in tan and black, and a folding screen that obscures the bathing pool from sight. Chests of drawers and wardrobes fill the few recesses.
Raine's not a big fan of sleeping in, crazy nights or not. Not long after dawn, late coming in the dead of winter, she exits bed pragmatically, pulls on a robe, and starts stirring the coals and setting tea to boil. A more loving gal would do this quietly as not to wake her company, but surely we don't expect that kind of tenderness by now, do we? Clattering iron pokers and tea kettles break the early morning silence.
X'drian starts awake. He's a light enough sleeper that just her exit from the bed disturbed him, though he was making a valiant attempt at returning to sleep. He rolls over, yawns, and then sits up, furs pooled about his waist. Scrubbing at cheeks, which rasp unpleasantly, he asks, "What time is it?"
"Morning time," Raine answers nonchalantly. "Do you drink tea?" Because she's hold two teacups and only one of them is clean, the other one still bearing the residue of yesterday's morning tea.
X'drian grunts. "Dirty water. No," he yawns. "Thank you. I'll get some klah in a minute." Dark eyes look around, spotting clothes here and there, and he crawls out from the warm furs to get them. Trousers and sweater are pulled on against the chill in the room and he runs a hand through his hair, making his hair stand on end.
Raine says primly, "Tea and klah are the same concept." She leans next to the hearth, close enough to pick up the radiative heat while she waits for the embers to properly stir back to life; "You look awful. Do you want a comb or a brush or a bucket of water with which to paste down that mess?"
X'drian says agreeably, "Comb would be lovely, thank you. And," he pauses and then agrees, "I suppose you're right. Never thought about it before. About the klah, I mean. Still, tastes better than tea. Stronger." Of course, he likes his klah so black a spoon would stand up in it. he rubs his hands to warm them, crossing to the hearth himself. "I utterly hate winter."
"Not so bad." Raine looks warm, though she puts her toes almost into the fireplace before satisfied that the flames are perking up now. She leaves the hearth at the same time X'drian arrives, surely by coincidence, and reaches into a dresser drawer to withdraw the promised comb. "Since you're here," she says, purely preamble.
X'drian holds out a hand for the comb. "I am. It's not often I'm invited in," he says lightly. Dark eyes are a trifle wary as he studies her.
Raine skims over that point; "Mhmn." She puts the comb on X'drian's palm, smiles, and returns to minding the tea kettle. She expends no effort to pretend that she's agenda-less. "How are we feeling about searching girls regardless of prospect of a gold egg?"
X'drian takes the time to drag the comb through his hair first, avoiding answering. Finally he says, "Can't I even get some klah first to warm up this morning?"
"No." Raine says it without being /mean/, just being /herself/. "If you go off and have klah, I'll spend the rest of the morning annoyed that we didn't just do it right off the bat, and then the conversation will just go badly. So how are we feeling about searching girls?" She kicks over a little smile to try to sweeten the conversation. It could be charming from anyone else.
X'drian snorts. "I know you're all for it. 'We', however, are not. That little chit from the Reaches impressed her green deliberately. And she baldfaced lied to me about it. I don't need self centered little brats riding Fort dragons."
Raine continues the smile along with a nod; "I figured you might say something like that. Which is why I've thought of the perfect compromise." Famous last words? "I won't have them searched or parade them out among the eggs or anything if." This must be a big if; she stops to give X'drian a measuring look. "You start getting the girls ready for their own Wing."
X'drian refuses to rise to the bait. "Those girls will only have a wing to themselves when I feel they're ready. There are more experienced and - to be honest - talented riders out there." He gives her a direct look. "I'm responsible for them. And they won't have their own wing until they're ready to."
Raine looks sternly at X'drian, exhales, turns to take the tea kettle off the fire once it starts whistling. A filled cup later, she walks sedately over and sits down with a continued pause. "I didn't ask you to do it immediately." Did she actually /ask/ him to do it at all? "But if you aren't willing to compromise, neither am I. Your wing is going to get /awfully/ crowded if they keep compounding at this rate, don't you think?"
It is night in the winter. A thick layer of clouds blots out the sky entirely, hanging low and sullen. The lack of breeze under the cloud cover keeps the air feeling a little warmer at night. Timor is a waning gibbous moon, and Belior is a waning crescent moon, both hidden behind the clouds. The temperature is about 27F, -3C.
X'drian shakes his head. "A wing is generally thirty riders during a pass. Right now, we have ten. There's plenty of space. Even if I /did/ shift the girls over into their own wing," he's clearly playing along, "None of them would be wingleader."
"Perhaps one of the next girls will be more suitable to the position then." Raine's charming smile dissolves into pursed lips to blow across her tea. "Pity. I really thought I'd hit the perfect compromise. Oh well. -- There's no klah in here by the way."
X'drian shakes his head. "You misunderstand. They don't have the experience. Period. They're barely out of weyrlinghood. I'm not /unwilling/ to give them a wing. In fact, it /was/ my idea in the first place." He gives her an irritated look. "If the phenomenon continued. And it has. But of the three oldest, none are yet ready to be wingleaders. Not of a fighting wing. And that's what they want, all three of them. To fight."
Raine remarks, "Seeing as /no/ wing is a fighting wing at this exact moment, I don't see how that's at issue. /Teach/ one of them to be a wingleader. A little hands-on practice and a some pointed tutelage, and I'm quite sure Adria would turn out well-suited." She returns the irritated look plainly, tries to avoid being all out baiting for a change.
X'drian demands, "What do you mean, no wing is a fighting wing?" So much for the all out baiting. "My wing is training for fall. It is a fighting wing. Speaking of, do you even know how to use a flamethrower?"
Raine looks around the room, into the corners, back at X'drian; "I don't even /own/ a flamethrower, but that's hardly the point. No wing is a fighting wing because there's nothing to fight /right now/, posisbly not for turns yet. If you're whole argument against the girls having their own wing is that they aren't trained enough to fight thread, you might remember that there is no thread right now." She makes sure 'right now' sounds operative. "Teach them. I want them in their own wing." What Raine wants...
X'drian says mildly, "I'm glad you do. Let's put it this way: they'll get their own wing when you learn how to use a flamethrower in the air and teach Zaorine and Briede how."
"Then I suppose that's when you'll get your girl-free hatching," Raine returns pleasantly, sips her tea. "Now we all have something to look forward to eventually, hmn?"
X'drian rolls his eyes. "Raine, you would get girls on the sands regardless. I don't see why I should reward you by giving you what you want when you'd simply go behind my back to settle things to satisfy yourself anyway. Particularly when I feel it is extremely irresponsible to give them a wing when they're not ready."
Raine begins firmly, "On the contrary. I had every intention of compromising with you over this matter. Since you won't give an inch, neither will I." Hmph.
X'drian arches eyebrows. "Compromising? How is 'put the girls in a wing or I'll put more of them on the sands' a compromise?"
Raine purses her lips; "When you phrase it like that, it's /not/. When you phrase it as -- I was giving you something you want despite it being something I /don't/ want in exchange for you giving me something you don't want, then it's compromise."
X'drian mmms. "How about this: I'll put the girls in a wing - and even train Adria and Daja to be wingleaders, if and /only/ if, no girls impress in this upcoming clutch."
Raine empties her tea, looks confusedly at X'drian; "That is /exactly/ what I said at the start of all this. Do you even listen?"
X'drian shakes his head. "Actually, you didn't. You said you wouldn't have them searched or parade them among the eggs. I said if none actually impress."
Raine mimics the standard blah-blah-blah gesture with one hand doing the crocodile movement. "Fine. If none actually Impress. Happy now?" She's not. She sulks.
X'drian offers her the comb back. "No, not really. I wish none of those blasted girls had ever impressed. Particularly with Ianoth chasing after Chiyath like that." He grimaces faintly, shaking his head. "Now, was there any other 'compromise' you wanted to spring on me, or can I go get a decent cup of klah?"
It is night in the winter. A thick layer of clouds blots out the sky entirely, hanging low and sullen. The lack of breeze under the cloud cover keeps the air feeling a little warmer at night. Timor is a waning gibbous moon, and Belior is a waning crescent moon, both hidden behind the clouds. The temperature is about 26F, -3C.
"Poor you." Raine fails sympathy. She takes the comb back and points it toward the exit, smiles a pleasant seeming farewell. Ahhh tenderness.
X'drian gives her a polite, proper bow, and heads out, pulling on his jacket against the chill, oth inside and outside the weyr.
He waits until he reaches the outer weyr to start humming.