Log: Minka & Staunton
Staunton happens upon Minka down by the basin on this blustery day, they tackle the sensitive topic of his, and even her own feelings. Ensuing angst. You have been forewarned.
Waterfall's Basin
The Weyr's freshwater pool flows clean and clear, almost undisturbed by the river that rests here after crashing down from the heights above. This small bay is neatly surrounded by a series of smooth stone steps and hidden beaches, a haven from the wider lake beyond before the water drops further to the sea below.
One gnarled, ancient tree has survived the ravages of time and Thread, reaching up towards the cliff above and the water below. A set of crude boards makes the climb an easy one. The wide, warm beach stretches to lap at the pool's edge, within earshot of the distant waterfall.
It is a winter evening. Cold rain, accentuated by stinging chunks of hail, descends in sheets, drenching the land. Lightning cracks across the sky, lightning up the darkness. Gale-force winds blow from the west, knocking over trees and people alike.
Gliding above are three firelizards.
You see Radnazak here.
Obvious exits:
Branch Forest Path
Minka is huddled beneath a wingsail, cover provided by none other than the ever-bulky Ryazusith. The young weyrwoman shifts, a hand raised to shield her face slightly, though luckily, most of the wind and rain is simply bouncing off Rya's thick membrane, thusly leaving Minka dry and unflustered, "Remind me, why we are here?" Pause. "Oh Rya, that's ridiculous. And you know it!" Pause. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I take it back. But I'll give you another candlemark and that's /it/ - or we'll be blown to Bitra and back and I've a supper to attend."
Staunton has a jacket on, and it's really not helping. Water's still streaming down off his hair, dripping off everything he's possibly got that can be dripped from. And there's a hint of a stomp about his gait as he appears. Realising he's in company he halts, makes the identification in a moment, then stomps forward once more to take shelter under the young queen's wing with Minka. His sole greeting is a gruff "Weyrwoman," and it's uttered without a sidelong glance.
Minka peers at Staunton from beneath the protection of a wing, "Staunton? Good grief! What are /you/ doing out here!?" She's got an explanation. Insane lifemate, you see. "You'll catch your death of cold!" She moves over slightly, glancing over at Rya's straps and shaking her head, "Ugh! And I had a towel there yesterday, shards." She casts her gaze back towards the Steward, raising a hand to somewhat conceal a giggle, "You look quite awful." Obviously, she's missed the whole stomping, irritable vibe going on.
Staunton turns his grey eyes on Minka, regarding her in silence for several long moments before he replies. His tone is as courteous as ever -- he'll respect rank if it kills him -- but it lacks something. "I felt the need for some exercise suddenly, Weyrwoman. Unfortunately I didn't think to bring a handy dragon with me." Something flickers briefly in his gaze -- disapproval? -- before it's turned away to take in the view. One hand comes up irritably to push sodden hair back from his eyes, stopping the dripping running down his face.
Minka locks her gaze on Staunton, "An unfortunate decision on your behalf then." She pauses, lips drawn into a frown as she mulls over the comments, "But of course, since your tone carries more sarcasm than anything, I'll take it you've something to say?" Of course, with her attention focused this time she's picked up the disapproving glance, and is taken aback for a moment, her own carefully controlled tone suffering at barely-disguised confusion, "Is there a.. problem, you feel the need to voice, Steward." The emphasis is on his title, Minka tilting her chin up as she returns her stare.
Staunton seems recalled to his manners by the use of his title, eyes dropping immediately. "No, Weyrwoman, of course not." The perfect servant, all deference, but all non-communication. This has been the change in him since he was made Steward. As Assistant, he could be drawn to acerbic comments, to jokes and to the occasional insult. Not the case any more. The front is slightly undermined by the fact that he's still dripping in every direction. "Your life mate is well? I understand her flight went well." The words could not be any more stilted. Here, perhaps, the clue to his mood.
"Good, then." Minka seems pleased, avoiding any head to head battles with people at this stage is her main concern. She glances towards Ryazusith as he comments upon her, a flush creeping across rounded cheeks, "It did go well. Thankyou." The stilted words earn a puzzled query from Minka, "What.. What is the matter?" She takes a step back, leaning against the egg-heavy queen for support, be it physical or emotional, after all - the flight took it's toll on her own moral beliefs, shattering them in fact. It's a burden this Weyrwoman will always live with. "Well?" Her tone sharpens in the latter comment, frustration boiling beneath the carefully guarded words.
Staunton turns his head for a moment as she steps back, noting the movement, but returns his eyes to the ground thereafter. He's almost at parade-ground rest, hands behind his back, shoulders squared, the picture spoiled only by his determination to stare at his feet. "I'm sure it's not for me to say, ma'am. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm too much the Holder to succeed here at the Weyr, but I do my best to serve." And to frustrate, at times like these.
"Your concerns.. Well, you aren't alone in them. However, mine are inevitable. Yours? You can change this if you want. Exchange this Weyr for the life of the Hold. I'm sure we have very smiliar approaches and moral objections to Weyrlife, but ultimately? I'll embrace this. In time, so shall you." Minka turns, resting her head against the relative comfort of the hide behind her.
"I won't leave the Weyr, I'm bound here now by many things. I'm not seeking a way to embrace it, ma'am. Just a way to live alongside it." Staunton's careful with her title, as though reminding himself of the identity of his conversational partner. "I think that's the best I can hope for." He lifts his head then, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Does it not create a conflict, then? Allowing some man to..." He catches himself, quickly censoring the disapproval in his voice to continue more neutrally. "I mean to say, I imagine it is difficult, wanting a different thing to your lifemate, at times."
"At least this time, it was easy. The man, is a good friend of mine. But yes - I anticipate one day I'll find myself faced with someone quite undesirable and unknown. But I've resigned myself to that fact, I think you must, to live with yourself. Equally, I am bound here. By Ryazusith, but even so? I could never wish, to be free of those ties simply to avoid emotional dilemma.. Do you see?" She angles her head, looking at him from beneath a dark fringe, a hand rising to anxiously fiddle with her loose braid, "But what intrigues me, is your passion on the subject.." Of course, the hints are all there, but no girl likes to make a fool of herself without confirmation, "Why do you remain?"
"It's easier if it's a friend?" Staunton sounds puzzled by that, although politely so. Still unwilling to break his protective barrier of manners. Head down again as he replies quietly, the sound of his voice competing against the sound of the rain. "Do I show passion on the subject? I should master myself, then. Not a desirable trait in a Steward, surely." He's carefully restraining himself, but there's a hint of something in his voice. A suggestion that he's mocking himself. Finally though, he does lift his head, turning again to look at her over his shoulder, setting off another cascade of raindrops. "I don't know why I remain, actually. I suppose I enjoy tormenting myself."
"Yes. It is. I can't say you can comment lest you actually are in the situation yourself." She pauses, "You do show passion, unwarranted and confusing - for me. I suppose I cosider the entire subject something of my own private consideration, not a topic to be strewn in public, or carelessly breezed over." A frown flits over her features, marring her lips as gaze is cast, once more, the ground, "And passion? In a steward? I'm sure it's quite desireable. Should it be directed in the correct way." She raises her own glance to meet his, "Then perhaps, you should find out why it is you /do/ remain, then return to me with what you find."
He meets her eyes for a long moment, a completely uncharacteristic hint of vulnerability lurking there, and then in an instnat, the mask is absolutely back in place, eyes back on the ground in front of him, posture straight, hands behind his back. "I apologise, Weyrwoman, if I offended. I had no intention of prying. I forget myself." His head comes up, and he's staring out at the swirl of the water as he speaks again. Something in him has relaxed a little, and this, perhaps, is how he might sound when speaking to his friends, and not his betters. "You have no idea, do you? Shards, Minka, I should get out of here before I make a complete idiot of myself."
Minka begins to shake her head, mouth opening to protest, but closed as he continues. Fallen gaze, she continues staring as the muddied ground, frustration vivid in clenched fists, "I.. I'm not annoyed, not upset - don't concern yourself." The last words he says hit home hard, and Minka joltingly steps to the side, grabbing at a strap, "It's not that. Sometimes, you just, don't know. And you concern yourself of making an idiot? It is I who am more worried about being the fool. I want you to know, that were the circumstances different, maybe, it could have been happier for the two of us. But this," She pauses, sweeping her hand out towards the Weyr, even pointing towards Ryazusith, "This, is an obstacle /you/ need to overcome before I will be able to.. Before we can.." She glances up at him, "I must go, really, it's late and I've a dinner to attend. Take care, Staunton." She tosses her riding jacket towards him, "Make sure you don't get too wet on the return trip." And with that, she prepares to mount.
You clamber up Ryazusith's neck and set yourself between two neckridges.
Ryazusith [Waterfall's Basin]
Tawdry gold gilds the angular, long features of this queen; marigold facets awoken into bloom like a clandestine garden from a sombre winter. The sharp lines of her muzzle and the blunt curve of her doe eyes give her a somewhat stern facade, with the gaudy gold of her hide taught against her cheekbones and jawline, while brassy lowlights and lapis lazuli highlights bleed down the curve of her neck, across her shoulders and over her wings in brazen chiaroscuro. Those gauzy sails are the only part of her that escapes the awkwardness of her disproportion, just balancing the slight roundness to her paler underbelly and long limbs. Buttermilk spills over the boxyness of her rear and over her thin tail in darkening shades of caramel and blonde, then wilts to bronze like a flower caught in the grasp of autumn.
Ryazusith seems to be listening.
Staunton doesn't turn to watch her go, receiving her words in silence. As though he doesn't hear them at all. He's still standing there, soaking once more, as she disappears.
Waterfall's Basin
The Weyr's freshwater pool flows clean and clear, almost undisturbed by the river that rests here after crashing down from the heights above. This small bay is neatly surrounded by a series of smooth stone steps and hidden beaches, a haven from the wider lake beyond before the water drops further to the sea below.
One gnarled, ancient tree has survived the ravages of time and Thread, reaching up towards the cliff above and the water below. A set of crude boards makes the climb an easy one. The wide, warm beach stretches to lap at the pool's edge, within earshot of the distant waterfall.
It is a winter evening. Cold rain, accentuated by stinging chunks of hail, descends in sheets, drenching the land. Lightning cracks across the sky, lightning up the darkness. Gale-force winds blow from the west, knocking over trees and people alike.
Gliding above are three firelizards.
You see Radnazak here.
Obvious exits:
Branch Forest Path
Minka is huddled beneath a wingsail, cover provided by none other than the ever-bulky Ryazusith. The young weyrwoman shifts, a hand raised to shield her face slightly, though luckily, most of the wind and rain is simply bouncing off Rya's thick membrane, thusly leaving Minka dry and unflustered, "Remind me, why we are here?" Pause. "Oh Rya, that's ridiculous. And you know it!" Pause. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I take it back. But I'll give you another candlemark and that's /it/ - or we'll be blown to Bitra and back and I've a supper to attend."
Staunton has a jacket on, and it's really not helping. Water's still streaming down off his hair, dripping off everything he's possibly got that can be dripped from. And there's a hint of a stomp about his gait as he appears. Realising he's in company he halts, makes the identification in a moment, then stomps forward once more to take shelter under the young queen's wing with Minka. His sole greeting is a gruff "Weyrwoman," and it's uttered without a sidelong glance.
Minka peers at Staunton from beneath the protection of a wing, "Staunton? Good grief! What are /you/ doing out here!?" She's got an explanation. Insane lifemate, you see. "You'll catch your death of cold!" She moves over slightly, glancing over at Rya's straps and shaking her head, "Ugh! And I had a towel there yesterday, shards." She casts her gaze back towards the Steward, raising a hand to somewhat conceal a giggle, "You look quite awful." Obviously, she's missed the whole stomping, irritable vibe going on.
Staunton turns his grey eyes on Minka, regarding her in silence for several long moments before he replies. His tone is as courteous as ever -- he'll respect rank if it kills him -- but it lacks something. "I felt the need for some exercise suddenly, Weyrwoman. Unfortunately I didn't think to bring a handy dragon with me." Something flickers briefly in his gaze -- disapproval? -- before it's turned away to take in the view. One hand comes up irritably to push sodden hair back from his eyes, stopping the dripping running down his face.
Minka locks her gaze on Staunton, "An unfortunate decision on your behalf then." She pauses, lips drawn into a frown as she mulls over the comments, "But of course, since your tone carries more sarcasm than anything, I'll take it you've something to say?" Of course, with her attention focused this time she's picked up the disapproving glance, and is taken aback for a moment, her own carefully controlled tone suffering at barely-disguised confusion, "Is there a.. problem, you feel the need to voice, Steward." The emphasis is on his title, Minka tilting her chin up as she returns her stare.
Staunton seems recalled to his manners by the use of his title, eyes dropping immediately. "No, Weyrwoman, of course not." The perfect servant, all deference, but all non-communication. This has been the change in him since he was made Steward. As Assistant, he could be drawn to acerbic comments, to jokes and to the occasional insult. Not the case any more. The front is slightly undermined by the fact that he's still dripping in every direction. "Your life mate is well? I understand her flight went well." The words could not be any more stilted. Here, perhaps, the clue to his mood.
"Good, then." Minka seems pleased, avoiding any head to head battles with people at this stage is her main concern. She glances towards Ryazusith as he comments upon her, a flush creeping across rounded cheeks, "It did go well. Thankyou." The stilted words earn a puzzled query from Minka, "What.. What is the matter?" She takes a step back, leaning against the egg-heavy queen for support, be it physical or emotional, after all - the flight took it's toll on her own moral beliefs, shattering them in fact. It's a burden this Weyrwoman will always live with. "Well?" Her tone sharpens in the latter comment, frustration boiling beneath the carefully guarded words.
Staunton turns his head for a moment as she steps back, noting the movement, but returns his eyes to the ground thereafter. He's almost at parade-ground rest, hands behind his back, shoulders squared, the picture spoiled only by his determination to stare at his feet. "I'm sure it's not for me to say, ma'am. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm too much the Holder to succeed here at the Weyr, but I do my best to serve." And to frustrate, at times like these.
"Your concerns.. Well, you aren't alone in them. However, mine are inevitable. Yours? You can change this if you want. Exchange this Weyr for the life of the Hold. I'm sure we have very smiliar approaches and moral objections to Weyrlife, but ultimately? I'll embrace this. In time, so shall you." Minka turns, resting her head against the relative comfort of the hide behind her.
"I won't leave the Weyr, I'm bound here now by many things. I'm not seeking a way to embrace it, ma'am. Just a way to live alongside it." Staunton's careful with her title, as though reminding himself of the identity of his conversational partner. "I think that's the best I can hope for." He lifts his head then, turning to look at her over his shoulder. "Does it not create a conflict, then? Allowing some man to..." He catches himself, quickly censoring the disapproval in his voice to continue more neutrally. "I mean to say, I imagine it is difficult, wanting a different thing to your lifemate, at times."
"At least this time, it was easy. The man, is a good friend of mine. But yes - I anticipate one day I'll find myself faced with someone quite undesirable and unknown. But I've resigned myself to that fact, I think you must, to live with yourself. Equally, I am bound here. By Ryazusith, but even so? I could never wish, to be free of those ties simply to avoid emotional dilemma.. Do you see?" She angles her head, looking at him from beneath a dark fringe, a hand rising to anxiously fiddle with her loose braid, "But what intrigues me, is your passion on the subject.." Of course, the hints are all there, but no girl likes to make a fool of herself without confirmation, "Why do you remain?"
"It's easier if it's a friend?" Staunton sounds puzzled by that, although politely so. Still unwilling to break his protective barrier of manners. Head down again as he replies quietly, the sound of his voice competing against the sound of the rain. "Do I show passion on the subject? I should master myself, then. Not a desirable trait in a Steward, surely." He's carefully restraining himself, but there's a hint of something in his voice. A suggestion that he's mocking himself. Finally though, he does lift his head, turning again to look at her over his shoulder, setting off another cascade of raindrops. "I don't know why I remain, actually. I suppose I enjoy tormenting myself."
"Yes. It is. I can't say you can comment lest you actually are in the situation yourself." She pauses, "You do show passion, unwarranted and confusing - for me. I suppose I cosider the entire subject something of my own private consideration, not a topic to be strewn in public, or carelessly breezed over." A frown flits over her features, marring her lips as gaze is cast, once more, the ground, "And passion? In a steward? I'm sure it's quite desireable. Should it be directed in the correct way." She raises her own glance to meet his, "Then perhaps, you should find out why it is you /do/ remain, then return to me with what you find."
He meets her eyes for a long moment, a completely uncharacteristic hint of vulnerability lurking there, and then in an instnat, the mask is absolutely back in place, eyes back on the ground in front of him, posture straight, hands behind his back. "I apologise, Weyrwoman, if I offended. I had no intention of prying. I forget myself." His head comes up, and he's staring out at the swirl of the water as he speaks again. Something in him has relaxed a little, and this, perhaps, is how he might sound when speaking to his friends, and not his betters. "You have no idea, do you? Shards, Minka, I should get out of here before I make a complete idiot of myself."
Minka begins to shake her head, mouth opening to protest, but closed as he continues. Fallen gaze, she continues staring as the muddied ground, frustration vivid in clenched fists, "I.. I'm not annoyed, not upset - don't concern yourself." The last words he says hit home hard, and Minka joltingly steps to the side, grabbing at a strap, "It's not that. Sometimes, you just, don't know. And you concern yourself of making an idiot? It is I who am more worried about being the fool. I want you to know, that were the circumstances different, maybe, it could have been happier for the two of us. But this," She pauses, sweeping her hand out towards the Weyr, even pointing towards Ryazusith, "This, is an obstacle /you/ need to overcome before I will be able to.. Before we can.." She glances up at him, "I must go, really, it's late and I've a dinner to attend. Take care, Staunton." She tosses her riding jacket towards him, "Make sure you don't get too wet on the return trip." And with that, she prepares to mount.
You clamber up Ryazusith's neck and set yourself between two neckridges.
Ryazusith [Waterfall's Basin]
Tawdry gold gilds the angular, long features of this queen; marigold facets awoken into bloom like a clandestine garden from a sombre winter. The sharp lines of her muzzle and the blunt curve of her doe eyes give her a somewhat stern facade, with the gaudy gold of her hide taught against her cheekbones and jawline, while brassy lowlights and lapis lazuli highlights bleed down the curve of her neck, across her shoulders and over her wings in brazen chiaroscuro. Those gauzy sails are the only part of her that escapes the awkwardness of her disproportion, just balancing the slight roundness to her paler underbelly and long limbs. Buttermilk spills over the boxyness of her rear and over her thin tail in darkening shades of caramel and blonde, then wilts to bronze like a flower caught in the grasp of autumn.
Ryazusith seems to be listening.
Staunton doesn't turn to watch her go, receiving her words in silence. As though he doesn't hear them at all. He's still standing there, soaking once more, as she disappears.