====November 21, 2013
====Hannah, Teyaschianniarina
====Hannah sneaks some extra time away from Southern and runs into Teya, where friendship is picked up and the unexpected is discovered.

Who Hannah, Teyaschianniarina
What Hannah sneaks some extra time away from Southern and runs into Teya, where friendship is picked up and the unexpected is discovered.
When There are 0 turns, 8 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
Where Archives, Igen Weyr



A grand room, lost to more pressing concerns, the Archives hold many treasures well past their prime, from instruments to examples of older flying gear and agenothree tanks. Faded and disused Records lean tiredly against their shelves, their bindings peeling and creating layers of dust on surfaces long left without maintenance. The floors are dirty, various footprints creating crisscrossing paths between rickety wooden chairs and drunkenly off-kilter tables. Columns rise upward to the ceiling, hung with glow-baskets scarcely tended and fast losing their strength. The hum of activity is duller, here in this forgotten space — few visit in search of historical facts.
Teyaschianniarina is here.
Obvious exits:
Administrative Corridor

-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 3:07 PM where you are.
There are 0 turns, 8 months and 0 days until the 12th pass.
It is the sixtieth day of Spring and 67 degrees. Despite being clear, dry and sunny over the weyr proper, a thunderstorm drenches the outer reaches of Igen's desert.

While the archives have been saved from obscurity and disrepair, they are still a relatively untroubled location, here in Igen Weyr. The afford privacy, or if not privacy then quiet, and the polite fiction of solitude should more than one person be working at a time. This afternoon they are almost-empty, populated by one sole, diligent amateur archivist. Ensconced at her favorite table, Teya is a figure lost in thought: her hand still, the non-business end of her stylus gone lax against the hide upon which she appears to be compiling some sort of list. Her hair is bound in two stubby, fluffy braids and her riding jacket is draped over the back of her chair and she chews, absent, on a ragged thumbnail-edge.

Igen is not a place as familiar as it once was, but it's familiar enough that Hannah winds her way through the maze of hallways with almost relative ease, going by memory more than landmarks. Dhiammarath's sun-spot outside is large enough for the pale queen to sprawl, soaking up the desert spring heat for it's no secret that Southern's in the throes of its rainy seasons. Her quarry after the morning's meeting is found, the goldrider still in the black-edged-in-rose leathers, though the jacket is being carried rather than worn and the under tunic of soft rose is unbuttoned at the throat. "Teya." It's a soft greeting, applied so as to not startle. "Quarter mark for your thoughts."

Despite the softness of the greeting, the response is still abrupt: Teya's hand flattens out over her page, obscuring the text (it doesn't smudge, at least: she's been thinking rather than writing for a while, it seems) and looking up. The expression is hunted, for one fleeting moment, before she recognizes Hannah, and warmth and relief alike flood her face. Her fingers curl in slightly, crumpling the page beneath them as she answers, "Hannah," and follows it with, "eighth mark, maybe. But I still think you'd be getting the raw end of the deal." There is another chair, at least, stable and adorned with a sad, thin cushion, but it is better than what there used to be - it's to this that Teya gestures, inviting. "Sit, sit. Tell me how Southern is, instead."

Concern stains the expression on Hannah's face at Teya's unfiltered — fear? Hunted? — emotion. Still the warmth at such a reception curves a sweet, inviting smile on the junior's lips as she takes that sad little seat. "Let me be the judge of that, I'm sure I'd come out the richer." Still, she's short enough that she can swing her feet a little when she does take that seat. "Rainy." This is supplied with the wrinkle of her nose and the aggrieved air of one who's more than willing to bitch about the weather. "I'm still grounded, too, so we'll pretend I didn't linger too long here in Igen, yeah?" The shared conspiracy is given as the woman puts her elbows on the table, notably not trying to steal a peek at Teya's writings. Instead, a searching look is given to the brownrider, concern once again surfacing. "Everything okay?" Her inquiry is gently given.

"We only just got cleared for flight," Teya offers with sympathetic wince, but lifts a finger to her lips in conspiracy, "so your secret's safe with me. No lingering, none at all whatsoever." She is too tall for swinging her feet, but she does shift so that she can thump the heel of one boot against the rung behind it. "I think it's safe to say that you get more rain down there than we do here, but there's still more than I ever would have expected. You picked a good day to visit, though." Lots of sun. Hannah's question doesn't go unacknowledged, but it's clear that Teya considers it, that she discards several answers before giving, finally, "I don't know. Yet. I don't know yet. Either everything is fine or everything is wrong and I'm not sure - I'm not sure which one's the answer, yet." Her fingers curl more tightly into the page, but then she realizes that she is doing it; she uses both hands to smooth it back out flat, but doesn't offer it up. (Yet.)

Brows draw in as the concern deepens, "Did you get hurt?" Hannah's question is blurted out, thrown for a loop with that admission from Teya, though being co-conspirators eases some tension on her shoulders. "Thanks. I've got to check in and out of every place I go when I am not in the weyr." It is tiresome, her tone suggests. "Not that I don't necessarily deserve it, but enough about me." Because the pointed look that follows is all for Teya. "Is it because of what's happened with Corelle? The news reached us. We were…" Delicately navigated this, "… disturbed. That something like that could happen. Did you find — the cause?" As for the former Weyrsecond's page, the junior is patient (but also respectful) and doesn't even press.

"Ryglinath," Teya provides quickly, "and he just — pulled something, caught himself wrong when he pulled out of a turn, caught himself too hard in the air when that whole mess was going on. Didn't take it easy, though, so the dragonhealers grounded us to give it time to heal." Something about this strikes her as funny: she laughs, quiet but slightly thready, then scrubs a hand over her face. "I'm not sure which is worse, so let's just call it even," as far as groundings go. She laughs again, short, and shakes her head. "No, that's — still a problem but it's not my problem, at least, I mean, that's not my problem right now this is-" She looks down a little sharply, and fidget-smoothes her fingers over an already smoothed wrinkle before sliding the page over to Hannah and withdrawing her hand like she's avoiding a tunnelsnake's strike. The writing is a - list, divided into two columns; some phrases are repeated on both sides of it, some things have been listed with more vehemence than others, but the core of her continued dilemma seems clear enough with only a casual glance: neither side outweighs the other in any clear-cut manner.

"I'm glad Ryglinath is — well and will recover," Hannah's response is sincere and not a bit relieved that more rider-death trouble hasn't come of the Corelle situation, though with Teya mention that that is not her problem, it causes the goldrider's brows to drawn in yet again. Only this time in a touch of confusion. "At least," she offers up by way of anecdotal humor, "You did not get yelled at while sitting on the toilet about it." Dry, humorless laugh follows but then the page is slid over. One look to Teya before she presses her finger tips to the bottom portion, perhaps where the list doesn't quite scrunch up to the bottom of the page, and reads it over. "Teya…" The whispered drawl of the brownrider's name holds a question, for the list itself doesn't draw the clearest of pictures. "Is…" Now green eyes are seeking Teya's own blue-green ones, to give the other woman a searching look. "This looks like you're trying to decide something." A soft, gentle statement that also encourages.

While Hannah reads the list, Teya watches with one arm crossed over herself, the opposite hand pressed into a curl over her mouth. Her eyes are shiny, bright - no, damp, just enough to catch the light as she meets Hannah's gaze full-on. She drops her hand from her mouth, curls her fingers instead around the edge of the table, grips a little bit too hard for a moment before very deliberately loosening her grip. "I've been stressed," she says, her voice a little hoarse even with the faint upward curl of one side of her mouth that doesn't quite make a smile. "I work too hard, and Ryglinath, and I've been tired and I'm always hungry, except when I'm not hungry I'm nauseous, but with Corelle and Ryglinath and the Pass-" she trails off, eyebrows lifted: none of this seems that exceptional, obviously, right? Right. (also on the list 'possibly only chance, not likely to have another after pass begins;' opposite it, 'pass is nearly here' is given equal weight). "I gave Ryglinath so much grief over not getting his ass to the dragonhealers and making his shoulder worse, though, so," she looks down at the table again, sucks in a thin-sounding breath, says, "I went to the healers a few nights ago," without looking up.

Hannah is a patient listener, not interrupting and looking at Teya with a gentle concern for the other woman. Her fingertip might touch only once upon the 'pass' comment of the list, but other than that she holds herself quiet until the brownrider comes to a natural stop. Or pause. A lot has gone unsaid thus far between them but Hannah is not dimwitted and the facts lining up just so have given the goldrider a fairly confident assumption-based theory. So instead of asking the obvious, she reaches across the table to press a light touch to Teya's arm, if it's in reach. "Now's the time to relinquish some of that stress, isn't it?" Whether or not Teya ends up making one decision or another, the light tone is implied support of either choice. Though she does offer, after a long pause of silence, "If it is your only chance… you should take it." A shadow comes across her features then; the memory of a memory surfacing from the time before she came forward.

Gratitude swamps Teya's features as Hannah refrains from asking the obvious, and the brownrider shifts her arm under Hannah's touch. It may seem like a rejection, but only for a moment: she turns it into a clasp of her hand with the goldrider's, her grip deliberately solid but not too tight. "I-," she starts, but her voice cracks and what comes out is a giddy half-laugh, skating along the razor's edge of hysteria before she swallows it down. "Don't think I will," is even, but a little bit eerily so, considering. "Have another. Chance. I don't think I'd have this one, if we hadn't gotten grounded, if situations and timing hadn't worked out just right and, and - we're not meant for Mirage, not for good, and-" Here her grip finally falters, her grasp turning into a clutch, raw and a little bit too tight. "I'm scared," scrapes raw, drags her voice down to just above a whisper. "I think I know what I'm going to do but I don't, I don't know," there is another glance, desperate, at her evenly-balanced list, "what I'm supposed to do. What I'm doing. I have no idea what I'm doing, Hannah."

When Teya takes her hand, Hannah puts her other one on top of their clasped fingers. She listens with a willing ear, once again letting the brownrider to muddle through her thoughts and half-thoughts and feelings with only acceptance on her features. "You aren't 'supposed' to do anything," she chides, gently, "You're supposed to make the decision that's right for you. Screw what anyone else thinks and do what you want. If it's your last chance, take it." Is she encouraging Teya to keep it? In a way, revealed when the goldrider continues. "If you don't take it, then you'll regret it and regret is a heavy thing to be saddled with." She tightens her grip, trying to suffuse the other woman with some measure of the confidence she feels. "It'll be okay either way. It's no harder than running a weyr and we both know that you're an old hat at that." Humor offered here, with the half-smile of a shared joke. "Trust me. Whatever you decide, do it for you. The weyr will have from us all that we can give soon enough."

"No harder than running a weyr," Teya latches onto, echoes with a watery laugh and the press of her free hand against her eyes before she drops it to cover Hannah's, completing their neat stack of hands. "K'ane will - want it, even if I can't, and I - I love Aikari, I babysit whenever I can, it can't be-," whatever she was originally going to say is redacted, with, "-worse, even if - even if none of that, there are the nurseries, and I just-" Even stumbling, it's clear that this was where the decision was already weighted; even so, it's just as clear that the brownrider is still close to overwhelmed by the enormity of it. "I never wanted to," she says, quiet, "when Sh'z and I were together he would bring it up, and I just - couldn't. I always knew what I'd do, if it happened. But," she frees her top hand to scrub at her eyes again, to stem the slow leak of incidental tears, "I found out, and I just - I just can't. But I couldn't just not," this not, apparently, refers to the list she gestures toward.

A reassuring squeeze is given overall between their stacked hands, Hannah's eyes are serious when they regard Teya. "It is always easy to make that decision before it's a — a reality. K'ane is one of those who cares, so he'll help. That's why the weyr has nannies, though. And a brat cave and all that." Optimism is offered with the slight raise of pale brows and the small smile that plays on her lips. "And when they're old enough, you can bring them back to your weyr. Areiah fostered me when I was eleven, twelve. So it's tricky, but not insurmountable." Some of what she says comes from experience, but colored with the shadows of the past. "It is much harder to - to lose one than it is to give birth. Everyone talks about just 'betweening' it away, but that's the most dangerous option, and not always the cleanest. It's painful at best. And emotionally…" Hannah presses her lips together, looking intently at Teya. "It's a sharding lot more complicated than the men would ever know. And just because you didn't want to plan children with someone doesn't mean that when it happens with someone else that you don't want a child." The weight of the silence after seems to imply, If that makes sense.

Teyaschianniarina's shuddering breath answers that weighted silence with apparent understanding; the slow, firm nod that follows it confirms this. "I have," she starts quietly, "a handful of memories of my mother, before she died. My - my father stayed, my father's dead, four hundred turns ago and less than a turn at the same time, my grandmother," tiny clan matriarch that she was, "the same. Remembered you, Areiah's fosterling like she was R'sli's. They're gone, but I'm - I'm not, and I don't-" her breath catches. She squeezes her eyes shut, draws in another breath to steady herself despite the leak of tears in spite of her effort to stave them off. "I don't want them to die with me, to leave it all on I'yn if I'm lost in Fall, and that's probably a terrible reason, and it's not the only one but it's there."

"It's no less a good reason than the ones that women have used to keep a child since the dawn of humanity," Hannah assures, gently. "It's hard to lose someone, even if that someone hasn't yet been realized." She bites her bottom lip, hesitating before offering up in a tiny, tiny voice. "When the plague hit and all that happened around that…" In the same manner that she didn't ask the explicit question, she doesn't finish this thought, leaving the depth of what's there to be implied. A deep, fortifying breath is taken, as memories are shoved to the past. "And don't forget, you can count on K'ane." A flicker of curiosity touches in her expression, sparking behind her green eyes, "Are you and he…?" If she were less ladylike, there might be some eyebrow wiggling going on, but alas. That's not Hannah.

Teyaschianniarina's, "Oh, Hannah," is soft and heartfelt, but she doesn't carry the thought further than a look, still-wet eyes full of sympathetic heartache. Her own indrawn breath is watery, but it is clear that her resolve is steadying now that she actually has a - well, it's not a plan yet. But it's a direction, at least. There is a grin, small but steady, to meet the curiosity in Hannah's eyes, and Teya finally reclaims her hands to scrub them both over her face. "I've always been able to," comes on a tide of relief, broken up by a laugh and a shake of her head. "Friends," she answers, "who have each others' backs and aren't afraid to call each other out, but not together."

Hannah's own smile is tight, gentle, but a long time has passed and the pain isn't fresh. And it's with a relief that happier topics are grasped at. "Ooooooh, that kind." The tiny smile that plays at the edges of her lips is just a tiny bit gleeful. "K'ane is good for that, though I find that his dragon has a more secure head on his proverbial shoulders." The goldrider likes K'ane, but she adores Dhioth, and it shows. That woman has a soft spot for a dragon! "This is the point where," when her hands are released she folds them on the table, leaning on her forearms so she can fix Teya with a teasingly intent expression, "I get to reinforce things by asking — well, making sure, that you're taking care of yourself." Right? Right!

"My affection for Dhioth has always been boundless," the little brownrider who can says, and this time when her eyes squeeze it's the result of a crinkle-cut smile. "And his rider knows it," of course he does. Teya matches Hannah's posture, but it's the table she studies intently rather than her fellow rider. "I'm remembering to eat more than I usually do," is a qualified yes, "and the healers gave me some tea that should help with the nausea, when it shows up. I'm probably still working too much," and here she looks up, her plain, freckled face crinkling up into a full-contact smile, "but I'm pretty sure that's not going to stop unless I'm dead. I'm," her expression softens, the smile lingering, but faded. "Doing an okay job? I think?"

Carefully, Hannah folds the list so that only the column that lists all the reasons to 'keep' it is face-up and then slides it slowly towards Teya. "S'all you can do, is your best. I'm sure once K'ane finds out, you'll be hounded." Does Hannah find some humor in that? Perhaps. A conspiracy shared among women across time. "I'd use it to your advantage — not that K'ane would mother, never that." She would never accuse a bronzerider of another weyr of being a potential nag. Never. She's in enough trouble as it is. "When?" Now that the question is settled in so far as any uncertain woman can settle, the question is just when will more K'ane spawn be put loose on this planet.

Teyaschianniarina's answer to that is a snort more appropriate to a runner than a former-Weyrsecond, but she pulls the list close even so. Her fingers smooth it out again, and then she uses the edge of a thumbnail to run down the creased edge. When she picks it up, folds it up and tucks it into the picket of her jacket beside and behind her, it's with the 'keep' side out, still. "Um," is her eloquent response to Hannah's question, and there's an awkward-shift, overhand-scrub of her hand across the back of her neck. "Beginning of the Pass," she answers, finally, "or the last gasping breath of the Interval at the earliest."

"I call that precipitous timing," Hannah comments, brows lifting. "You'll be ready to go by the time the real work starts," she adds, kicking her feet from beneath the table. "I'm happy for you, Teya. I know that no matter what you'll be good at what you do. Weyrsecond, mom, Threadfighter… but do me a favor, please." This comes as Hannah slowly stands, a caring held in warm green eyes. "Don't charge into Thread, headfirst." It is a silly request, but for her it's a request that makes her feel better. Teya is one of the first line defenders, after all. "I'd better get my grounded booty back to Southern before Lendai starts to question how long this 'meeting' is taking." Still, despite the general grousing this statement provokes a grin. "Next time, I'll tell you about finding an abandoned, creaky old ship and getting mauled by a feline."

"That I can absolutely promise," Teya is able to answer, at least. "Headfirst, headlong - if there's still a place for me in Parhelion after my stint in Mirage - anyway. No charging." She stands once Hannah has, and takes a few quick strides around the table to maul the goldrider to de— hug her (unexpected) friend. "Go, before you get in trouble. I need to go - find my brother," because of course I'yn is going to be the first person who gets an actual announcement, rather than digging the reluctant truth out of her. "You had better, next time. And I'll - let you know. How all of this," presumably the telling people, "goes."

The sudden hugging has the desired effect: Hannah produces a happy little squeal. Unexpected friendship, it's the best friendship. "Good. Keep me in the loop and I'll see if I can't wrangle Lendai to let me free soon so I can come and visit and stay like a proper person." Does she wink? Of course she does. "Take care of yourself, Teya. I can't wait to hear how K'ane takes it." Families have to squeal and be happy — it's the 'rule'. The juicy reactions always come from the unsuspecting fathers. Still, the smile she gives the brownrider as she slowly makes her exit might be teasing. "Now I get to go shopping for baby clothes." Isn't that exciting? Surely. Teya better be prepared to be inundated with a care package! With a final wave, Hannah makes her exit out so she can catch up with Dhiammarath and 'check out' of Igen Weyr. On her way hoooooome.
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