==== September 4, 2013
==== Teyaschianniarina, W'rin
==== A new weyrleader means changes in personnel, Teya doesn't leave entirely empty handed.

Who Teyaschianniarina, W'rin
What A new weyrleader means changes in personnel, Teya doesn't leave entirely empty handed.
When 1 turn 3 months and 24 days until the 12th pass.
Where Igen Weyr

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Council Chambers
However disheveled the corridor outside might lie, THIS room - the sole dominion of the Weyr's upper elite - is always sparkling, ever swept, ever dusted, its walls scrubbed free of the grime of ages. A certain spartan grandeur fills the Council Chamber, with its foreboding stonework and heavy wooden door. A round table fills the bulk of the space, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood, carved with the three dune'd symbol of Igen Weyr. Chairs surround: hard-backed things (with thin cushions) for the most part, but two grandiose chairs, on opposite sides of the table, that seat Weyrwoman and Weyrleader. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.


While notably and noticeably absent during the afternoon's flight itself, there is no mistaking the presence in the Council Chambers as the evening wears on: unobtrusive even now, and endlessly efficient, the Weyrsecond occupies the same seat she has these past few months. It could be any day: there are neat stacks of hides surrounding her, the quiet is only broken by the scratch of quill against hide and the occasional thump of booted toe against the stone floor beneath her chair. Today, though, there is an extra furrow between her pale eyebrows; today, though her tatty air of authority is still intact, her knot is on the table beside her hides in all its complicated glory. It has been set aside neatly, however, rather than carelessly discarded, and she continues to work, ever-diligent.

With the time it takes W'rin to clean himself off after the flight there is no reasonable way to expect there was any sweet pillow talk after his winners romp with the new Igen Weyrwoman. When he does appear his leathers are crisply formal, his look steadfast and intense, he hasn't even had time to get his knot yet. But it was an afternoon flight, the whole weyr knows, and while most of them will be out of commission for the rest of the night he finds Teya scratching away at hides in the chambers. He isn't surprised, it is why he came here. It seems both of them know there is no time to stop working. That they do not get along because they are too much alike does not cross W'rin's mind as he steps from the doorway. "Teya." There is no salute today, not again, no forced respect. No, his hands fold together infront of him, the man as stiff as clothing.

At the sound of someone else moving in the chambers, Teya glances up, but only briefly - long enough to identify W'rin and finish her sentence. Without her riding jacket on, she does not have his air of crisp professionalism, though the cut of her tunic is still familiarly militaristic; just this side of stylish, rather than guard-issue. He may not have a salute, but she does: she sets down her quill alongside her report to free her hand and stands to issue it. The lift of her chin is firm, but there is unqualified respect in her eyes, in her stance, in her salute all together as she answers, "Weyrleader."

At her salute he cannot help but raise his own crisp one. His title in return for, "Wingsecond." Stripping her then of her weyrsecond knot, but not completely of rank all together. W'rin isn't the sort of man who lies about where things stand. "I haven't always agreed with your decisions. I think you're brash and you act when you think and think when you should act." A finger lifts as if to punctuate a 'but' he hasn't yet verbalized. "But I think you are a smart woman and a capable rider. Perhaps with age and some training." Giant shoulders shrug upward, as he jaw sets. "I'd like you stay with N'thu on Parhelion, wingsecond if you'll have it." As he's sure N'thu would not object to keeping his right hand (wo)man.

There is conflict in Teya's expression, and she lets it show: resignation tempered by relief, surprise and gratitude alike. Her hand falls, but not idly: she picks up her knot, runs her thumb over the loops, then smoothes them out again before she offers it to W'rin. "Wingsecond," she says, weighing the new title; she nods once, and her smile - lopsided, always - surfaces for a moment over, "I serve, as always, at the pleasure of the Weyrleader - and thank you, sir. I think that's a fair assessment." For the good and the not-so-good. She glances back at her neat stacks of hides as she offers, "I've been getting my affairs in order, so that whoever you appoint in my place will be able to take over without having to muddle through a mess of things. I can have my final reports in by the end of the day, sir."

W'rin watches her say her goodbyes to the knot, somehow finding it in himself to not grumble about the waste of time. He does not however hesitate to take it back. There would be less blood shed if Calico Cat and the Gingham Dog ran the weyr together, and so he offers a nod of respect . "I'd appreciate it." Her willingness to work hard and be prompt even after a shift of positions, which surprised everyone is too be commended. Even if the moveable mountain can only show it by not yelling. "Anything you'd like to say before I put the knot on?" An offer, a free strike, or advice. However she'd like to take it.

"Off the record?" bears with it a flash of good humor, bright-but-worn; Teya's eyes crinkle, but the expression fades as she shifts on her feet, as she clasps her hands behind her back and thinks. "I think that you'll do well, sir. As Weyrleader. You aren't the most … flexible of men, but when an idea had merit you were always willing to listen. I don't," she glances down, studies the ground before her for a moment before looking back up, expression earnest. "I don't feel that I was prepared for this job when I was given it, but that I served my best and that I gave this weyr everything, did everything I could to make sure that it would not fail. It is my hope, sir, is that you and yours will continue to do the same, as well as - and hopefully better than - we had managed. You have, as always, my respect; I hope I may still, occasionally, have your ear." She unfolds her hands, reaches up to tug at one earlobe, wry, "I guess most of that didn't really need to be off the record after all. Sir."

There is a slight bob of the giant man's head, off the record. "I know." W'rin states at her assessment of him. "Flexibility is not always an assesst." Though neither is rigidity. Perhaps he and N'thu will one day meeting in the middle, closer to the middle, probably not. "You weren't. And the weyr certainly didn't make it easy on you." A hand scratches at the back of his neck. "But perhaps you can take your strengths and weakness and hone them on your wing. If I'm still around in a couple of turns maybe I'll give you Sandblast." Is that a teasing grin peeking out unpracticed from beneath his beard. They are off the record after all.

"Wingsecond," Teya says again, and this time there is a little more joy in it, tempered with a generous sense of relief. She drops her hand again, clasps both once more behind her back. "It's what I was being trained for, before," she admits. "And I will serve Parhelion -" she doesn't quite finish the solemn declaration, because that is when W'rin's comments hit - or possibly are reviewed and re-relayed by Ryglinath, it's hard to tell, and she laughs suddenly. It isn't a long outburst, and one that's quickly covered by the clap of her hand over her mouth, but she is still grinning as she says, "Oh, yes. Well-played, sir."

"Alright then. I'll expect that report by the end of the day." Whatever grin W'rin was wearing has slipped back into strict formality. Nothing to see here, certainly not the man smiling. There are things to be done. And no time to lose. For a moment he forgets himself, waits to be dismissed, but his eyes fall on the knot in his hand, and with a ceremonial salute the weyrleader, who has to wait for no one to dismiss him, turns and marches out the door.

And with that dismissal Teya salutes her departing weyrleader, then re-takes her seat; she may be a usurper to it for the moment, but it is where all her reports are, and efficiency dictates that she sit and finish them rather than take the time to move them. W'rin does, of course, receive them all by the end of the weyr's business day. Of course he does.

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