Who

Zeyta, Veresch, Sacitca

What

Sacitca gets lost and encounters Zeyta and Veresch in the Archives.

When

It is the seventh day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Archives, Igen Weyr

OOC Date

 

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Archives

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.


The beginning of this log is unfortunately lost.

"Weyrsecond, at the very least," is the ready answer, biased as it is; Zeyta's both vicious /and/ ambitious in vocalizing these aspirations, behind a wall of necessary apathy. She rests her mug on its saucer, adjusting the lantern to better see the hide in front of her, a single finger marking her previous entry. There they are, two women burning the midnight oil across from each other, younger and older, optimist and cynic, trading economic philosophy over a very real probelm: the refugees. "Stewards and their staff, I imagine, for the Holds. Crafthalls have their own equivalent of headmen and the likes, though I'm sure given the more, mmm, specialized nature of their trades, ranking craft councils preside over much of the diplomatic arrangements needed to sustain themselves."

Information rush! Veresch breaks off her doodling as her head lifts, and her mouth furls a little at the rank mentioned. "Yeah… perhaps. I don't think that everyone's interested, likely." Another cynical truth, hard as it is: the hierarchy of needs is strict, and civilisation only works beyond a certain point. "I think I saw something in here…" She stands, stretching the stiffness out of her muscles, before wandering to put the record away and getting a fresh one. "I suppose the Weyr balances its tithes very neatly these days with so many people here. Count in the traders and true bazaar-folk…" She trails off as she disappears into shadow of a nearby rack, for a moment out of sight.

Sacitca probably should have asked someone else for directions, other than whom she ended up asking, but well. At this hour there are only so many people actually awake…and you know what they say about looking a gift runner in the mouth. Except this is turning out to be quite the runaround. Without the running. Although with plenty of the uncomfortableness of wandering around an unknown place at nighttime. "I must have gotten turned around…" The woman murmurs, pausing in the doorway. "Or perhaps it was my directions that were askew." After a moment's hesitation, the turned-about-trader (really she almost never actually set FOOT in the weyr before today) cautiously ventures, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but would either of you be able to direct me to…..Veresch?" What an UNFORTUNATE time to run into someone she knows! Zeyta is glanced at again, briefly, and Sacitca hesitates in the doorway for a moment, before taking a single step inside. Just the one. She's not blocking traffic right now, at least.

Zeyta blinks at the newest intruder and disrupter of her usual silent industry, features darkening into a scowl. While Veresch goes ducking around a corner and down an aisle, the brownrider drops her level gaze on the turned-about-trader, making plain her displeasure. "How did you wander into the administrative corridor. There should have— well, nevermind." She'll sip her tea, as some measure of recognition for the /other/ person (currently vanished) means she'll let it be her responsibility to clarify whereabouts for Sacitca. Zeyta, therefore, picks up her stylus, dips it in ink, and begins to write.

"My apologies for the interruption, ma'am." Sacitca answers smoothly, complete with a polite salute (urge to curtsy only JUST suppressed). Since Veresch has disappeared out of sight for the moment - before Sacitca said her name, of course - she'll move to the side a little so as to not block the doorway, and just. Stand here awkwardly for a few minutes. Fortunately this is NOT the most awkward and bizarre thing that has happened to her ever, so she'll just go along with it. Despite the trouble it has almost definitely gotten her into thus far.

There's a sound from the darker corners of the archive, a choked-off 'What the hell' that suddenly becomes a laugh so boisterous, so clearly indicative of a backside being laughed off that it's almost a cackle. Scratch that. It's a bray, and it's coming from Veresch, who ventures into the pool of light again. "Sacci? Is that… oh, this is rich. This is some kind of irony, all right." Her eyes are fixed on the white knot, eyes half-believing and half-amused; there's no sign of sadness or jealousy. "Ah… this is Zeyta, a woman…" Again that laugh starts, and she has to put the scroll down not to drop it.

"Zeyta, rider of brown Kczyslawborth." It sounds so seamless coming off her tongue, and yet, /that name/! Zeyta flicks her hand after espying the white knot, suddenly dismissive of the candidate. She adds several lines of neat, tidy script to her parchment, setting her writing instrument down only after checking final punctuation. "Well, as much as I love educating the masses," her voice /drips/ sarcasm, risen out of its colorless inflection reveal ire, "I'm going to fetch more tea, in this pot." She indicates the vessel by lifting it. "And when I return, I expect the archives to be vacated, or at the very least full of those /quietly/ reading." BAM, orders from the de-fact boss-woman, standing to temporarily storm her way out.

Were there light enough to see Sacitca clearly, her cheeks would definitely be darker than normal. "I…nevermind, I'll find my own way?" Which has clearly already FAILED once, but she's trying to take it in stride. "Nice to meet you, ma'am. Good to see you, Vere…" But then Zeyta is leaving so Sacitca herself delays her own departure. Only once she's sure the brownrider is gone does the woman sink into a chair. Veresch is a known quanitity, at least, and her laughter in private Sacitca can tolerate. A breath in is taken, and let out slowly. "Fancy meeting you here." So deadpan she sounds, waiting for the inevitable.

There's a snap of merry eyes for Zeyta's departure, and a silently respectful look. "I like her," she mentions at length, and idly wanders closer to sit on one of the archive tables. She's back in her normal clothes, of course, but in this almost-light kohl-lined eyes appear far more catlike than normal. "So. I take it that this is going to send your mother into fits of exultation. This is good news though, Sacci, if you get lucky you won't have to get married. But then you won't really get to be truly part of your family again, right? I've often wondered about Chel, but not you. Same situation, different people."

"Do you? She seems…..fierce." It's murmured, and not an insult, merely an observation. Right now, right here…there's no one watching, no one to impress, so Sacitca does what any normal person would in this situation. Starts laughing. "When I said I wanted to escape mother," she says after her laughter's subsided some, "this is not what I meant. But it will stop her matchmaking." Veresch's question gets a nod as Sacitca regains her sombriety, and she sighs quietly. "Chel.. We'll see, I suppose. At least they've given me work I know I can do, given enough time." That last bit is added with definitive relief. "But I'm not sure, that…even if that doesn't happen.." A shake of the head dismisses this talk, and Sactica sighs. "How did you happen to be in here, with her? Is she really as fierce as she seems to be?"

"Zeyta is…" Veresch struggles; the girl doesn't yet have the emotional maturity to explain all the Zeyta-aspects, nor the knowledge of most of them. "She's a knife that stabs," she finally ends up saying, and there's a hitch of her shoulders. "It's up to you whether you rot from the stabwound or get better. She's also the most intelligent person I've ever met. I was looking over some old records, trying to find out things like how much a person has to eat per day, the basic sustenance stuff. The refugees, you see?" Her lips press shut. "And so you see how that rank is going to be earned," she refers back to their older conversation. "I wish so very hard that you'd Impress, Sacci. Perhaps then the us-and-them will get a bit smaller."

"A knife…" Sacitca considers Veresch's words carefully for long moments and then nods again. "Though I do admire her aspirations, I'll do my best to avoid being stabbed all the same." It's said with a small curve of lips, an attempt at a joke she's only half attempting. "Perhaps when the Hatching comes you'll get your wish, Veresch. Until then…" A shoulder is raised in delicate half-shrug. "Why?" It's an honest question, from someone who hasn't had to deal with caring about it before. "There is so much to learn. I have…never been inside the Weyr this long, and it is so…different from the Bazaar." It unnerves her, in other words. "Do you hope for it as well? For yourself?"

Veresch's legs start kicking back and forth as she considers the topic. "Does it feel like you're in some enemy camp?" she finally asks. "You're not, you know. Even without that knot, we're just people over here like you lot over there." She slips down from the table; the shrug of shoulder given doesn't answer the last question, but perhaps some of it. Yes, she'd like it, no it hasn't happened yet. "I want that us-and-them gone, because it hurts me when my friends in the bazaar look at me, and I can see they're thinking 'Sure, you're nice' and then their mind adds on a little 'But you're not one of us and you'll never be. That hurts, you know?" Another pause. "Come on. I'll walk you back."

"If I'm to be honest, yes. But it is only in part because I am from the Bazaar." The perfumist hesitates, deciding whether to disclose further, but decides against it. Except for, "it's…complicated." Veresch's answer-that-is-only-just is enough of one for Sacitca, who merely nods understanding and doesn't press for more information. "It will take a long time before 'us and them' is gone, Veresch." She says it gently. "It's ingrained into us, it has been for a long time." When it started she doesn't know. Perhaps it dates all the way back to after the Comet. "Would you? Thank you." Getting unlost is definitely a plus. In any circumstance.

"That's just the problem, Sacci. No one will get closer unless there's an effort made, right?" Veresch the idealistic. "Zeyta argued that people that don't want to support themselves shouldn't get fed, but if we can find out why…" She grimaces and snaps the thought off. "What you've got to realise is that there's one main street in here, not many like the Bazaar. Whenever you get lost, close your eyes and stand really, really still. Eventually you'll detect which way the breeze is flowing, and that'll be the way out most of the time. It'll bring you out somewhere, at least, and from there you just go around through the bowl to the Caverns again." She cleans her things up quickly, putting the records to rights, and slips the shale-y bit of stone into her pocket. "Good luck on the Sands." It's traditional, that wish, and given to all her friends.

Sacitca doesn't have a distinct opinion on this just yet, so she just nods and makes agreeing noncommittal noises. "I'll…try to keep that in mind." She promises. "I'm not used to being unable to throw open a window and feel the fresh air." It's another thing she'll have to get used to, here. She waits while her friend puts things away, and when the other girl is done, she hugs her suddenly. The nowtimer doesn't ask, doesn't say anything. Just hugs her friend. And then releases her. "Sorry." It's all she says, and it's quiet. But that one word and her tone say more than all of her avoidances tonight. "And thank you."

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