Who

Diem, Nasrin

What

Diem shares some news and mandatory suggestions.

Condensing current events not quite in sequence.

When

It is midmorning of the sixteenth day of the sixth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Leadership Ledges/Council Chambers

OOC Date 14 Mar 2018 04:00

 

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“Now would also be a good time to discuss your neighboring ledge.”


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Leadership Ledges

Set into a low-inclined hill at the base of the northernmost caldera wall, the Leadership Ledges are precisely what it sounds like: the echoing weyrs of Igen's golden dams are to be found here, alongside that of the Weyrleader. Hollowed out caves in porous rock are given grand facades on the exterior, each ledge exterior decorated with elegant walls and well-carved windows, with tidy little outbuildings housing a queen's worth of draconic necessities. Yet even this place shows Igen's dishevel: greenery lies thick on the slopes, too haphazard to be intentional beauty.


As the ground level ledges, serving as the leadership sector, curves to follow the round basin of the bowl, there is an uncommon scene of Nasrin seated on a stool. That doesn’t scream Armageddon. It’s two caprines also occupying the ledge she’s staring at, as if rumor has it they speak and wanting to hear so for herself. Their hair is sleek, one apricot colored, the other muted grey and black-trimmed. Each has horns which spiral— a balanced sort of trait as they examine and make quick work of Pern’s rock-loving heliotropes. Hobbled, they have no easy means of escape, which means the weyrwoman can continue to deliberate a while longer.

The current temperature helps draw Diem away from the fireplace and out of her weyr entirely once Zsaviranth confirms the whereabouts of Rajakhelath’s rider. The younger gold’s ledge isn’t far from hers and images of Nasrin with caprines are projected upon Diem, which feeds a growing curiosity and motivates her to step outside. Wrapping a shawl over her head and shoulders, the senior goldrider descends steps that lead her toward Rajakhelath’s ledge where Nasrin is seated. “You know, most people have felines for pets…” she says with a half smirk as she draws near.

Human speech, not the hoof scratches of caprines, hoists Nasrin’s gaze to the approaching Weyrwoman. “Not exactly,” an eyebrow creeps upward during the explanation of their presence. “Remember when I took your place during a session with Lord Szirad? Eighth month I think. Well, his Lordness sent me a token of his appreciation for my ‘practical dialogue and worldly contribution’.” She quotes from the courier’s letter that came with the animals. “These are a valuable breeding pair for their fleece, so I’m told.” She rises from the stool and looks into the cavern of her weyr. “I must keep them from Lukoith. Will you come in for a while? We may discuss other things besides caprines and wanton dragons.”

Diem looks genuinely pleased with Nasrin’s ability to unknowingly entice gifts from this particular Lord Holder. A nod follows from underneath the hood of her shawl and she pivots toward the weyr’s entryway, but thinks a different thought. “Follow me to the council chambers? If you can. Are you going to tether them while we’re inside?” A beat, “Wendryth would keep an eye on them if Zsaviranth asked him to, and he'd protect them from a prowling Lukoith.” Because the bronze is chivalrous! Diem glances toward the Weyrleader’s ledge and then exhales a breath when she notes the weyr adjacent to his. “Now would also be a good time to discuss your neighboring ledge.”

Council Chambers
Once disproportionately grandiose, the recent regimes have scaled the gaudy aura of Igen's council rooms down to better match the fit of the work executed within these walls. Spartan still, with foreboding stonework and a heavy wooden door, the innards of the room are swallowed by a giant round table, an ancient creation of fire-hardened wood carved with the three dunes of Igen. Comfortable chairs surround that monolith to authority, all similar but two, grandiose things left as memories of a past mentality. The walls are lined with elegant old tapestries, depicting scenes of ancient Igen glories.

Nasrin certainly isn’t bringing the herbivores inside her weyr. “They can’t get far with their front legs tied, but I’ll…” the paler of the two caprines comes with a leading rope, which the woman doubles around her hand and tugs the first animal closer toward the weyr’s entrance. “…send for a handler while Euskal keeps two eyes on them. They might need water.” She generates a flicker of two thoughts, one to her firelizard and the other to Rajakhelath to summon a stablehand. Brushing a hand over her front to slim the robe’s fabric there, Nasrin gestures for Diem to lead the transition to the inner caverns. Uncapping two glowbaskets along the way to increase the level of light, the junior busies herself in the chamber drawing from a jar of black currant compote— a stash from a meeting prior. Vesting only partial interest in ledges, “the crack hasn’t spread, has it?”

Diem precedes Nasrin to the council chambers and deems it warm enough to drape the knitted shawl over her shoulders instead of her head. “No, the crack is still very much there.” Which reminds her that she needs to get the ledge looked at by the Weyrsmith before a new tenant is assigned. Glancing around the room, Diem wraps the shawl tighter around her frame and folds her arms across her middle to make sure a draft doesn’t touch her skin. “It’s Ione. She accepted a junior weyrwoman position at Ista effective immediately.”

“Sometimes I miss my settee. Think it’d fit in here?” Crossing the span of space from a shelf to Diem, Nasrin visibly hesitates when the news is received, eyes skipping their usual sequence of blinking. Her arm starts to lower to provide the other goldrider with the drink, “I didn’t anticipate that.” The news starts to be absorbed as the junior takes one of the upholstered chairs with ram fleece set over the back. “I’ll be sorry to see her go; I hope health wasn’t a factor.” Rather than than drink the compote, Nasrin sets the metal glass against her lip, then speaks to ask, “what are your plans for duty redistribution?”

The chairs are considered for a moment before Diem finally takes a seat with her knees together and shawl wrapped tight. “Her health is fine. I assume her preference for a warmer climate without frequent sandstorms was a factor in her decision making process.” She can’t exactly blame the gal if that’s the case, but Ione’s reasons are her own. “Looking back, I wonder if I could have persuaded her to stay. I’m just,” she wavers a bit. “Not one for changing people’s minds once they’ve been set.” Her shoulders lift into a shrug and she lets out a breathy sigh. “I’m not sure at this very moment. For now, it’s just you and I again.” Tawny eyes lift to observe Nasrin’s reaction.

Nasrin presses her shoulders against the back of the chair, willing herself to relax and observe the moment. "I know Niatskivhiath thought the desert was miserable, drew the moisture right out of her hide." Shea butter en masse, anyone? "To their health," she champions a just cause to take the first legitimate drink after it's hoisted in the air like a schooner's new sail. "And our staff. While I'm at it," thinking of the consequences without them now, "let's drink to their health too. And the eggs." Head tilt up and above. "Anyone else who could use the benediction?"

"H'rik." Diem responds before lifting her glass and taking a swig. "He's doing a fine job at staying sane amidst the changes happening all around him. Now he'll have to listen to me pontificate about how we're going to split the tasks when I am egg sitting." Zsaviranth is a relatively low maintenance queen, but there are times she gets testy when Diem ventures too far from the hatching cavern for too long. "He's such a nice guy, Nasrin." Apparently she's going somewhere with this thought. "You know, we should tell him that we're going to Southern for a diplomatic visit to see Mayte and Amani." A beat, "And their Weyrleader. Who I heard is also a very nice guy." To look at. "What do you think?"

Expression stabilized while the Weyrwoman responds, Nasrin wraps both hands around the metal cup as it stands on the ornate table. "Pontificate," she recites, "is that it? That's more of a mouthful than Crom stew. But really, if I use a pittance of imagination, I can see you being somewhat of a malcontent." The junior taking liberties smiles enough to almost invoke a dimple. After listening to the suggestion and H'rik and Va'os, Nasrin opines, "…two very nice guys as Weyrleaders?"

Diem will make sure that the Weyr's archivist takes note of Nasrin's almost dimpled smile, which adds even more fuel to the senior's cause. "Yes, they are!" Her cup clunks onto the glossy table top for a little emphasis. "Now I know we're going to be short staffed for the next few months, but that doesn't mean you can't take some time to yourself. You know," Fingers wiggle toward the large wooden doors. "Take a few days to visit someplace that isn't Igen." Maybe it's some guilt she feels about Ione leaving, or maybe her mind's just fluttering from one thought to the next about the new workload. But, by Faranth, Nasrin is going to take a vacation! "I'll arrange our visit to Southern… and maybe you'll want to stay an extra day on your own."

All kidding aside, Nasrin starts to rally a reply in her mind about a political sojourn to Southern, when it evolves (devolves?) into a 'vacation'. Ulterior motives are expected at once. "With all due respect, I don't think now would be a good time to idly beach comb or evaluate fashion trends abroad…" Because isn't that what everyone does on holiday? "And if you're insisting because you feel some sort of guilt over Ione, I assure you, I need no special treatment." As it becomes clear Diem will do this regardless, Nasrin tries a different scare tactic. "Leaving Igen to just H'rik and S'tol?" AKA The Mens.

"Nonsense, now's the perfect time." Diem refutes with a wave of her hand. "It's better to take some time away now since we haven't established a new routine yet. Cremla and her assistants can handle a day or two by themselves." A dark colored brow quirks at Nasrin as she attempts to recall the last bit of time off the girl has had. Has she ever had time off since becoming her junior…? The idea makes Diem slightly anxious. "H'rik and S'tol won't be able to inflict too much damage while we're away." And if they do, Zsaviranth is going to send Wendryth on an epic pilgrimage across Pern. "It's just a day, Nasrin." Maybe two.

Maybe two, she says. Nasrin looks into her cup and at a piece of floating fruit, feeling sort of that buoyant/adrift. "…if you think it so." Who will feed her goats and keep them from Lukoith? Take them with her? « No. They would be a burden I'm unwilling to carry. » While Nasrin highlights the word 'traitor' in her mind, the junior will have to relent, at least for the journey to Southern. "Just so you're aware, Weyrwoman, there may be snow." Like what Igen sometimes has, only more foul. Spotting someone rapping lightly on the door and pointing toward Diem, Nasrin draws her time to a close. "I'll make preparations. And dig out my thick socks."

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