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Elisa turns once she is halfway into the room and regards Peydra as she enters the doors. "Close them, please," she asks without inflection. But at least without the edge coldness from the Hall.
Peydra does so silently, swinging the doors shut with an audible click. She turns back to the Weyrwoman, her gaze a bit downcast and decidedly humble.
"I understand," Elisa continues in the same inflectionless voice, "that you are used to a bit more... discipline than what is currently the norm here at the Weyr." A /bit/ more discpline? Fort Hold is marine boot camp compared to Xanadu Weyr lately.
Peydra speaks quietly, denying the faintest hint of an excuse the Weyrwoman half-offers. "Yes, ma'am," she says, "but that makes my actions less excusable, not more. I had no right to question you, or Weyrleader S'tan, or Weyrwoman Sabria, and I am ashamed of my behavior towards Jyfer."
At the mention of Jyfer, Elisa is torn between disgust... and amusement. "Actually, between you and me," and there is the slightest emphasis on that qualifier, "I wanted to thank you for that." Hey, it was nice to actually have someone defend her instead of demand or criticize her. No, she isn't Sabria, and Faranth get everyone /else/ to accept that! "But. You are right. It is not excusable. Under normal circumstances, it would be up to the Weyrleader to set punishment." But. This is not going to be normal, apparently.
Peydra's voice is steady, even. "I understand, ma'am, and I am sure Weyrleader S'tan would defer to your judgement in this matter." She does not stress the name, or emphasize it in any way, but it's very presence marks it as significant.
Elisa's expression relaxes some, easing the lines around her eyes. "Considering the insult was to me, aye." He wouldn't have much choice, either. Not when Elisa's been digging her heels in as she has been lately. Apparently someone had reached her threshold. "However. Considering your history," and she remembers the background of every one of Zivath's offspring's riders. A quirk, if you will, "I do not think the normal punishments would suit you. Or Kinzhalth." Uh oh. The dragon is being included?
Wuh-oh. Peydra's chin merely lifts the slightest amount, a fractional, unspoken acceptance of whatever the Weywoman dictates. Lashes? She can bear them. Extra chores? Feh. Who needs free time? A handwritten apology, in verse, to be recited to the Weyr? Humiliation doesn't affect her (much). Work with the new steward? Well... let's not think about that one.
Elisa pulls one of the padded chairs out, and sits in it, pushing the one next to her away from the table, half turning it towards herself. "Come here," she instructs, indicating the empty chair. What in the worlds could she want?
Peydra's head tilts ever so slightly, a few degrees to one side in a quizzical cock. She complies without verbalizing the question though, moving with an actual wariness of physical threat.
"I had spoken with your father some time back," Elisa continues mildly. Commence with the cringing. "I suppose I should have noticed that the normal duties of a wingrider were not enough to keep you completely occupied." She sits back and lifts the wineglass that followed her in here, swirling the liquid within it, regarding the deep bluishly purple liquid. Blueberry wine. Her favorite. "I find that I am in need of a reliable... assistant." One she needs not worry about going proddy all of a sudden.
Wuh-oh again. A -- "An assistant?" Peydra repeats, cautiously. This... hmm. This is either a rather devious punishment or a way for the goldrider to smooth out the operations in the Weyr some. Or both. No, definitely both. The gears click in Peydra's head, and she decides, rather abruptly and firmly, that she is all for this particular breed of punishment.
"Yes," the goldrider replies with a sigh. "S'tan is newer to leadership than I am. I think the only reason Masagoth caught Zivath was..." She shakes her head. S'tan does love Elisa. He just has as many problems with personal relationships as leadership. And about as much experience. Anyway. "Kym is... not precisely the most stable element in the Weyr." Neither was Sabria, for that matter. "To put it plainly, I need help. Dealing with everyone. Holders, Crafters... all of them." She grins wryly, meeting Peydra's eyes. "It will require a monstrous amount of... self control."
And everyone knows how Peydra is famed for her self control. Really. The brownrider's head dips, though, her blue eyes serious. "I can only offer to do my best, Elisa," she says, slipping to the goldrider's name for the first time in... well, days. "And I can't guarantee that it will be good enough. There are... probably better choices for the position here."
"There were better choices for Weyrwoman," Elisa says bitterly, then sighs, eyes closing wearily. "All I would ever ask is your best, Peydra. I am sure you would never offer less." Something she cannot say of many others. "You've seen how the other have been behaving lately. Even though you were unhappy with me... you still defended me." Dark eyes open again. "No one else has since I got this sharding knot. I need that loyalty if I'm to even be half the Weyrwoman this Weyr needs." Sabria had gotten somewhat lax over the Turns. It's no wonder it's in its current state.
Peydra's gaze drops for a minute, her eyes tracking the Weyrwoman's knee rather than her eyes. Only a brief pause stretches, then she looks up again, seeks out the eye contact and dips her head slightly. "If you wish it," is all she says, but it is spoken with a definition which declares her full devotion to the cause with which Elisa has burdened her. Ah, youthful vigor.
"I will also warn you, it will not be easy. You can't let spiteful words directed at you to make you react before thinking." Elisa sighs and raises a hand to her temple with a distinct impression of pain in her eyes. Oh, did anyone mention the Weyrwoman is prone to migraines? Ask J'na, the dragonhealer who had to all but beat the goldrider into submission to take care of herself. "But I do wish it. Though my first request... you will likely not like."
Peydra's head turns slightly to one side, a subconscious brace for a blow the rider knows will not fall. Her eyes remain on Elisa's, though, accepting whatever it may be.
"Our former stablehand," Elisa replies, her tones clipped, out of aggravation, out of pain, out of shear weariness. "Jyfer." The girl the brownrider wished to skewer. "I think she might have learned her lesson. I can only hope." She sighs and presses her fingers into her temple until her nails are digging into the flesh. Not that it will banish the pain trying to make a break for it, but it's an attempt to hold it down a little. "However, Gifford had taken over the position of stablehand..." What to do with her now?
A slight nod dips Peydra's head, and a bit hesitantly she offers suggestion, unused to this officers' consultation thing. "So give her a different position. Something lower. Let her work her way back up. She has nothing now, she ought to be pleased with anything." Despite the tentative tones, her recommendation is not querelous; every statement is firmly statement.
Lower... lower... Floor. No, door mat wouldn't do. Too bumpy. And she'd probably make lots of noise for a while. Up a little bit. Elisa ahs and smiles a little. "Well, I am sure that the Weyr could use an extra hand. A drudge, perhaps. Seems fair?" Elisa asking for approval? Well, considering the difficulty in thinking straight at the moment.
Peydra is still a bit unsure of her role in this whole affair. Her head bobs slightly, offering the approval the Weyrwoman seems to seek.
"Good. Shards," Elisa says and just presses the heel of her hand against her head. "I should go tell her myself. She's expecting me..." That's why she needs an assistant, isn't it? One not prone to wildly PMSing dragons. (Proddy Masochistic Swearing) "Do you think... would you please inform her of this... restoration of her residency?" she asks, offering a resident's knot to Peydra, draped across a slightly shaking hand. She wants very much to crawl into a corner or under the table and curl up right now.
Peydra's head dips again, a slight jerkiness to the motion. "Yes, ma'am," she says quietly. A brief pause, then: "Go get some rest?" The advice is quiet, but heartfelt.
Elisa nods, looking up at Peydra, smiling weakly. "I will. If only to keep Zivath from telling Morianth. J'na'll have my hide if she finds out the headaches are back." Yes, even goldriders will hide things from people. Healers especially. They like nasty tasting /stuff/ and making people do things that are supposed to be good for them but totally interfere with their duties. There's a Weyr to take care of.
Peydra rises from her chair and takes a step back, then pauses, waiting for the dismissal she assumes is coming now.
"Go on," Elisa says. "I'll be fine." Well. Zivath'll make sure of that. Or tattle on her. "Just remember. No knives unless it is in self defense." Peydra wouldn't provoke... would she?
Peydra departs obediently.
** [To return to the RP in the Great Hall where Peydra reenters, click HERE.] **