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While the long hall sports a lounge in it's center, the sides are pocked with numerous side passages and doors leading off to the back of the cliffside Weyrs. While fairly deep within the mountain, windows with sills at least three or four spearlengths have been cut into the eastern side of the room to allow cooling breezes, easily closed with the latched shutters framing them. A long wooden table ringed with high backed chairs stretches through the lounge, a small hearth at the end of the hall is lit only at night to warm the occassional pot of klah, while a few small couches have been set against the sides for more casual seating. Tapestries imported from Benden Weyr hang upon the stony walls, interspaced by the lighter sisal hangings more popular here in the Southern Continent. Scenes of aerial battles long past serve to remind the residents of this hall of what once was. Obvious exits:
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Peydra can hardly be accused of delicacy; at five feet nine inches, her form has filled out with the solid bulk of muscle. Broad shoulders sport the well-defined muscles considered far more attractive on men, and her arms and legs continue the pattern, built for sturdy functionality more than grace or charm. The slight flare of chest and hips confirms her femininity, but do not come close to dominating her appearance. Dirty blond hair has been close-cropped for comfort and simplicity; its natural curl is subdued by the short length. A few freckles spatter her nose, and vivid blue eyes reflect light and moods with equal ease. Silver and purple twine on Peydra's shoulder; the mating of threads into a declaration of position: Wingrider of Xanadu Weyr. The strand of brown that laces through the ensemble marks her lifemate's color. A light tunic of tan cotton has been loosely belted around Peydra's waist, just tight enough to avoid obstruction without granting her much shape or cutting off the brush of air against the skin underneath. Her pants are long but loose and thin. Her thick boots are the only rebellion she makes against the heat; supremely practical in their durability. Peydra looks to be in her late teens. |
Silver frosts the copper and gold of her hair as it brushes the nape of her neck, waves and curls more telltale with the short length. Tiny lines crease the corners of large, deep indigo eyes, a hint of exotic in their slight tilt. Skin a dusky bronzen hue, it also hints at a bit of weathering. Soft rose red kisses her lips, brushes her cheeks, in natural coloration. Grace in her bearing is spoken in the way she carries herself. Callouses upon her slender, long-fingered hands tell of her familiarity with labor most would consider beneath her station. Equally, shapely legs that give her the sometimes foreboding height of 5'10", her demeanor softens a potentially imposing aire. The twining of purple and silver, the colors of Xanadu Weyr, is outshown by the vibrant ribbon of brillian red gold woven between, the multiple loops and tassles representing her position as Senior Weyrwoman. Cut from the vibrant heart of midnight, inky wherhide coats the long body of the goldrider, the darkness countermanded by asymmetrical coils of solar flares spiraling up her arms to her elbows. Shimmer obsidian embodies the legs of the flying gear, blending into flames that spin up to her knees from the mid-calf jet and gleamingly polished boots. Unblemished onyx take in the snug gloves and riding helmet that complete the ensemble. On a thin chain, a gold pendant in the shape of a flying dragon clutching a faceted red stone hangs, glittering as it catches the light. Elisa looks to be in her mid thirties. |
Over by the small hearth, stretched out on the couch next nearest it, is the senior weyrwoman. What Elisa is doing down here... who knows. Maybe she just got tired of climbing stairs and decided to stop. Either way, there she is.
Peydra trudges up the stairs, heading for her weyr. A small bag dangles off a long cord in one hand, and the other is wrapped around her abdomen a bit protectively. She pauses when she spots the Weyrwoman. "Elisa?" she offers, a bit hesitantly.
Elisa starts a bit, opening her eyes and blinking owlishly. "Huh?" So eloquent for such a highly ranked individual, isn't she? She smiles a bit and offers a slight wave, sitting up and running her hand through her hair. Not that it helps, it's still a bit mussed. "Evening, Peydra." Yawn. Stretch. Sigh.
She does a lot better than Peydra for eloquence, believe me. The brownrider crosses to perch on the edge of a chair, a halfway position that could settle or depart with little notice. "This is... a different kind of place to find you. You okay?" You running from S'tan?
"Oh, I'm fine," is the reply. Avoiding S'tan, really. Elisa smiles faintly and shrugs. "Not too many people here this time of night during this weather. Either up in their weyrs for the night or down in the Great Hall swapping stories and marks." Drinking and gambling. At least not as population inflating as other activities. "It's quiet here." Great for thinking and without the draft of her cabin.
"Yeah," Peydra agrees, settling in a bit more, though not much. "I was outside a bit earlier today. Out on the beach, with Anki. In that patch of clear weather we had. It was nice." She doesn't volunteer much more than that, though some part of her stream of thought may be missing, given that she jumps to: "So, we have a new head steward. Had to happen eventually, I guess."
Elisa grins faintly. "I haven't had the chance to really work with him," she replies with some chagrin. "I think half the staff in this Weyr would only recognize me by my handwriting sometimes." That knot helps some, too. She loves it. Really. She looks up at the brownrider. "Have you met him?" It's an honest enough question.
"Yes." Peydra's flat tone is an honest enough answer, and she goes no further than that.
Elisa raises an eyebrow at the tone. "Oh?" To ask? To not ask... nah. She's already asking a lot of the brownrider. She looks at the hearth and lightly taps the bottle warming in the heat of the low fire. Mulled spiced wine. Mmm. "Would you like some?" she offers, indicating the bottle before she seeks out something to drink /from/. Other than the bottle.
Peydra shakes her head slightly. "I'm actually at my quota for the evening," she confesses wryly. "So I oughtn't." She lifts one hand to rub at the back of her neck. "How has your day been? I meant to catch you sometime this morning, but life interfered."
Elisa grins faintly as she sits back against the softer back of the chair. "Busy," she replies. "Had meetings most of the day. Couple of traders, few local holders." All looking for some agreements with the Weyr that would benefit themselves. Quietly moving into the realm of trade. "Not that I could keep my mind on anything," she confesses. Heck with a cup. Bottle serves just as well. At least it is more than half empty. Could be worse.
Peydra's lips twitch into a brief smile. "Yeah," she agrees again. "Rough sevenday for you, I guess. How's... " She trails off, abandoning her train of thought. "Um. How's Zivath doing?" That was not what she was originally planning to ask, but it makes a good question.
"Ah." Peydra accepts the skirting peaceably. Her thoughts still for the moment, the brownrider lets her eyes track the room slowly. "Kinzhalth wants me to grow my hair out," she says. "I'm considering agreeing."
Elisa tilts her head to the side, considering the brownrider. And how to respond. One does not tell a young woman like Peydra that she would look 'beautiful,' 'cute,' or 'more like a girl.' She'd likely shave her head in response. "How long?" she finally says, in a tone of contemplation.
Peydra lifts a hand, waving it just above her shoulder to indicate. "Long enough that I can tie it all back," she says. "My hair gets really insane when I grow it at all."
Elisa nods and smiles, unsurprised, really. If she saw Peydra with wild hair, it would likely be quite fitting in appearance. "I think it would become you well," she replies "Besides, if it gets too bothersome, you can always cut it off." Elisa, herself, appears to have been newly shorn recently. There's more silver showing than ever between the copper and gold highlights.
Peydra's lips twitch upwards into a reluctant smile. "That's what you think," she says. "Once I give in a bit, Kin'll never let me go back. He'll keep demanding more stuff. I only let myself consider it when he's asleep."
"They always demand," Elisa says with a soft sigh and tolerantly amused smile. "Always. Sometimes you give in, sometimes you stand fast. Depending on their mood, they'll remember one action or the other." A sigh again and eyes are rubbed with the first finger and thumb lightly. "Maybe Jyfer's right." Sounds like someone is tired.
Peydra peers at Elisa. "About what?" she says, "her need to grovel? She was right about that."
That brings a faint smile to the goldrider's lips. "Stepping down," Elisa replies simply. "It's like trying to ride herd on a flock of wherries. Get one going where you want, all the rest are scattering to the four winds, or flapping you in the head." Yep. Definitely tired.
Peydra shrugs. "If you want to," she says simply. "Your call, certainly. Give it back to Sabria. Or let Muireann take over. Or hey, maybe you're luck out and Fabrinath will lay a gold egg. You can turn it over to whoever impresses to that hatchling, right?"
Elisa sighs. "Chaos'd reign. I couldn't do that to the Weyr." Hand is removed from her eyes as she looks up at Peydra with a wan look. "I just don't know what to do anymore. Kym hates S'tan. S'tan maintains he's a lousy Weyrleader so he won't even /try/ or ask for help from Rafe. I just want to /smack/ them all sometimes!"
"Kick her out." Peydra's suggestion is immediate and to the point. "Seriously. If Kym can't work with the Weyrleader, /she/'s the one that needs replacing, not him. Do you think S'tan would be as down on his abilities if she weren't constantly and publically berating him? Find someone who'll /force/ advice on him, rather than someone who'll insult and coddle him."
Elisa pauses for a moment, considering that. "We need someone with experience. S'tan doesn't have it. Kym's been Weyrsecond for Turns." She grins wryly. "There's been enough upheaval. I don't know how much more the Weyr can withstand. I want to stabilze the Weyr. Not destroy it utterly."
"Well, then make Kym act stable," Peydra responds. "Seriously, if anyone else had been acting the way she was in the great hall, they would have been snapped at, and while you /did/ snap at her, the higher-ranking a person is, the /more/ they should be held accountable. Nothing's going to stablize until the whole inner circle -- top three people, that is -- can work together, at least in appearance."
The goldrider sighs and nods. "You are right," Elisa replies ruefully. "It's just... I wish I knew how to approach S'tan. He's my /weyrmate/," she says softly, though with intensity. Her... affection for him is apparent. "It would have been so much easier if another had caught Zivath. I can't just... leave my duties behind." Talk about on duty /all/ the time.
Peydra nods slightly and silently, her eyes dropping to her knee. "Why," she asks, "are men so sharding insufferable?"
Because they like to wear pants that constrict bloodflow to their 'brain'? "I wish I knew," Elisa replies in echoing chagrin. "If I could figure that out, this Weyr'd be in order so quick, people wouldn't know what happened." Impress more women? Eek! Scary thought, that.
Peydra laughs at that. "Faranth, yes," she agrees, lifting her hand to again rub at her neck. "I ought to go," she offers apologetically. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, though? Try and get some sleep. You want to stay with me and Kin?"
Elisa looks surprised at the offer. Totally and utterly shocked, actually. (Apparently, she doesn't have too many offers of refuge.) "It wouldn't be a bother?" she asks. Her gold half seems content enough with her bronze mate for once. Definitely no signs of rising anytime soon.
Peydra is a bit taken aback by Elisa's utter surprise, but she recovers quickly. "No, not at all," she says. "The place is more than big enough for us."
Elisa smiles and nods after a moment of silent self-debate. "Just for the night," she accepts. "If I can just clear my head once," And sleeping with the Weyrleader--the real one--does not help just now. "...I might be able to figure out how to approach this... problem."
Peydra nods back. "Well, let's hope," she says, offering a hand to the goldrider to help her up. Stress does not improve one's balance.
Elisa accepts the assistance, grimacing as she gets to her feet. "One of these days, I'll catch up on myself," she promises. Just don't let the healers in the area find out she's pushing herself again. Irracible is a mild description. She pauses to recork the winebottle and replace it in a nearly empty rack. Who's to know?
Peydra nods simply, then crosses to her room, opening the door and holding it for Elisa before passing through herself.
Elisa heads up the stairs to Peydra's room.
Peydra heads up the stairs to Peydra's room.