Logs:'Strange'
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| RL Date: 3 August, 2013 |
| Who: Hattie, N'dalis |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: N'dalis has a brief conversation with the Weyrwoman. |
| Where: Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions |
| Summer has yet to truly sink its teeth into the Weyr, but the early days of clearer skies and warmer temperatures still make for pleasant evenings that don't send people running to be hearthside quite so early. Most of the time that Hattie has spent outside of her weyr of late has involved brief stays in warmer caverns, but this evening the summer skies have her braving the bowl; specifically the lakeside grove, where she can sit and watch the goings-on around her. Bundled up in a long leather coat and scarf more suitable for winter, the goldrider sits at one of the tables that affords a clear view of the centre of the bowl and of the skies above, where Elaruth, so long gone from the sky, spirals in lazy circles. It's been more than two months since the barracks caved in, and finally, N'dalis' leg is free of that cast, though he still supports his somewhat halting steps with a singe crutch. He's without his green, this evening, visible first in the distance, as he crosses the sandy lake shore, and then more closely as he heads for the grove. His free hand is clutched towards his chest, holding something - a piece of hide or paper, maybe? - clutched there; though he's keeping an eye on where he's going, and on forcing his thin, wasted leg to move steadily, it's obvious that his attention is otherwise elsewhere. Hands that are sheltered up sleeves as protection against the non-existent chill retreat from their hiding places as Hattie dares to unwind her scarf a little, glancing this way and that out of habit; that habit of someone used to being /watched/ whether they like it or not. It draws her attention to N'dalis and his progress towards the grove, the affair of steps and crutch given study for the few moments she needs to gather the rhythm - or lack of - of his paces. "Dal," she lifts her voice to greet, only to quickly amend: "Suraieth's N'dalis." N'dalis' head lifts, and - hastily - he transfers his paper to the hand holding the crutch so that he can execute a proper salute in reply to Hattie's greeting. "Weyrwoman, ma'am," he says. And, "Dal's fine. 'N'dalis' still feels foreign, half the time. Are you - that is to say, I hope you're well, ma'am." There's something genuine about his concern, and that gaze that lingers on her even as he adjusts his stance all over again, paper returned to the other hand, crutch secured more steadily. "My rank's on loan at the moment," Hattie says wryly, observing the adjustment of stance and paper as she speaks. "I think we can manage names, if I'm to call you Dal. I won't tell if you won't." She turns a little so that she might rest her arms against the table's edge, inviting, "Would you like to take a seat?" with a flutter of fingers over at the bench opposite. "All... seems to be improving," is a tentative assessment of her own wellbeing. "And you? Suraieth?" Though he visibly pauses for this strange idea of employing /names/ in lieu of titles, N'dalis' expression shifts, and then he nods. "If you say so, ma'- Hattie. I'm glad to hear that things are improving." It takes him some juggling to make it to the bench, and to settle himself upon it, but it seems to be a kind of juggling he's used to, even comfortable with. "Very glad to be out of plaster," he says, then, expressing himself with the distant cousin of a smile. "Although I'll be glader still once I've built the muscles up again. Su's good. It'll be a while before she flies, still, but she's patient, and she's /healing/, which is the important thing." "I can imagine." Where 'imagine' is synonymous with 'sympathise', for Hattie gives a subconscious flex of her fingers as though they could speak for her own wasted muscles. "It isn't pleasant, not being able to rely on your body as you once could." She inclines her head the slightest bit, a faint smile curving her lips at that news of his young green. "They have amazing regenerative abilities," she murmurs. "And perhaps seeing some of the others fly and make their mistakes will help instruct her in what /not/ to do when she makes her first attempts, as frustrating as the wait may be." Regarding N'dalis, her gaze slips out of focus for a second or two, some internal debate going on, but then she presses on and asks, "Am I right in thinking she was... troubled a while ago?" N'dalis acknowledges Hattie's sympathy with some of his own: a serious expression, and a short, meaningful nod. "When there are things you know you could do, and now..." But he breaks off, because as much as he'd probably /rather/ talk about Suraieth's future attempts at flight, Hattie's question is rather more pertinent. He sucks in a breath, visibly troubled, and gives a slight uneasy nod. "She's forgotten now, thankfully, and it hasn't happened again... there was a strange voice, one she couldn't identify. But he - /it/ - spoke to her the way Tajireth used to. Used the same words. But Tajireth's dead, even if there's no body. He has to be dead." Hattie bites down on the inside of her lip, the motion betrayed by their slight twist. "...Elaruth keened the moment she couldn't hear him," she says softly. "She doesn't remember anymore, but /I/ remember her sensing something /missing/. And, if he's /gone/, he has to be..." Dead, even though she doesn't utter the word. "Suraieth... All of your class has been through something awful. It could have been stress. /Her/ remembering through you." That said, she holds up a hand, quickly adding, "I'm not suggesting that she's crazy or that there's anything wrong with her. There are still times when I don't know what's Elaruth and what's me. You could have had a moment like that." Hattie's hasty amendment comes in good time, N'dalis having already opened his mouth to say /something/, his cheeks darkening, his expression intensifying. Her words settle him enough to give a hesitant, if not wholly convinced, kind of nod. "It's possible," he agrees. "It makes more sense than... She's not usually prone to hysterics. She's all about /logic/ and /reason/, and it just seemed so out of character, but now... it's hard to credit it all, now. Whatever it was, I just don't want it to happen again. Ma'- Hattie. Is the Weyrlingmaster coming back? If you know anything. I know you're not... /on duty/ at the moment." "...And she /is/ still very young," Hattie tacks on, angling a quick look up at the sky, where Elaruth drifts low enough to skim the heights of the bowl walls. "I wouldn't dwell on it. Not to be a prophet of doom, but there will be more difficult days ahead, the more complex what she's required to learn becomes." She can smile again there, sympathy held within her dark gaze, though it gradually leans more and more towards apology at mention of the Weyrlingmaster. "...I don't know where Ebeny has gone. Or why," she has to confess, a glance given the tabletop. "I like to /hope/ that gossip has no truth to it. Has Suraieth tried to speak with Laurienth?" N'dalis' lips part: not a /smile/, but perhaps the ghost of one, clearly intended for reference to his dragon. "She is," he agrees. "No, of course. It's /that/ we should be focusing on." He's clearly not surprised by the answer to his question, though his brows knit and he seems - concerned? Sorrowful? "Su says Laurienth isn't communicative, really, but that she's checked in on her. I'm just - it worries me. And it isn't mine to worry about, of course, but I hate to think that she's not okay. I don't /understand/ what's going on at the moment. I keep hearing about riders being /missing/, and - I'm sorry. You're not supposed to be worried with this kind of thing, are you?" Hattie shakes her head like she could negate the need for an apology with that simple gesture. "Don't be," she assures. "My health may have taken an unexpected leave of absence, but this is still my home and if you're worried, then I should worry too." There would be such scorn from a younger Hattie for her saying that. "I've heard nothing of the Weyrlingmaster's knot being handed in," she states, lifting her hand to conceal a cough that wrenches its way free. "So, I can only assume she's coming back. As for those missing... they're not /gone/, but... Elaruth can't get enough of a secure sense of them to talk to any of them." Even with that assurance, N'dalis seems hesitant, but he ultimately squares his shoulders, nods, and doesn't argue: if /she/ says so... "I'm sure there's been a lot of pressure on her," he says, his brow wrinkling. "Dealing with... everything. I know some of my clutchmates are struggling, still. It's just that - I think some of them feel abandoned, and I know that's not fair, but... I just hope she's all right, and that she'll come back feeling better. If that's what it is." For the missing, he chews some dry skin from his lip, worrying at it one piece at a time. "I didn't know they could do that. But - I know there's a lot I don't know about dragons, still. I only know Su, and even then..." "No, it is fair," Hattie counters quietly. "She was there and now she isn't and you don't know when or if she's coming back." And yet she seems oddly reassured by that; that there is some feeling of abandonment. "If you didn't care that she was gone, then she wouldn't be any good at her job, I suppose. With all the rumours we hear, it's a positive thing that you want her back. Otherwise, we might need to look for a new Weyrlingmaster. I'm not saying that she's /right/ in what she's doing," definitely not, given her deep frown, "but I'm glad that she's... effective, when she's here." As for those missing riders, she has to confess: "...Neither did I. I can only hope that, whatever their reasons, they're something /good/ that we don't yet understand, rather than something /bad/." N'dalis' answering nod is slow; his words are even slower, coming some time after Hattie has finished speaking. "When the barracks came down, she didn't hesitate," he says, not much above a whisper. "Not for a second. She just... jumped into action, helped those of us who needed help. I respected her before that, but since... Yes, I want her back. I can't speak for everyone, of course, but I'd be surprised if anyone didn't." He's turned his gaze away from Hattie - turned it so that he can stare at the grove of trees, and give /them/ his attention instead. "I hope so," he says, of the missing riders. "It just... I guess we'll see. Things aren't always this strange at Fort, are they?" "She's a mother." Hattie knows that much of the greenrider. "You might not be /kids/, but... You have a son, if I'm informed correctly? You know why she didn't hesitate." All uttered softly, her focus not quite on N'dalis, as if to give them both the privacy to mull over that thought, as a mother and a father. "Let's hope that she /isn't/ a secret thorn in our sides," she breathes out with a hint of wryness. "And well... give it a few turns. Your definition of 'strange' might... wander a bit." That wryness reaches the twist of her lips that could be a smile if she let it be. A figure crossing the bowl with a heavily wrapped-up bundle in their arms catches her attention and begins to draw her to her feet before she knows what's good for her, pain unintentionally acknowledged with the press of her hand to her side. "Speaking of children... I should see to my youngest. If Suraieth needs anything, she can always speak to Elaruth, you know? She /is/ her grandmother." The wisdom of the (not) elderly? N'dalis does know-- and it's abruptly obvious in his expression, and the way his gaze slides away from the grove of trees, and /to/ the paper he was carrying so close to his heart, earlier. It might linger there for longer, or give him more thought, but Hattie's movement draws his gaze upwards once more. He catches that pain, and it narrows his gaze, but he makes no remark on it. Instead, "Of course. Thank you. I appreciate your frankness. I didn't say before, but... congratulations, on your son." His mouth remains half open for several more seconds, quite as though there's something else he would say, but whatever it is is held back (for now). "I'll tell Su. Thank you for that, too." Before she seeks to start making her own slow progress across the bowl, Hattie hesitates at the side of the table and inclines her head, brightness touching her eyes. "Thank you," she answers sincerely, for that is one thing she can finally be joyful in. "And you're welcome. Anytime." Then, well, her strides aren't long and her progress isn't quick, but she turns and begins to head on after the nanny who, presumably, carries her son the way of her weyr and home. |
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