Logs:A Distraction
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| RL Date: 20 December, 2015 |
| Who: Dahlia, T'gar |
| Involves: Fort Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: T'gar offers Dahlia distraction from a discomforting day of events at Fort Weyr. |
| Where: Tiny Glacial Valley and Pond, near High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 8, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Farideh/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, R'oan/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Death triggers. |
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>---< Tiny Glacial Valley and Pond, near High Reaches Weyr (TP Room - HRW) >-<
Not far from High Reaches Weyr, this sheltered, shallow valley tucked
into the mountains is reachable only by dragonwings, and is home to many
ponds and hardy trees, the former thawing only in deep summer. During
summer, it is also festooned with wildflowers and scrubby grasses. It was early, if not as early as Zaisavyth began her clutching (Taeliyth's no savage) that the Fortian gold addressed the 'Reaches bronze to let him know T'gar would be wanted today (she makes no apologies for the fact that the other gold's clutching was so soon after). He should let her know when drills were finished and she would direct them to where they were then, acknowledging limitations of his weyrling status. When that time came, the directions were simple. It's not a far flight from the Weyr, but Taeliyth provides it in paces, visualizations like he might receive once he learns to between, and if they should make it to the little shallow valley, they'll find Dee, only Dee, with a blanket spread by one of the ponds, with three full pots and one empty one holding down the four corners, a picnic basket, booze and all the makings of a nice date, which might raise the question. One mightn't expect, though, that the woman in more practical attire today, three-quarter khaki cargo pants and a light green blouse wouldn't be sitting on her knees in the dirt, potting some of the wildflowers, hands covered in dirt. Indeed, Asaroth is the one running the Reaches show - as in, when the Fortian queen comes calling, he doesn't alert T'gar right away. That he hasn't told his weyrling that Dee was a weyrwoman will probably be evident when the par finally arrives, the flight from the Weyr a slow and careful one before landing. Rat has on his worn hand-me-down riding leathers and gear, the brawny man looks over the spread Dee has laid, then Dee herself as he approaches. "You clean up nice," is his greeting, nodding towards her once he's loosened Asaroth's straps. "Though finding out only minutes ago that you're one of Fort's weyrwoman would have something to do with that." He doesn't look upset though, crouching down to sit on his knees as he asks, "Do you always leave Fort masquerading as a kitchen girl?" Dahlia's eyes drew from the plant when Asaroth came into sight, but it only served to hurry her along in the task. She's finishing, just as the bronzerider approaches and she has a bright smile for him, not the least ashamed of the dirt on her hands that doesn't come all the way off as she brushes them together. "Minutes ago?" is some measure of confusion, followed by the briefly far-away look of one conferring with her dragon. Her brow furrows a little, but whatever might bother her is soon lost in a light laugh, "You're making the assumption that I look any different on any day at home. I don't come from means, I'm hard on my clothes, and Fort's not in any position to be affording new wardrobes, even if I wanted one." She shrugs as if the clothes, or her overall look isn't of much concern to her. She does lean a little toward the bronzerider to confide, "I think the laundry has begun 'losing' the things they disapprove of most. I'm not sure if that's under orders or if they've simply taken it upon themselves to deprive me so I'll have to do something about it." "Asaroth thought it wise at the time to withhold the information," Rat tells her with a arched look going towards the watching bronze. Once settled while he examines the spread more closely, something Dee says draws an amused snort from him before he comments, "You're definitely not from here. Have you seen the way Farideh and Irianke dress? I made the assumption that that was how all weyrwomen were like even beyond this place." He eyes that picnic basket. His belly might be heard rumbling. It might be the expressiveness in T'gar's voice about the 'Reaches weyrwomen that has Dee laughing again, just a little, leaving her warm look lingering on his face. "Actually, I haven't met them yet, but that's not important. I don't dress much like Hattie does or Lilah did. I'm not sure goldriders are so much of a kind as Pern might like to believe." She follows his look to the basket, grins, and then looks back to her plant. "I need to get some water on this dirt," from the pond just over there, "But go ahead and help yourself? I had time today so I stopped a couple of places and--" she gestures. It's probably better food fare than either of them is likely to have seen in a while. Then she's gracefully rising with her newly potted flower and heading to do as she said. From the pond, she calls back, "Would you not have come if you'd known I'm a goldrider?" "You can be surprised," is what T'gar says with a slight shrug. "I've spent most of my life out in Holds and on trails and many regard weyrwomen as untouchable." Once Dee mentions watering her plants (and food), he does indeed reach for the basket immediately. "Haven't had anything to eat yet," might be his apology as he opens it up and peers inside. "Asaroth drew me here the moment I ended drills for the day. I have some time before they notice that their wingleader's gone." He's pulling random things out now, looking up and following her with his gaze as she goes over to the nearby pond before she asks the last. His answer to that falls with, "That doesn't matter to me. I'm surprised you called for me, actually. Asaroth mentioned something about the sands...?" "All weyrwomen are touchable at least once every two to five turns, if their gold is fertile," Dahlia returns with good humor; some women might be troubled by flights, but the Southerner doesn't seem to be, but then what do they teach those topless heathens down South? "I'm sorry you didn't have a choice then, and I won't keep you if you need to-- or want to-- get back. I was looking for some distraction today," she admits as she returns to the blanket with dripping hands, and pot which gets set beside the empty one. "Taeliyth's-- Zaisavyth--" She starts trying to explain, settling on the simple: "They don't get along, and I don't have many friends since the plague. I enjoyed talking with you, so I thought I'd ask if you minded." It all seems pretty simple and straight-forward as explanations go. "So the rest of that time you're not?" T'gar hears what he wants to hear, or, at least he is good at reaching some conclusions. "Untouchable, that is?" He pops a piece of dried fruit into his mouth. On apologies, "Don't worry about it....ma'am? Should I be calling you ma'am? I'm not even sure. I'm willing to provide the distraction, especially since you're feeding me." His smile could be infectious. Talk of her queen and the plague draw a pique of his interest and, "You lost people to the plague? I've heard some things about how the other Weyrs got affected, but....and Zaisavyth's the senior queen from Monaco? I've been hearing the gossip." As for him minding at all, he gives Dee a look that clearly conveys that she didn't even have to hesitate. Verbally, "I have time for any woman that's kind to me." "The rest of the time, I expect goldriders are like any other woman and it depends almost completely on who it is that's wanting to touch her-- me-- the goldrider." There's a little fluster there for all Dahlia's easy humor about the topic. At least her blush is only faint. "Dee is fine," dismisses the idea of 'ma'am', adding, "I'm only eighteen and you're not one of my riders." All that becomes quite sober in the wake of the next topic. "Zaisavyth's the new senior queen from Monaco," she confirms. "Mirinda's lifemate." She doesn't add more than that, but she does say, "Sixty dead in Fort Weyr. Others weakened. Half the Weyr ill." Her look is briefly the faraway look of one who's seen much. When she looks back to T'gar, she summons a smile that doesn't reach her eyes and moves to kneel next to the basket and do a little digging of her own. "So, wingleader this month?" Sure, it's obvious, but she seems genuinely interested. "I'm pretty sure there's plenty looking to touch you," Rat notes, amusement lingering in his tone. "Eighteen, huh?" Yeah, he's looking. He's looking Dee over openly as he chews through some bread, and that chewing slows in the wake of hearing how the plague had devastated Fort Weyr. There's a slight frown from him as he takes that in, shaking his head towards the end. "I hope your home can recover," he says low, and soberly, looking at her. He doesn't linger on the hard subject, sending a quick grin her way on wingleadership as he nods. "Yeah. It's....it's interesting. Being in charge. Can't say I hate it, actually. I'm starting to have all these ideas, too. It's nice, but it means I seem to stay busy." "Yeah, probably," is touched with an embarrassed laugh. "Less now that Taeliyth doesn't seem likely to be senior queen anytime soon and give anyone fancy knots for their trouble." But that must be a relief for it reads that way in Dahlia's expression. "Thank you," is low and sincere in turn. "We're working hard in that hope and belief." That it can, that it will. "Busy is the watchword for those in leadership, I think. Always one more thing to be done, one more new idea or a re-envisioning of an old one. Want to tell me about some you're having?" She does seem interested, but at the same time, the question is framed so openly. There's no pressure here. "More to life than chasing a knot just to fuck a weyrwoman," is Rat's opinion as he grabs one of the sandwiches. "A goldrider's still a woman." He goes for a drink now, adding, "Thanks for the meal, by the way. Dee. Did you want to be senior?" he asks suddenly and curiously. As for his work, there's a slight shrug as he drinks before answering with, "Well. I'm big on physical activity, but that could be because of where I came from. I was thinking about ways to keep riders sharp during an Interval. Ways to protect the Weyr more. Like Holds who have guards, I think there should be some sort of guards for the Weyr as well. Or at least, I think riders should be able to defend themselves if they ever get themselves into a tight situation. I keep thinking about the time when our Weyrleader got stabbed in a Hold, or when one of our riders was killed at a gather...." Dahlia has a wan smile for the first and second and an amenable shrug for the third. "Zaisavyth decided to clutch much too early this morning. Taeliyth's not easy to distract for long so we went a lot of places. Seemed only to make sense to pick up things as I went. Never know when I'm going to end up with another day off." That holds some amusement. "I was never much good with our basic self-defense courses," she admits as she reaches for the bottle of whiskey. Yep, that's the drink for lunch. Whiskey. "I asked K'del after that if that was what I had to look forward to. An ugly death mixed up in bad politics or simple accident. He hoped not. I imagine he might be open to suggestions, though I can't really say for sure. I don't have any hand in the running of your Weyr." It's only after that that she circles round to that other question giving him a politic smile, "What do they teach weyrlings about being circumspect in answering questions that could be politically sticky?" The politic smile doesn't last, it turns to something easier, something teasing, as if silently asking if he really expected her to answer a stranger so freely. "I don't know much about Fort's history," Rat admits to her, "but I'm learning of the Reaches'. It seems like wearing the big knot puts you in the line of threats. Weyrwomen, too. I feel like it's more important for them to be able to defend themselves - or even, go out and about from the Weyr with someone that could ward off those kind of attacks. Dragons can only do so much." He drains his cup of whiskey and returns to his sandwich, eyeing Dee when she asks about what weyrlings are taught politically. There's a non-chalant look sent her way before he answers, "I'm not very political. I say what's on my mind." His grin growing, "Was that a question I'm not suppose to ask a goldrider?" "It certainly does seem to." Dahlia agrees with gravity. "I've met more than one dragonrider who would agree with you. People still get twitchy when I leave the Weyr and don't come back awhile. Taeliyth's the last queen of the Fortian bloodline still at Fort." There's a little chew of her lip. "That question," she answers the grin with a close-lipped smile, "is the sort of question that you're certainly allowed to ask, but there's no answer you can be sure comes with candor, and I'd prefer not to start out lying. Well, anymore than you might say not introducing my lifemate was." There's a little blush of embarrassment for that. "I am sorry about that. Just-- you know, day off, and not every day I get to just be Dee anymore. It's a lot to adjust to after seventeen turns of being just Dee." Nodding in acknowledgement, "So you like being reckless? Rebellious?" Rat seems to tease her leaving the Weyr and being the last of the pure Fort line. "I don't blame you, though. In your position, I'd do the same. I don't like being kept from doing something that I want to do." As for questions unanswered, he refills his cup with his knowing gaze lingering on Dee before stating, "You have no reason to lie to a random weyrling from another Weyr. Who am I going to tell? Whether you want to be senior or not, it has no bearing on what happens here - nor what happens to me. I'm willing to admit I aim to be Weyrleader one day," he admits matter-of-factly. "Whether it actually happens or not is for the dragons to decide." Beat. "Don't worry about that," he dismisses the apology with a shake of his head. "I'd rather whatever Dee you want to be." "They say the wild of the South ends up in the blood of her people," Dahlia answers the first with a teasing look in turn; if a Weyr full of 'concerned' citizens couldn't curb her reckless or rebellious tendencies, what chance does a single bronzerider have? "They didn't like being reminded that weyrwomen are as mortal as the rest of the world and can fall victim to the same tragedies as any other." She looks briefly pained and her hazel gaze seek out the flowers that bloom near the blanket. It might seem, even, that the rest of the banter has been forgotten entirely in her deeply sad look. "I can believe that," Rat answers on the South, amused. "I wouldn't be yelling around that you're mortal, though. It might upset the balance and shake some people's perspectives on what dragonriders are like." That he's teasing is evident, the man finishing off his sandwich before he spies the pain in Dee's features as she falls silent. When she looks away, "What happened just now? Dee?" he straightens up a bit, brows furrowing a bit at her. It takes a moment for Dee to come back to him, her eyes drawing away from the flower, her look troubled but no longer pained. She tries a smile, but it's forced, "Sorry. Sometimes when I talk about-- I get a little lost." Her features are strained as she fights some unseen foe. A deep breath later she asks, "I was ill, did you know?" It's not that she thinks he should have, just that some people do and others don't and she doesn't know which he is. Rat watches Dee closely as he idly chews, having propped himself up on one arm. His blue eyes study her eyes, seeming to try to take more of what her expression is in. Then, "No, I didn't know," he answers to her being ill, his face neutral as he watches her. "Tell me about it." Dahlia's hazel meet Rat's blue. There's thought there, a weighing, and in the end, she tells him, at least some, in a murmur. "I didn't break any rules. I washed my hands. I didn't go anywhere suspect. I was one of the first to become ill. Being in the infirmary... was like trying to heal in a mass grave. Even if, in the end, not so many died as might have, everyone thought they were dying. So many were delirious," the look says that included her. "I think I killed the man I loved, by loving him." At eighteen, that's more than a little hard, but her voice has a distant quality, a numbness, possibly the only thing that lets her talk without tears. "Taeliyth let his lifemate have him. To take between. They say he wouldn't have survived anyway. Too much drink. Too little will to live," that last is bitter and she falls silent. She's so still in her reverie, it might be that she's forgotten to breathe for the next comes as a gasp, then some slow purposeful breaths. "Sorry." Even though he asked. Rat remains silent as Dee explains. His gaze is heavy on her as she tells about her illness, and the frown strengthens when she mentions killing the man she loved. Towards the end, "Damn," he murmurs, leaning back as he takes it all in. "You have my condolences. Really. I don't how you're...I think I understand the need for a distraction," he murmurs in musing, nodding once. Dahlia blinks slowly as she looks at the bronzerider. "Your condolences are appreciated," but they don't do anything for her pain; condolences rarely do. "The distraction is appreciated even more. Most of my friends from home... It's hard because they knew me before, and I'm just... changed. Some of them accept me anyway, others..." She shrugs. "Easier maybe to make new friends." She inclines her head a little toward T'gar. It's probably a move to substantially lighten the subject matter when she gives him an exaggeratedly thoughtful look and asks, with lifted brow, "How do you feel about huggers?" like it's of the utmost importance. "But it means shit when it comes down to it," Rat observes, his words casual. "I know. As for your friends," he pauses to drink, "if they're your friends, they'll take you regardless." New friends. The weyrling inclines his head to that in agreement, and even goes as far to raise his half-filled cup as if to toast to hers and says, "To making new friends." Dee's question in the end, even, draws short laughter and a, "I won't turn down a good hug. As long as it doesn't turn into a headlock." He sounds like it's coming from experience. Dahlia's smile is wan again for the words about friendship, but she doesn't damage the only barely recovering mood. She'll toast with him, and even laugh at his response. "No good at self-defense, remember? I am a hugger though. It seems only fair to give warning. My poor Weyrleader didn't know what he was getting into," being friends with her, presumably. "I'll give you a good one before you're on your way," she assures, as if he might have been worried. Then the talk turns to equally innocent things, what he likes about the physical exercises they do at High Reaches, what he does and doesn't like about his training, and even how it measure up to some of hers. Then, true to her word, he'll get a good hug from the Fortian goldrider before the pair take off. Taeliyth is only a voice in the dark, so far, not deigning to make an appearance. Laughing, "I'll take a hug," Rat concedes to it all, his demeanor an easy one as he finishes off his whiskey. He seems eager to keep the talk in peaceful waters - regaling Dee with tales along with questions about how her weyrlinghood was at Fort before it was time for him to return. He takes the hug with a, "Don't be a stranger, Dee. Take care of yourself," his strong arms about her lithe frame before he and Asaroth are back in the skies and aiming for the Weyr with the bronze's putrid touch left to Taeliyth's voice. |
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