Logs:Absent Suitor
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| RL Date: 2 January, 2016 |
| Who: D'vro, Dahlia, Colsoth, Taeliyth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Colsoth didn't chase. Dahlia is displeased. D'vro is oblivious. |
| Where: Dahlia and Taeliyth's Weyr, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: A'sran/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, Mirinda/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Back-dated. |
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>---< Dahlia and Taeliyth's Weyr, Fort Weyr(#1064RJs$) >---------------------<
In a time long past, this spacious and well appointed weyr belonged to the
legendary Moreta. Though the time of legend is past, it still serves its
purpose. The first room is a lopsided cavern that would be longer than it
was wide were it not for the bulge that provides space for the be-pillowed
dragon wallow. On the long side of this area is set a trio of finely
furnished comfortable chairs, two fine chaise lounges and a short round
table that must be meant for entertaining company. Hung on the wall
opposite the dragon couch is a fine tapestry, though it doesn't fill the
length of the space, depicting dragonriders meeting Thread over a Hold.
Farther back there's a square table with accompanying chairs for taking
meals beside a small hearth. The walls here are plain stone with glows
hung at even intervals.
A rich tapestry covers the person-sized entrance to the tip-tilted oblong
sleeping room at the rear of the weyr. The room houses a bed broad enough
to be comfortable for two with sinfully soft pink sheets and a grey
blanket covering. The decorations and small hearth here are homey with a
tropical bent. The furniture doesn't quite fit the theme, being more
elegant and finely upholstered than what would be found in a Southern
bungalow. The oddest part of this private space is that one side of the
sleeping chamber has looks like a construction zone, with piles of
reclaimed wood, tools and other odds and ends.
At the far end of the sleeping room another curtained arch leads to a
small bathing room with a hot spring and the necessary shelves, hooks and
cabinets to contain items for personal care. It's the afternoon the day after Taeliyth's maiden flight when she reaches for Colsoth. « Dahlia would like D'vro to join her for lunch. » There's a lazy humor to her words. She's still close enough to the flight to feel smug for how very well she flew, for having chosen finely, and to be satisfied with herself and her mate. « Will he come to our weyr? » (To Colsoth from Taeliyth) Within the weyr, Dahlia has set up a spread on the table for that. It's a modest lunch for two, nothing like the generous portions of the welcome dinner. The goldrider stands beside the table, arms folded over her chest and frown on her face. He's expected but his presence doesn't, now, produce a smile from the young woman. He's not jealous, probably. Just a little sore over the fact that he would have been just as fine a mate as any other bronze. Finer, even, probably. « He'll be on his way shortly. » Colsoth is a fine message-giver, too. (To Taeliyth from Colsoth) D'vro arrives as though he's expected. It's only when he realizes there's an unexpected expression on the goldrider's face that he hesitates uncertainly and pulls himself into a more professional stance. "Weyrwoman?" he offers in an attempt to gauge just what sort of meeting this is supposed to be. Unfortunately, Taeliyth isn't the most sympathetic of dragons. She's not mean about her amusement, but she does have a sassy, « And now we may never know, » for Colsoth, who the better bronze is. Certainly, she chose the best of those who chased. (To Colsoth from Taeliyth) "Dav," the frowning woman returns. The weyrwoman frowning would be bad, no doubt, but Dee frowning is worse. "We need to talk." Those words especially oft spell doom to the one they're directed toward. "Is Colsoth ill?" Her expression is grave with her concern now. Nevermind that she must know from Taeliyth that he's perfectly well. To Taeliyth, Colsoth gets a better handle on his feelings over the matter. It's her mate's job to amuse her now, not his, and he withdraws back to his own business. The bronzerider draws in a deep breath as he settles into an alert stance nearby, hands clasped behind his back. "You know perfectly well that he isn't," D'vro says simply. To Colsoth, Taeliyth's pang of regret might be felt in the wake of his withdrawal, but she lets him go; she's too proud to apologize anyway. Dahlia's arms uncross and go to her sides, fists balled tight. There's more to her approach, but in the wake of his infuriatingly 'knowing' Dav-ness, Dee abandons her list of progressively pointed inquiries and keeps only the most important one: "Why didn't Colsoth chase Taeliyth yesterday?" D'vro furrows his brow at the young woman because he clearly doesn't understand the reasoning for her body language. Evidently even after she's asked her question. "I told him not to. Why are you upset, Dahlia?" "You told him not to?" Dahlia's tone is incredulous. "Why?" She manages to keep her demanding tone hard and not whiny as it might so easily become in their usual patterns of adult and youth. That doesn't answer his question of course. "Because I didn't want to risk him catching her." It's about as straightforward of an answer as D'vro could possibly give Dahlia. But before she has a chance to ask why again, he adds, "I've heard it was a successful flight." If Dahlia were a slapper... But she's not. Her knuckles go white as she stares at the bronzerider. "Is the thought of sleeping with me really so abhorrent that you would not only abandon me to Faranth knows who as a bedmate but also deny my queen the opportunity to lay the best eggs she may for our Weyr?" She might be shaking just a little, trembling in the intensity of her feelings. "What?" D'vro seems genuinely surprised by that suggestion. "No. The thought of sleeping with you never even entered the equation." Is that better or worse? "Your bedmates are out of my control whether Colsoth chases or not, but my ability to do my job without splitting my attention between a clutch and a wing isn't." Dahlia's arms rise to fold across her chest. "So strain on your sizable mental faculties seemed a good enough reason to potentially deprive Fort of the strongest set of weyrlings we could have? Your short term difficulties outweigh the good eight or ten of the best bred dragons could do in their lifetimes?" At least she focuses on this first. Whatever sting she might feel for the rest is, for now, buried. "Fort isn't entirely lacking in healthy, able-bodied males, Dahlia. From what I understand, the sire is even Fortian. Are you unhappy with the result of the flight?" The firm tone that D'vro uses seems to suggest that he doesn't think that's the case. "Oh, yes," Dahlia's sarcasm is evident, "because one male is just as good as another. It wouldn't make a lick of difference if I were sired by you or my father," just for example. "I was very fortunate with A'sran, but that's not the point, Dav. These dragons are a more impressive legacy than any I could, myself, leave behind. Some dragons only get one clutch," her expression hardens at that, glancing toward the bowl where Eliyaveith's only daughter has taken a place to watch over D'vro accepts sarcasm and seriousness alike without interrupting the younger woman. When she's finished speaking, he doesn't continue trying to defend himself, he simply says, "I'm sorry, Dahlia. I didn't realize it was so important to you. I'll make sure we're present in the future. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you in the meanwhile?" Dahlia looks at him, just looks for a long moment. "Do you mean that?" It speaks to her life experiences since coming to Fort that she doesn't seem sure of him. How many people have told her what she wanted to hear just because of who she is now since she Impressed? "I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," D'vro assures her with a very slight arch of his eyebrow. He's more than likely been at a point of his life where people don't often question his sincerity. But then he's never quite interacted with a weyrwoman with whom he shares a personal relationship to the extent that they do. Dahlia's exhale takes the stiffness from her shoulders and at once she's the young woman again, not the weyrwoman. "I'm sorry, Dav. I don't-- If you don't want Colsoth to chase, that should be your choice and I shouldn't take that away from you, but-" But, "-I know Colsoth is--" Her brow furrows, trying to explain some gut instinct that must be there. She shakes her head, not finding the words. "I just didn't want it to be Taeliyth's loss because you weren't comfortable with me." That much seems to help satisfy her need for explanation a little better. "Have lunch with me?" she asks, gesturing to the table. "You don't need to apologize. I can understand your concerns." Now that she's explained them to him, anyway. D'vro nods to the modest spread on her table as he moves forward, waiting for Dahlia to take a seat before he does the same. "I'm not uncomfortable with you," he feels the need to point out. "If anything, I'm overly comfortable with you." Dahlia waits for him to near before she turns to take her own seat and pour him a glass of wine, then one for herself. "I'm not saying it wouldn't be strange, a little, but I can't imagine anything being so strange that our relationship wouldn't survive it and be just as well in the end. It's not like you're my brother, or even my uncle." Which would clearly be gross. "Next time, if you're still here," she's still thinking about that, "You'll stay. Promise?" "Flights are always strange." Particularly to D'vro? The man doesn't generally seem to give that sort of attention to people outside of flights. "Thank you," he offers for the wine as he picks up the glass. He takes a drink before adding, "I promise that I'll stay the next time. Shall I promise the same for all the golds?" Sure, there's only the two now, but there could be more in the future. "Then there's no reason for hesitancy," Dahlia says, logically, perhaps for her own benefit. She does take a rather large swallow of wine in the wake of that. "You should. Fort needs the best, and if Colsoth proves in flight to be that, then it's your duty as sure as any you do for your wing." Then, "About that. How are you finding the available wings?" It's an excellent segue. D'vro doesn't correct her reasoning from his point of view again. He also doesn't discuss Colsoth's flight performance. Perhaps the bronze is listening. "There are a couple of wings that interest me, but the decision is ultimately N'rov's. And I may very well change the direction of the wing regardless of either my interest or his decision." Though he probably won't do that without the Weyrleader's approval. That's not the kind of man he is. Some of Dahlia's enthusiasm for this topic must surely come from her willingness to leave the topic of flights behind, but some comes from her genuine interest in the workings of the Weyr. "Oh really? What kind of direction do you have in mind?" He must not have expected her to be truly interested in the topic of wings. D'vro has to think about it for a moment, considering his food while he does. "I suppose I'm a less than traditional man in some ways. While I value the skills associated with fighting Thread and the necessity for them to be passed along through the generations until the next Pass, I don't believe their priority needs to be very high. Not when our skills could be put to better use in more practical areas." D'vro might be in for more surprises, really, since Dahlia's expression is animated with her interest, even going so far as to subconsciously lean toward him as he talks, such is her level of interest and enthusiasm for the topic. "Do tell, Dav. I'm on tenterhooks." She really is. And his talking means she can eat, and does with a gusto in her appetite that was lacking at their last shared meal. He is, indeed. D'vro doesn't question her interest, only continues once he's had a moment to take a bite of his food. "I think it's important for wings to bring something more to the Weyr, to Pern, while our utility as protection is less of a concern. Education is important. It will always be important." "I agree," Dahlia has no hesitancy. "The catch is in the how." It always is. Still, the weyrwoman has an untroubled smile and easy, but interested manner as the meal goes on, happy to lend her not inconsiderable wits to the brainstorming of positives and pitfalls of his proposed path. If at the start of this meal the bronzerider had doubts about Dahlia-the-adult, Dahlia-the-weyrwoman, perhaps some may be allayed by the time he takes his leave. |
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