Logs:Arranged Acceptance
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| RL Date: 13 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Hattie |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Hattie and Dee discuss free choice and the love of men and dragons. |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 16, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aislara/Mentions, C'stian/Mentions, Dimatrin/Mentions, Jemizen/Mentions, Lilah/Mentions, N'muir/Mentions |
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>---< Galleries, Fort Weyr(#745RIJMas$) >------------------------------------<
The entrance to the Sands and Galleries alike is little more than an
archway and a section of flat stone that curves into a broad pathway in
front of the Galleries that are carved into the right-hand side of the
Hatching Cavern. This pathway is set with three flights of stairs that
lead all the way up to the upper tiers of the Galleries; one set near the
entrance of the cavern, one set at the northernmost end, and one set
between both. Beyond the pathway, that flat stone dissolves into the Sands
proper, a golden expanse that sits before the large, odd engraving that
lines the far wall -- an etching that details the rotation of the Red
Star.
The Galleries themselves are rows of flat seats carved from the stone wall
and stacked backward to allow observers the best view possible of the
golden sands. Those at the bottom are protected from wayward dragonets by
a railing, while dignitaries from outside the Weyr -- Lord Holders, other
Weyrleaders, Craftmasters and their ilk -- have a specially designated
spectator's box at the topmost row. Boom. Not for the first time this morning, the sound of thunder rolls down into the cavern from the storm clouds that light the sky in intermittent brilliant bursts on the otherwise gray morning. As with those that have come before in this day, the presence of these storm clouds won't last, but it's here for the moment and the sound startles Dee into looking up. It's not as if she's been looking at the eggs, not even once, though she's been sitting in the galleries since breakfast was done with a book in her lap and floral print sundress more suited to Southern and the heat of the caverns than what it will be outside when she finally goes. Since the storm began, that Elaruth is uneasy has been evident enough by the mere fact that she can't seem to stay still for any length of time. She never strays more than a few feet from her eggs, wings over mantled protectively over the clutch, or a single wing flung out in a protective gesture across where they're settled, but the combination of the noise and the mood in the Weyr that Eliyaveith has only begun to contribute to has her unnaturally irritable and fidgety. There's the occasional glance towards the ledge that her daughter was occupying until not so long ago, as though to check that she's still definitely gone, and it's this side of her queen that Hattie is being forced to deal with - though even she has her physical limits. Like it or not, water is a necessity, and she's driven to the galleries to seek it out. It's a bracing breath that finally has Dee's hazel gaze seeking out the eggs, the surprise evident on her face when she at once takes in Elaruth's positioning and then Hattie's approach of the galleries. It doesn't take thought to get her on her feet, the motivation to move and go to the lowest tier to offer the Weyrwoman, "Can I get you anything, ma'am?" so deeply a part of her that it's instinct more than thought, to move, to go, to offer. Evidently, it was only forestalled by her obliviousness and the concern touching her slightly furrowed brow is real. Despite the high colour brought out by the heat and humidity of the Sands, there's something wan about Hattie's complexion, her gaze more glazed than glassy as she tips her head back to swing Dee into view. She stares at her for more than a moment, her focus seemingly past her too, until she manages to blink back some focus and actually acknowledge what she's said. "...I'll be fine, thank you," she replies, her effort meant to be more reassuring than standoffish as a refusal. At the base of one of the nearer seats lies a skin of water that she reaches for, sigh weary. "Now's probably not the best time to get a proper look at the clutch," she admits. "I'm-- yes," Dee agrees with Hattie's reassurance, wholly unnecessarily, moving swift in an attempt to reach the skin and pass it to her as if this small act might somehow help. Whether she gets to it in time to act or misses her chance, she drops down onto the stone row. "It's probably not so bad as you suspect, well, I mean, from my angle," a shoulder lifts to gesture a little to Elaruth to allow that Hattie probably has insights Dee does not. "I've been having trouble looking at them, actually. I managed the other night when I ran into your assistant here. He was looking." The candidate isn't anymore, rather directing her gaze to the stone under her feet. As another note of thunder rolls through the cavern, Elaruth makes a low, worried noise that is less rumble than it is strangled sigh, and she finally stills for long enough to wrap herself possessively around her eggs and huddle there, nosing at one shell, then another, like she could reassure the dragonets within (or just make sure that they're all still there). "Thank you," Hattie murmurs, accepting the skin to lift to her lips and take a long drink that's not really so elegant. As she lowers it, whatever she might have asked is forestalled by noting exactly where Dee is looking. "...Are you sure that you know where they are?" she queries, half-amused and half a little concerned. Dee's eyes are drawn by the gold's noise and her eyes go unwittingly to dam and-- well, now she can't really see the eggs there, so she lets her eyes linger, even as she asks, "What?" Realization dawns a half-beat later with, "Oh," a blush tinging her cheeks. "Yes, I do. I believe it might be something I learned from my brother. Knowing where the things are you're trying to avoid is critical to successfully doing so." And yet, here is Dee in the cavern. "Forgive me for suggesting that, by that logic, you're not doing a terribly good job," Hattie declares, leaning to settle the skin back where it was and swap it for the strap of her satchel, which she tugs at to bring the leather carrier to her. As she rummages through its contents, she goes on, "And, to be honest, I'm not in the business of forcing people to Stand if they've no wish to. You can easily return the knot and we'll all pretend it never happened. No shame. No interrogation." She shrugs. "I'd much rather that than you tell me in several turns' time that I ruined your life." Dee's cheeks darken a touch, but she has a rueful look when she turns her face toward the Senior. "I've never been very good at avoiding anything for long. Especially nothing important. I managed to wait from breakfast to dinner to tell my parents I'd apprenticed to Old Guzman," which she manages to make sound like an accomplishment. The girl's feet shift. "No, ma'am, I can't do that. Mine might not be the right reason, but it seems like there is no right reason to Stand." She fidgets. "It does seem... sad that people who aren't dying to Stand get the chance and people who want to stand like Dimatrin don't get to because they're too old." She lifts her eyes to Hattie. Her expression is open, but the set of her lips is determined. "I'm sure that Dimatrin has a voice of his own to employ to ask to Stand if it's his dearest wish," Hattie replies rather sternly, or perhaps it's just her distracted focus and frown as she continues to look through her bag that makes it seem so. "In most cases, the age bracket is there in the best interest of dragon and rider. Too young, and you're asking a child to raise a child. Too old... and there's no guarantee they'll adapt." Finally, she surfaces and pulls from the clutter of the satchel a crumpled, ragged scarf. "Either way... it can be dangerous. You should ask assistant weyrlingmaster Aislara about that. And if Dimatrin has elected you as his spokesperson, tell him to come and talk to me." After dropping the satchel back to the ground, she begins to use the scarf to tie her hair up. "No, I know he does, can," is quick and the teen looks chastened. "But-" Dee starts, only to be forestalled by Hattie's offered explanation. "Assistant weyrlingmaster Aislara," is filed away with a murmur. "He hasn't, he didn't ask me-- I only wanted to understand why," okay, not only, she looks guilty. Her fingers curl around the material of her skirt. "Do you think he would want it? If he got it? Dimatrin." Her eyes have gone back to the gold on the Sands. "I mean, not that any of us can know. But you know him..." "It's not for me to tell him what he wants." Blunt, that, as Hattie tips her head forward to better tie the ends of the scarf tight enough to secure the twist of her hair away from her neck. "Nor is it for anyone else." She levels a long look at Dee as she states that, letting the line of her shoulder fall back into place. "Just as I don't want you throwing blame at my feet, I'm sure you don't want him casting any at you. Moreover, I want Elaruth's babies to find someone who wants them and will look after them. To offer to someone in his situation would be to apply pressure; pressure for something that might not be able to occur." Dee's lower lip gets a bite as she listens. She studies her feet again, in the very Southern styled sandals, beads woven into the straps over her feet. "No, I'm the only one who can take blame if things... if I don't like the results." Her expression is troubled, "Wingsecond C'stian said it turned out better, though he didn't think at the time that it would. When he Impressed. That he Impressed." She rocks a little forward and then back again. "I would. Look after one who found me. I'm..." She sucks a breath, holding it, "I'm working on the wanting it part. But could you not want it, when it happens? I mean, for someone to choose you like that? Is it possible for you to not want it? Wingsecond C'stian said he never regretted Liesanth, even when he had trouble thinking of himself as a rider." "I don't know," Hattie says a little helplessly, giving a twitch of her shoulders. "I suppose it's possible to want the dragon and not the life of a rider. I know people who have struggled to adjust to sharing their mind with their dragon. But..." She glances back towards Elaruth, who continues to dote on her eggs, her angular muzzle ghosting over them every now and then. "I could never not want her. The first thing I ever told her was that I'd keep her safe. She's... I'd never change her finding me." Yet, she has to concede, "But it'd be foolish to assume that every rider feels that way." Hazel eyes set on Hattie as she speaks, and the intensity of Dee's attention communicates her internalizing of everything that's said to her, captured and stored into her memory. When the Weyrwoman has finished, there's a thoughtful pause before Dee ventures, "I suppose, in a way, it's almost like arranged marriages." Lest that seem unclear, she hurries to explain, "I mean, it's someone you've never met, and the only choice you had was to say you'd take the chance, which is probably more than some get, but. There's every chance that you could love it, joining your life to another, making your successes and dreams dependent upon them and what kind of life they can offer you, but there's as equal a chance that the pairing isn't right, somehow, I suppose, that your life becomes fraught with--" Her lips tighten a moment as she considers the right wording and then shrugs a little, looking to Hattie's face again to see if she's been making any sense at all. Hattie actually recoils a little as she processes that analogy, her rejection of the premise all too plain before she manages to speak a single word on the matter. She wraps her arms low around her waist in a vaguely defensive manner, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. "...No," she says eventually, shaking her head. "A husband is under no obligation to accept his wife for who or how she is." Maybe she's being too literal. "A dragon will accept you for who you are," the Weyrwoman states with conviction. "Whether they or you like elements of yourself, they'll still love you. Not because they have to, or because they should, but because they just do." Dee's wince is visible as she takes in the Weyrwoman's pose, her eyes quickly sliding away to her feet once more. "Oh," is soft when she speaks an answer. "I suppose I hadn't thought of it from that side of things before." There's honesty here, but she can't help but wonder aloud, "Is it never like that between a man and a woman? A husband and a wife? I never thought much beyond what's in the-" trashy "Harper romances I've read, though I've always heard they're not very accurate." She shifts her feet a little, her hands finding the stone on either side of her knees as a brace. "It's nice that dragons do that," is added a moment later. "I don't suppose they'd pick a person if they couldn't or didn't." "...I'm... not really the right woman to talk to about that sort of thing." Hattie is matter of fact about that admittance, though her posture somehow becomes all the more awkward and standoffish. "I'm not so good with the poetic outpouring of feelings and all that." One hand uncurls from her hip long enough to make a dismissive sort of gesture. "But... I love my weyrmate. And I love Elaruth. They're different kinds of love. Not less or more. If I had to..." deep breath, "I would survive the loss of one, but not the other." So much for being able to suppress the emotional side of things, for wherever those thoughts take her, she's blinking rapidly as she gestures back towards her queen and asks, "If you'll excuse me..." "Of course," is automatic if a touch stilted from the candidate. Dee looks a little bewildered as she looks at Hattie, as if she's uncertain how she ended up in such muddy or deep waters when things started out so harmlessly. She's not long behind Hattie in taking her leave from the galleries, her sweater and book reclaimed from where they were left before she braves the rain (easier to face than eggs) to get back to the caverns. |
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