Logs:Blame
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| RL Date: 23 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Hattie, Elaruth |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: On a day when things went sideways, assumptions are made and things go even more sideways. Or do they? |
| Where: Galleries, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ebeny/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Played 5/25, backdated. |
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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. For many Fortians, it has been a very long day. The unexpected emergency at Lux's Ledge Hold that trapped the loaned Weyrlingmaster and candidates along with the Hold's own youth and the subsequent rescue left a lot of hands dirty and eyes red before the day was done. Physically, Dee is clean. She's even taken the time to do her hair a touch for bed, but when she enters the galleries in the dead of night, it's as a ghost herself. Her plain white, ankle-length shift has only slightly more shape than a candidate's robe and there's a thick shawl drawn about her shoulders. Still, she shivers as she transitions from the cold of night to the heat of the hatching grounds and quietly takes a seat in the lowest row, tapping her feet very softly against the stone and with distraction. Her expression is one that is troubled, her eyes red and puffy in a sign that there have been tears, but she's not crying now, only looking at the eggs. Really looking. It's not uncommon for Hattie to stay in the hatching cavern late into the night, though, of recent times, she's rarely been sighted there for the long stretches of time that have defined earlier days. On the Sands, Elaruth lies loosely curled around her eggs, though her shadow-brushed wings remain tucked close to her body, keeping most of the eggs visible without limbs or tail concealing them from view. What - or who - is concealed from view for the moment is her rider, who occupies a spot close to her queen's right shoulder, until she steps out from her hiding place to take a slow stroll through the arrangement of eggs, pausing here and there to brush a gentle hand against one shell or another. Eventually, Hattie's gaze is drawn to the galleries, and upon spotting someone there, she begins to move from the heat of the Sands proper and to the seating provided. That Dee is surprised by the appearance of a figure on the Sands is clear from the way she straightens suddenly in her seat. As Hattie approaches, the candidate shifts slightly, as though to steal away before she's recognized here. A moment of hesitation later has her moving to crouch and pluck up a waterskin positioned, no doubt, with the Weyrwoman in mind and moves to meet her, extending the skin as she draws closer. "Ma'am," is the teen's quiet and respectful greeting, though her expression remains concerned. Hattie really isn't in much a position to argue or refuse the offer of the waterskin, and though it looks like she'd rather put one question or another to Dee than accept, she reaches for it with a nod of thanks, how long she drinks for more of an indication of how necessary it is than any quirk of her expression might say. She's dressed down, relatively speaking, dress exchanged for loose, light trousers and a blouse secured by a wide sash, boots abandoned on sand as she steps into the first row of seating. "It's a little late, even for the most enthusiastic among you..." she murmurs. "I'm sorry," is offered first and genuinely. "I didn't mean to disturb you or Elaruth. I couldn't sleep. There are empty cots in the barracks and rumors." Dee's cheeks color slightly as if admission of hearing the rumors was something really bad. "I needed to come look at them." She gestures a hand toward the eggs. "But I can go. Unless... is there anything I can do for you, ma'am? I can't-- it's..." The way she's looking at Hattie is a mixture of concern and something akin to awe if nothing so dramatic. "I can't imagine having that all on my shoulders." It's a blurt, and one she might immediately regret. It's one she looks abashed about in the least. Hattie glances back over her shoulder perhaps purely for effect, letting her focus linger for a moment or so on Elaruth, who certainly watches the women in the galleries, yet doesn't look the least bit worried about a presence not her rider's, before she lifts her gaze back to Dee. "Does it look like you've disturbed her?" It's not really a question, yet it's too gentle to be a reprimand either. Edging her way along the row, she finds a place to set the skin of water down, then straightens, arms knotted beneath her chest. "Do you think I feel guilty?" she puts to her, focus unflinching. "Do you think I'm going through the hundreds of different permutations of what could have happened?" Dee shifts, as though she might be in the way, even if she's not. There's confusion that turns to further quiet embarrassment after the first question and a glance at the gold. Then, almost the aimless puppy, she follows the Weyrwoman a few paces. "I don't-- should you?" is surprised and then confused, her brows dipping low, pinching the skin between. "How can one know the unknowable?" It's asked before she bites her lip, "Unless you tell the future like N'rov maybe." She glances briefly to a particular spot in the galleries and takes a deep breath, looking back at the Weyrwoman, "Are you going through what could have happened? I know-- it could have been worse." She chews her lip. Could it have been better? "What do you think? You're the one who says I'm bearing a weight." It sounds like a genuine question, no accusation or sharpness there, the Weyrwoman's voice steady and even. She doesn't remain standing for long, and folds down into the nearest empty seat, where she sits with her hands propped to either side of her like she'd stop herself from slumping. "If N'rov tells the future, I think there are many things he would change, had he foreseen them," is lower and more to herself than to Dee, yet not so quiet as to mean to be unheard. "I don't think that there's any answer that I can give you that you will like, or find reassuring. And sometimes that's how things are." "Oh," is quiet comprehension dawning. Dee's cheeks color all the more obviously. "I'm sorry, I assumed--" hence the blushing. Rather than pursue an explanation that may not get them anywhere, the young woman breaks off and considers the question. "I don't think I'd feel guilty. I might feel responsible somehow, not even being there, but... I don't think anyone would have sent-- if there'd been any way to know--" Words continue to fail her. She has none for N'rov now. "I don't really... I'm just worried. About them. The Holders. The candidates. Everyone. Do you know? What happened? With the candidates that aren't in their beds?" She worries her lower lip, as if she's not entirely sure she should even be asking the Weyrwoman to separate truth from fiction. "So, you believe I'm responsible." Hattie makes little of that, and accepts what she has interpreted without striking back or attempting to dodge what blame may be attributed to her. "You believe that none of you should have been there. At least, not the Candidates." This again, extrapolated and absorbed without excuses made. "I find it interesting that your worries seem predominantly for the holders, being first on your list. Is it not enough that that we've paid a bigger price for attempting to assist them? That someone's child is--" She turns sharply away, directing her gaze to the nearest wall, and keeps both Elaruth and Dee from her line of sight. If she has truth to offer, she doesn't. "I-- no," Dee protests, but softly. Does she blame Hattie? It's possible the candidate doesn't know. "I made-- I assumed what I would feel in your place, or what I assume I would feel in your place." All of which seem to be quite poor assumptions and the teen is now realizing it. "I believe," she tries, with more resolve, "that no one could've known the earth would fall." She shifts and places a hand on the rail, her agitation slowly building. She takes a breath and looks to Hattie, concern in her face but also just the barest edge of annoyance. "What happened?" It's asked more plainly now. "Which must be informed by what you feel about the situation and what you believe should have or could have been done." Remaining seated no longer feels like an option, though when Hattie gets to her feet she stays terribly still for a moment for reanimating. "It's not a matter that it's easy to be objective about. I think that neither you, nor I will accomplish that tonight." Whether she realises it or not, her first, instinctive, steps start to carry her back towards the Sands and what safety her queen must mean to her. Again, she avoids the question, but she does not shirk shouldering what she must, and when she stops near the end of the journey, she looks to Dee and takes a deep breath. "I'll tell you what you want to hear. It's my fault. You shouldn't have been there. If you want someone to be angry with, or to blame, I'm your target. Those hundreds of permutations don't count when none of them are the one that happened." "I--" Dee starts; the try is brief before she goes silent. Just the one word. What can she say that would make this exchange any better? She must come up with nothing because it's only a pair of breaths after the Weyrwoman's last words are spoken that the ghostly girl flees, her white shift sweeping out behind her as a testament to the speed of her retreat. It must have been her objective, to drive the girl off in one manner or another, for Hattie watches her leave with stoic satisfaction defining her features. It's only a few more steps to slip back into her boots and then onto the Sands, where she makes a hiccupping kind of noise that's soon swallowed down. "The truth hurts," she rasps to herself, reprimand low, but then she's near enough to Elaruth for her queen to be both her salvation and her undoing. |
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