Logs:Conclusions
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 23 May, 2015 |
| Who: Hattie, Casseny |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Casseny apologises. |
| Where: Records Room, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 11, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
  |
| It's unusual for Casseny to look as harried as she does now-- though, by her appearance alone, nothing's out of place. Hair tucked up, clothing dried, or perhaps never having yet been touched by the occasional torrent of sleet outside. The sign is that she's pacing, up and down the rows of stone shelving like she's lost. But lost on a very particular, dedicated path. One that would be tread down to packed smoothness by her steps alone. Not that she's making a thumping racket of it. Each foot after the next is a whispering silence. Up and down, and back and forth, with the glow's lights casting contrast upon her reflection, she's more akin to a ghost, haunting any who dare need a scribe or a piece of research. The records keeper, coming back from lunch, is startled once by her appearance around a corner, almost dropping the ink he was removing from one of the tool cabinets. He seems used to be, quietly muttering as he goes about his business, while Casseny uses the moment to pause, frown. For once, Hattie is not carrying a pile of books as she makes her way down the stairs from the Weyrleaders' complex, her arms free of any weight and the dresses she usually wears in public abandoned in favour of something far more casual, her plain white shirt not tucked into the light trousers that she wears, her feet bare. The shirt even looks rather too big for her. Maybe it's her weyrmate's. There's something not quite put together about her as she glances this way and that, down the nearest aisle and then down the next, her focus sleepy-edged and her hair a little too frizzy, and her journey eventually brings her to a slow halt, where she can stare blearily at Casseny and mirror her frown back at her. Glancing up from his work, the recordskeeper peers at one female to the other, then decides he wants no part of it. Soon all that remains of him is the light scritch-scratch of his ink-pen, and the occasional stamp of a seal or date-marker. Casseny, for her part, lightens at the sight of Hattie. What perceived issue that'd been held in front of her like a carrot before flags; she can snap it off the string, pocket it. But her one thumb's whittling at her opposite fingers when she softly opens her mouth, indicating a deliberate thought clearly born of the immediate way she glanced over the Weyrwoman with barely a flit of her eye. Not that she needed to look; not that she projects any pronouncement on Hattie's appearance. "Weyrwoman." Doesn't sound like she should still be frowning. Perhaps she's lost track of her own expression. Though that doesn't seem like her. "Apprentice." It sounds like little more than acknowledgement, yet there's something darker there to taint it, not outright distaste, but what could be adjacent to blame or the taste of a grudge. "Is there anything we can help you with?" Hattie sidesteps a little to lean against the nearest bookcase, elbow planting down on a shelf of an appropriate level, so that she can wearily prop her head on one hand. She can't truly be awake yet, to be so unconcerned about not being bothered to stand under her own steam, without support, and she blinks placidly at Casseny - and a little through her, as though she could sleep there and then. Casseny's just slightly off-target stare follows the intricacies threading through Hattie's tone. Soft crumbs that she mulls over with an unhurried tongue. "No," is decided-- was known, but decided on to say. No, but she lingers. "No," but it bears repeating. "It's not on you." To the best of her ability, she weans out any pretentiousness, some suggestion that the Weyrwoman seeks permission or reassurance. Effort in this leaves her sounding vaguely hesitant, the last word lingering against her lips before she urges them closed. Opens them again: "I apologize." With a kind of felt emphasis on the difference between-- making a difference between-- i apologize and i'm sorry. A few, more rapid blinks bring Hattie back to slightly sharper focus, the various elements of Casseny's response brought together to produce first rejection of what understanding she gains, whether it's correct or not, and then... confusion. Her fingers slip a little more securely into her hair, gripping at strands like it could help her process more quickly, or just bring her to proper alertness more swiftly. "For what?" she enquires, tone level and even. If she's playing dumb, it's a good effort, the dip of her brows only adding to the lack of comprehension that she conveys. "As much as this is the least of your concerns right now," and here Casseny manages a brand of self-effacing humor before solemnity wins. Her hands pull apart but not far, searing her palms to the side of her thighs. "I made your infirmary visit about me. In the end. When you had," if, here, her words stick sourly, she's quick past it with a flick of her tongue, "every right to question me." While her voice is absolutely sincere, something wrinkles her nose with the unfortunate effect of making her look rather put-upon. "So." There's that. Palms release her thighs, and she's free to take a half step backwards. The moment 'infirmary visit' is spoken, Hattie glances around, that bringing her back to full alertness as she scans the vicinity, then pushes away from the bookcase and wanders further down the aisle, her journey a somewhat futile attempt to conceal her presence from anyone who happens to be near enough to eavesdrop. "Keep your voice down," she utters lowly, and perhaps unnecessarily, as she passes Casseny and travels further, gone from lazy to agitated in mere seconds. "Am I to assume that your Journeyman has requested that you apologise?" she questions in a murmur. "I might suggest that you don't break similar news to other women in the same manner." Casseny looks over her own left shoulder; the recordskeeper remains deep in his own work stupor. There's been let-up of his gentle orchestra of productivity. Her fingers trace the edge of the shelf as if to hold her there, but Hattie's request requires she take several paces closer, framing them both completely in books. "I came to the conclusion myself." Not that she's boasting, or defending herself. Merely supplying facts. None of which particularly deny Hattie's assumption. "I thought you knew." Pause; she consciously smoothes her nose out. "I thought it was obvious." Her fingers break from the shelf, touching the corner of her eyebrow with a deliberate press before dropping. "I didn't tell anyone. I would never." Sounds like she thinks this would be obvious, too. As well as a very appropriate place in the conversation to dismiss her. "No," Hattie needlessly confirms, a tiny shake of her head directed more towards herself than Casseny, "I didn't know." Then: "It wasn't obvious to me." She pauses, already noticeably weary again, now that that shot of adrenaline has run its very brief course. "...I had every reason to believe that it was something impossible," she softly concedes, as if to try and give them both a break with that quiet admittance. Both hands lift to run through and catch in her hair, the motion one that abrupt ceases when she lets her arms swing loosely back to her sides once more. "...I appreciate that you thought to apologise," is sincere and unsteady at the same time, her behaviour akin to that which she displayed when first told, like she's stuck back in that moment. "I'll get over it." Over what, she doesn't clarify. "Thank you, apprentice." "I'm sorry to bring you back there." Now it's i'm sorry and, Casseny's suffered subtle changes throughout the exchange but never has she struck insincere. She means it, as well as the warmth that may've been lacking in her initial bedside manner. Reaching ever-so-slightly, a couple fingers brush the air near Hattie's elbow, the ghost of support, a suggestion of presence. "It's easy to see things how they fit our thoughts, instead of how they are. Going forward, I'll be better." Another impression of the apprentice keeping close to the Weyrwoman, whether that part's appreciated or not. Even so, next Casseny steps backwards, just once, then again. "Thank you, you're welcome," because they seem appropriate, but, "Take care," because she means it thoroughly. Then, with a slow blink, she adds evenly, "Apprentice's orders." Hattie shakes her head again, more abruptly now, both a denial and physical effort to free herself and keep from sliding any further back into that panic and upset. It's a simple, yet determined attempt, as poor a method of processing (being that it's not) as it is, and when, after those few seconds, she manages to claw back her composure, necessity has her retreat to a stony, blank facade to keep it together. She doesn't outwardly reject Casseny's support, but nor does she let herself accept it, her acknowledgement in the tiny nod that she offers her as she begins to turn away. The Weyrwoman even submits to those supposed orders, too exhausted or aware of the need not to to supply argument even in jest. "Thank you, Casseny." So, she has learned her name. What she came down to the Records for - that'll have to wait for when she remembers it, for she retreats back up the stairs without collecting anything at all. |
Leave A Comment