Logs:Dee's Seventeenth Turnday
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| RL Date: 4 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee |
| Involves: Southern Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Dee's turnday comes with Dee-cisions. |
| Where: Southern Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 9, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Guzman/Mentions, Jemizen/Mentions, N'jem/Mentions, S'dellen/Mentions |
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| Dee sat on the beach watching the sunrise. She scrunched her toes into the sand on the beach, feeling the grit passing between them. For the past five turns there has been precious little opportunity to just be still in the moments when the colors brushed the skies into hues as lovely as the flowers she'd cultivated nearly all her life. Every morning since she's given her promise to Old Guzman to apprentice to him, she'd risen early, washed and gotten to work. Nothing about farmcraft was easy. Months and turns of hard work could be undone by only a day of frivolity and irresponsibility. It was one of the lesson that was offered to Dee often, who was inclined toward frivolity, if not irresponsibility. Balancing indulgence in the one without incurring the latter was something she was still learning. If her younger self had know just how much more there is to farmcraft than planting a seed and watching it grow, she might've chosen Beastcraft after all, she mused, amused. Now, with so much time put into categorizing and cataloging and cultivating, she couldn't imagine herself in another craft; she loved her life. Oh, some was the same in Beastcraft, she supposed, bloodlines and breeding stock, but there were so few beasts when compared to the vast variety of vegetation across Pern; she doubted they knew them all. There was promise in that possibility. It tickled her in a way that made an unbidden smile come to her lips to imagine the excitement over a new discovery; she still got a rush every time she came home to find one of her flowers gone from bud to bloom. Sometimes she watched them, imagined what they might look like, especially those that were new to her. They never quite turned out as she expected, but that was part of the fun! It was true that discovering new flora wasn't what she aspired to in her craft, but there was as much excitement in discovery of something wholly new as there was in successfully crossing types of flora for something more wondrous yet. Her fingers raked the sand and tugged at the shriveled trail of seaweeds left to dry on the beach by the careless tide. These were interesting, if out of her wheelhouse. Dee liked flowers and fruits the best. She suspected she could blame her parents for that. Rather than naming her traditionally, they'd named her for the kind of flower his father has first given his mother. Dahlia had always thought her name a bit too grandiose, but it was nice to be named for something romantic even if she sometimes envied her brother his traditional naming. Dee, as he had called her since babyhood, suited her just fine. Somehow, she felt, the simplicity of one balanced the complexity of the other, and balance was good, when it could be managed. There were a few places Dee knew of that helped her feel balanced, even when life seemed to go sideways. The beach was one. She liked the sound and shape of the swell of the waves, the salt in the air and the sand under her. She felt like she could understand the world here, like she could in the plant-filled garden that was the farmcraft workroom, even when faced with the most incomprehensible thoughts. She felt grounded in places like these where the wind could whisper her name and where she could confide her secrets in the stars. It helped to feel grounded now. She had choices before her. Choices she didn't want to make. Her parents had not liked that she had apprenticed in the least, but at least she apprenticed to Guzman who was posted to the Weyr and tasked with advising the outlying holds in the best methods for cultivating northern crops down south. If her greenrider mother and brownrider father had had their way, Dee would have stayed kicking around doing menial tasks and just waiting for the next clutch to hit the Sands. Every clutch, her father asked her to Stand, for Southern. She had more excuses than a dahlia had petals. This last time, the timing simply hadn't been right and she was too busy with Guzman, tending to the outlying holds so no one would go hungry in the coming season (if they all did as they ought). Guzman had a soft-heart, she knew, not that it was easily seen through his grizzled and gruff exterior. Not just any farmcraft master would accept a post that was as limited in scope as the one attached to Southern Weyr. Not just anyone would play go-between when it wasn't his place to try to beg, barter and borrow to see that none of the cotholders went hungry. She remembered the seasons when there just wasn't enough to go around soon enough, when the harvests had been mistimed or when the preservation hadn't been attended with meticulous care. She remembered, with as keen a guilt as ever, the season it had been her fault that one of the small holdings most hopeful crops had failed to sprout. She'd learned from it, though, as she endeavored to from every failure - one more way not to do it. Learning from a failure didn't make it hurt less, though. Being tender-hearted was not an asset to anyone, she was sure. She thought her heart must be riddled in fractures and breaks from all the times she'd been thanked by the would-be farmers for her generosity, when it felt like they hadn't-- couldn't do anywhere near enough. When there wasn't enough food harvested or to go around, without fail, she wanted to bring them back to the Weyr every time. Sometimes, she got her way. Other times, Guzman's practical, "Give a man a fish, Dahlia..." would win out, though it meant no fewer tears to wet her pillowcase at night. That there was only so much they could do never seemed like a good enough answer, even when it was the only answer there was. "The weight of the world doesn't belong on your shoulders, Dee," Guzman would tell her when he saw her with that faraway look that meant she wouldn't cry now, or here, but would, somewhere, somewhen, when she was alone. It didn't matter that she knew he must be right, it didn't feel that way. Sometimes feelings wouldn't be ignored. She felt the hollow settle in her chest. This was supposed to be a good day, a special day. Her seventeenth turnday. Once a turn, every turn, on her turnday, she took the day off. She watched the sun come up on the beach and then spent the day with her favorite person in the world: her brother, Jemizen. It would have been like any other turnday, except Jem had told her last night that he was leaving, today, of all days. Impulsive Jem, Jem who never planned far enough ahead and whom she loved more than herself. There wasn't even a turn to part them and he had been her constant playmate. He was the only one who knew how to make all the cares she had vanish in one goofy look, the only one who could cajole her out of a rotten mood, and the one she never failed to get into trouble with. How many extra shifts shoveling manure had she had to do for Guzman because Jem had made her lose track of time? Jem had really done it this time. This time, he'd volunteered to go to Fort Weyr, to Stand for their eggs. Not officially, of course, but it was understood that anyone who volunteered to go of a Searchable age would accept an offer to Stand if asked. Rotten Jem. Rotten eggs. She twisted her fingers into the sand to grab a clump and fling it toward the sky that had moved from reds and oranges to the usual yellow glow of early morning. Her father had used it (of course he had). "Dahlia, you know how your brother is. You need to go with him, to look out for him and keep him out of serious trouble until the eggs hatch." He'd said. Dahlia scowled at the sun. Her father knew Jem was a soft spot and he was exploiting it. They both knew it, it was that obvious, but knowing one is being exploited doesn't always stop it from happening anyway. The scowl slipped away with her sigh. She would go, of course she would. She loved Jem that much. Guzman... he wouldn't be happy. Dee suspected she was in for a fight on that front. At least, she could console herself, it wasn't Standing for Southern. Southern who had confirmed a senior from Fort only a turn past. Southern who's Fortian Senior's dragon had let S'dellen's Giamith fly her. S'dellen who believed his Weyrwoman to be a glorified homemaker. Dee sighed. At least it wouldn't be Standing for eggs at Southern, and Jem and she would be home soon enough. Back to life as they knew it, no one worse for the wear... She hoped. |
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