Logs:Difficult Discoveries
| |
|---|
| |
| RL Date: 6 January, 2016 |
| Who: Breirande, Dahlia, Reston |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: At least there's booze for these uncomfortable truths. |
| Where: The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 28, Month 9, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Adra/Mentions, Aira/Mentions, R'oan/Mentions, Riva/Mentions |
 |
>---< The Glass Fountain, Fort Weyr(#533RJs$) >------------------------------<
Despite its subterranean locale, the creamy wall paint, pale woods, and
frosted glass give the cavern a light, airy feel. Oil lamps reflect softly
in the polished wood of high-backed booths, glimmering through the opaque
glass dividers that help lend intimacy to the seating arrangements;
round-backed booths carved from stone, lined with deep, terra-cotta
colored padding and the addition of strategic, lyric shapes painted in a
subtle red shade. The sweeping, half-circle shaped bar with its top of
smooth stone, backed by cut-glass-fronted cabinetry flows gracefully into
the soft lines and mellow colors that dominate the Glass Fountain.
All the atmosphere aside, the main attractions of the room are clearly the
massive, multi-pronged chandelier that hangs from multiple chains from the
ceiling and the re-worked leak - which no longer resembles a leak at all,
having been channeled through glass to become a beautiful piece of art. A
curving wave and a series of glass bubbles guide the water past a bank of
glows, allowing the light to shine through the water and turn it into a
sparkling fountain. From its dark, dim, shabby history, the Glass Fountain
has become an elegant place with lattice-stands to hold the menus with
their selection ranging from typical 'bar food' to high-end dishes and
fancy desserts.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Breirand M 17 6' athletic, dark blonde hair, blue-grey eyes 57s
Dahlia F 19 5'9" sturdy, dk. brown hair, hazel eyes 0s
Reston M 34 6'2" slim, auburn hair, blue eyes 50s Not too long after walking (storming) out of the dinner line, Breirande has wandered around in a snit...and somehow wound up at the Glass Fountain. Right now, the tall teen/young man is looking at how much everything costs at this upscale joint after snagging one of the menus. Whatever he's silently reading on one of them is not pleasing him one little bit. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say, but apparently even scorn isn't necessary. At the bar, Reston seems to have drawn the ire of a redhead just by his less-than-enthusiastic consumption of the beer in front of him. "No, you are not going back to work, you are going to sit there and you are going to have fun if it kills you. I need to attend to my dragon--but I swear to you, if you aren't still sitting there when I get back, you are going to regret it." Striking woman. She leaves in a huff, abandoning the healer there. He sits in silence some moments, taking sips the way some people would take medicine, trying to swallow too fast to taste it. He seizes on the distraction by way of this young man, stranger or otherwise: "You don't find it to your taste?" Redheads are a draw to him, and so the faintly-grimacing Breirande pauses in his perusal of the menu to 'peruse' the woman dishing it out to Reston. Nope, not going to interrupt that little scene...so his nose is placed back into the menu, which *still* winds up letting him down, somehow. It's only when he hears some voice directed at him that 'Rand pulls his grey-blue eyes up, fixes them on the Healer, and finally responds with a hint of leftover sullenness, "Someone I passed in the caverns told me about this place...that it served food. They didn't happen to mention the prices." Frown. While he speaks to the older man, his slightly hooded eyes look for telltale signs of rank and/or affiliation. At the bar, Reston is sitting and working very slowly on a beer. A few moments ago, a striking redhead--in her thirties, not some dewy-faced adolescent--just admonished him that he was to stay there and enjoy himself, and so here he is: enjoying himself. Sort of. He's staying here, anyway, and indulging idle chat with Breirande in the interim. His knot is not on his shoulder where it belongs, but rather attached to his belt as sort of a grudging afterthought. "The prices. I hadn't thought about it, I suppose," he says, frowning at his glass. "They'll be serving a meal in the living cavern, I imagine. Or is it done by now? I don't know. Riva brought me supper." Ahh, a Healer knot, though in a non-Traditional place. After noticing that, Breirand -- still standing not far from Reston, with a menu in one of his hands -- replies in a tenor voice that's still moving towards a light baritone, "Missed it," of dinner. Why does he look just a little ticked-off about it? Perhaps because his stomach is suddenly growling like some fiendish spawn from the depths of the Red Star? Suddenly sighing darkly, then moving over to turn that menu in his hand face-down and abandon it on the bartop near Reston, the tall boy-man notes casually, "The redhead? She your wife...er, weyrmate?" "Do you have such difficulty enjoying yourself that you need the order?" Dahlia's slender form steps around a pair of larger riders after excusing herself from a quiet conversation, sliding onto a vacant stool beside the older man. There's a warm smile for Reston that holds mild recognition before hazel eyes scoot across to Breirande. Her expression freezes in place even as she blanches. It's a moment before she blinks at the blonde young man and looks away and for the bartender. "What?" It's probably more severe than it was intended to be. Reston seems genuinely taken aback, glancing off in the direction the woman went. "No. Riva is..." It's probably not completely normal that he has to take a couple seconds to think of it. "My sister. She means well." The emphasis suggests that he is at least aware that it could be construed otherwise. If he's aware of Dahlia's look at the younger man, he doesn't show it. There's more recognition for Dahlia herself, actually a smile, now, though not a broad one. "I have a perfectly easy time enjoying myself at work." The look turns rueful. "I had less trouble convincing Riva of that before Boll. You know, you clean up rather nicely." Abrupt, this last to Dahlia. It's approving, but thankfully for Breirande, also a purely literal compliment, as Reston seems more interested in looking at her hands than her face. Oh! That's the look on Breirande's face as the Healer sets things straight. "Should've known from the hair colors." Red and auburn. Well, hello; there's yet another pretty woman coming close to them, this one with brown hair. As Dahlia steps up and addresses Reston, somewhat hooded eyes can't help take her in, and ears can't help but overhear how familiarly she addresses the Healer. But, oh crap! It's yet another one of those goldriders again, judging from the knot, and his easy expression suddenly tightens warily, the tall teen's features a little pinched...until the junior weyrwoman freezes, blanches. Count 'Rand confused -- if still wary -- his eyeing of the young woman continuing, even as he tries for a bit of humor with, "I don't tend to have this effect on most women." A slightly-joshing, weak half-grin is offered to Reston in an attempt to mellow things out between all of them, and the teen tries to redistribute attention away from himself by pointedly inquiring of the Healer, "I've got a question for you, sir." The kid looks a little hesitant, but he pushes forward, anyway, his voice sober and even. "I'm looking for someome in specific. A brownrider. I think he'd be around 40 Turns or so, now. Name of R'oan." There's briefly a slightly forced smile for Breirande and his claimed lack of effect on ladies, but the healer's words pull the weyrwoman's attention. "You were at Boll," Dahlia's expression sobers abruptly. She's interrupted briefly by the bartender taking her drink order (which proves to be, "Something strong, please,") and in the wake of it, she's already answering herself, "Of course you were." She studies Reston with a much more adult look than once she gave him. "You were ill," is surmised; the weyrwoman's frame is still too slender, but not gaunt, not anymore. "I saw your transfer papers but wasn't sure you were here yet." The goldrider looks away to follow the bartender as Breirande speaks his question to the healer, her jaw tightening and eyes pressing shut. When she speaks, her voice trembles just a little, "And who are you?" It might be a little rude in phrasing, but the tone is too gentle to insult. "Ah?" Reston sounds at first like he's possibly forgotten what color his own hair is. No, not just possibly; his hand touches his temple like that's going to be a reminder. "Yes, of course. Ah, I am afraid I don't know..." What doesn't Reston know? He's apparently so forgetful that he's not even remembering the ends of sentences now. "No, I do know him. I'm sorry." Though this does not seem to lead immediately to his elaboration. "I only arrived yesterday morning." Though guarded behind propriety, theres glimmers of something in 'Rand's eyes that silently and rhetorically asks about forgetful Reston, 'Is he addled?' of Dahlia. Wait. He was *at* Boll? The look Breirande turns onto Reston after Dahlia says that is a complex mix of surprise, old fear, and grudging respect. To both others is murmured, "Heard Boll had it the very worst. I was in Crom when it caught up to us...me." Even the teen's face manages to look older for a moment when he thinks back to when, not-so-long ago, people were dropping like flies, dying. "Uh...thanks anyway," he notes to the Healer, then looking between the other two. Dahlia's strained inquiry has 'Rand trying not to stare at the goldrider, this time with a hint of partially-concealed ire, which he quickly swallows back, responding with a cautious, "Breirande, ma'am. I work at the Minecrafthall." Dahlia's eyes open and follow the bartender. Surely watching will make the man bring that something strong faster. She reaches out to seek to rest a hand on Reston's wrist, as if to forestall a further answer for Breirande because, looking at him now in a way that searches his face features, she asks, "Why are you looking for Rider R'oan, Breirande?" If her hand's made contact, there's a comforting squeeze for the healer (or what's intended to be). The touch seems to catch Reston just before he was about to say something--he swallows those words, though the look he gives Dahlia does not seem entirely comprehending of just why it is that he's doing so. Instead, "We couldn't get people to understand, at first. Nobody understands. You tell them they can't let their kids swim in the lake, and they do it anyway, and you lose more kids." This seems not at all apropos of the current situation; what else is he thinking of? "Sorry. I was... ill, and I forget... Riva is going to be very cross. I am supposed to be relaxing." With his drink! Two big gulps in a row. One could be forgiven thinking he seems a bit nervous at the prospect of her return while his glass is not yet empty. Yes; apparently the Healer and the weyrwoman know each other well. Well enough for more intimate gestures, like Dahlia resting her hand upon Reston's wrist, where 'Rand's eyes now dwell for a moment. Dahlia's searching look at the teen makes him feel fidgity, but he resists the urge to do so, instead turning his attention back upon the Healer as he listens intently to all Reston has to say. He'll just avoid entering any deeper into that odd conversation between the other two, given the other man's reactions, especially when the goldrider once again pointedly questions him. This time, there's a flash of sourness, that old anger again in the teens eyes, his mouth twitching a bit thinner in response, and when he finally replies, it's a taut thing. "My reasons are...very private, ma'am. But *very* important. Not so well, it seems, judging by the goldrider's address of the healer as she says, "That's three of us then that were ill, and many more besides. Forgetting happens. I forget sometimes myself, Master Reston." Not enough, though. She pats his wrist gently and withdraws her hand. Her drink arrives and she takes it up, drinking it quickly, the whole thing. "No doubt," she tells Breirande. "Then you should come see me in a more private place and explain them to me." Judging by the impassive look on her face, she's not just trying to get the good looking young man somewhere alone, not even given their ages must be relatively similar. "Or you can tell me now, if you like and I'll tell you why Master Reston knows R'oan's name though he only just arrived." A pause, "Or Master Reston may tell you, of course." She defers to the master. If he likes, of course. Maybe it's just all that beer hitting his system at once; certainly one would expect from this that Reston is not a habitually heavy drinker. "I don't see any reason, Dee, not to tell the boy he's dead." Maybe this would have been better if he'd at least lowered his voice and pretended to whisper? But he doesn't. "No reason to draw it out like it's a game. Won't stop it from being true." There's a small nod for Dahlia's words of all three of them having been ill with the plague, Breirande quietly looking between Master and weyrwoman...and holding his tongue, for now. He has not much to add...except to stare a little in surprise when the young woman downs her drink like she's been in a desert for some weeks. And then the goldrider lays out like that to him, and 'Rand's just starting to respond with, "In priv..." when Reston's sudden admission has the not-Miner jerking his head over so he can stare at the Healer. "But I..." is noted with precious little breath, the words quickly petering out as the kid's brain starts to truly understand the depth of those words. He looks rather lost in that moment -- much more like a boy -- surprised, upset, disbelieving, hurt...and angry. Give him a few more silent moments to digest this unpleasant surprise, and Breirande finally mutters dourly to the two, "When?" Dahlia looks down at her empty glass and up to seek the bartender and signal a refill. Without looking to either of them, she says to the healer, "It's not a game, Master. If a stranger came looking for one of your apprentices, you'd want to know why, wouldn't you?" As if this could ever be so impersonal. Quietly, "I'm so sorry they didn't listen at Boll. I saw it after." There's so much empathy in the way she looks at Reston that the glimmer of tears is probably unsurprising, though non escape her eyes. Her expression flinches a little as she settles her eyes on the younger man again. "Six months and twelve days ago." Let Reston be the one here, then, who can speak without seeming terribly choked by emotion, though he also doesn't seem terribly comfortable with the current situation. Another drink. If he keeps making an effort, he'll make it through that whole glass in no time. "He was the first rider we lost," he says, like this factoid is the only thing he can think of saying that's relevant. Breirande looks irked enough to think the same as Dahlia: no game, is this. And when the two others don't continue to spout more infromation, the testy teen finds himself grinding his teeth together, a small bulge along his jaw showing where muscles ripple within. At this point, there's little to no room for other dead people in his mind, and the addition of the weyrwoman's comment plus the Healer's has him suddenly thumping a fist onto the bartop in massive frustration, then wincing at the pain of his outburst. Grey-blue eyes hood even further, the youth jerking around to face the bar itself...staring at the wall behind it for a long set of moments. Unlike Dahlia, he has no tears to shed over this man he never knew. Some lond seconds pass, and finally, there's a dejected slump of shoulders, and a sideways mutter of, "Then this whole trip was useless." Dahlia's eyes draw to the fist (of course they do), and she flinches (of course she does). "Why were you looking for him?" It's asked of the young man again. What tears she might have had are gone from here eyes now as she levels a look on the young man. "What were you hoping to find, Breirande?" Her attention slides to Reston, and as though the rest weren't even going on, "I'm pleased that you were posted here, sir. Will you be documenting your own experience? I've thought of trying to write about mine, but I'm not sure I can." "Surely travel, new experiences..." Reston should probably not try to be encouraging, here; he isn't very good at it. He'll leave this part up to Dahlia, then, and settle instead on the question she posed him: "I have two trunks just full of notes. I'm primarily here to write. The observation part of the research is only the first step, you know. It means nothing without conclusions drawn from the data." Two questions? Unfair. Breirande's murky gaze lifts as he slowly turns to face Dahlia again, his face weary and disappointed...and still touched with that old ire. For just a second, it seems as though he'll not say anything -- maybe even walk away -- but just as his body stiffens, he stops his impluse, and turns a bitter and too-dark glower upon the weyrwoman. Muttered, "I was told that *he*..." such a world of emotions in that one accented word "...was my 'father.'" The last is again accented just slightly, as if R'oan should have no claim to be what that pronoun should represent. If Pern had such jingo as 'sperm donor,' then that's likely what 'Rand would've used. And he *dares* both Master and goldrider to make fun of him for being a bastard child. Glare. This time, there's no flinch from Dahlia at Breirande's answer. Instead, she gives the healer the first of her attention. "I hope that some good will come from this tragedy. If there's anything I can do to help you in your process, please don't hesitate to let me know. I may not understand all your conclusions, but I would be interested to hear about your progress and discoveries." It was a thing that affected her deeply. Only then, once the bartender has placed another drink in her hand does she look to the young man. "You have the look of him," she tells him candidly. It's after a drink (not the whole thing this time) that she adds with a note of apology, "You wouldn't have found what you were looking for if you'd found him alive." It's hard truth, but it's truth. "You have a half-sister. If you'd like I can ask her mother if you may meet her. She's quite a bit younger than you are. Sixteen?" she guesses, perhaps guessing young on purpose. Has Reston made fun of anyone in his life? His demeanor is so serious, just there. "Fathers are important," he says, reflectively, looking at Breirande after Dahlia's mention of his looks, like perhaps he might puzzle out something of R'oan from the son. "Family is important. You should look after your sister." Probably not by taking cues about sisters from Reston. For a moment, Breirande looks almost nonplussed at Dahlia, at how she manages to carry on two polite but seemingly seperate conversations -- with not much in common -- on at once. He hauls his angry focus back onto the wall behind the bar-proper, stewing and thinking, until the goldrider addresses him directly once again. Blink. With her admission of R'oan's continued lack of paternal interest even when he was older and still alive comes 'Rand's small scoff, which evens out into cool interest when Dahlia speaks of a half-sister. Given a few moments to chew on that, the teen replies a little tartly, "Sure. I bet there's a gaggle of us floating around...waiting to get to find out all this wonderful information about him." Bitter/angry, much? To Reston's words of family, the kid soon mutters, "To *some* people, anyway." Stupid teen anghst factory. Blink. "Look after her? I didn't come here to become a father figure to some...kid I don't even know, that coincidentally happens to be partially related to me through a... a fluke." Again -- like a pendulum in motion -- 'Rand's gaze flicks back to Dahlia, noting with forced casualness, "Seventeen." "They are," Dahlia agrees with Reston, looking down at her drink. "Siblings should look after one another, you're right." More agreement that ends with her downing the rest of her drink and slipping from her seat. "I'm sorry, Breirande, that there isn't much in the way of wonderful information about him. That's not who he was. I doubt your sister's mother would welcome much in the way of interference, so never fear you'll be pressed into a duty you don't want," nevermind that Breirande was here to see R'oan about something just like that. "If you'd like to know more about R'oan, I'll make time to see you." Then to the healer master, "And you, of course, for your research, whatever you're willing to share, sir." Then she steps back, "Please, excuse me." She must have a tab for no marks are exchanged before she's stepping away from the bar and heads for the stairs that lead out. A hand is lifted in a sort of belated farewell; what is Reston supposed to do besides that? He doesn't seem entirely sure, left to this. "She would have known him better, of course. I only know the names and the charts," he tells Breirande, and it sounds like an apology. "I don't understand, though, why you came all this way if you care so little. I came here to be with my sister--or, well, she thought I should come here, so I did, but I like my sister." Which explains why he's periodically looking around like a prey animal afraid that the predator may be arriving any moment. There's a begruding, surly-looking nod of agreement from Breirande for Dahlia's observation of R'oan, the youth then sighing deeply and looking away when he figures out that he might just be acting as careless as his father. Trying to act as adult as he can, the kid notes to the goldrider, "I'm interested." About hearing more of R'oan. Then, "Fine. Ask her mother, then. I'm willing to meet up with her...just as long as I'm not seen as taking the place of 'daddy.'" Lip-twist. Oh, and the added formality for someone who didn't just write him off immediately, "Good evening, ma'am." And now it's only Reston, once more, the Healer getting a mere shake of 'Rand's dark blonde head, and a low, 'S'okay." A 'look' is given to the man at his words of caring so little, and the teen ripostes, "I came so I could see him with my own eyes, talk to this...this 'man' that didn't enough of a crap about my mother -- or any other women, apparently -- to even bother to wonder about the lovers he tossed away, the brats he sired." Scowl. As he's finally looking to depart, the teen inquires of Reston, "Is there anyplace I might be able to scare up a meatroll or something?" Because groooowwwwwl goes his stomach, again. "Not all relationships work out, you know." Reston does not seem to totally understand where all these feelings are coming from, so he responds in the most moderate and reasonable way he knows how. He picks up his glass, gestures with it. "Sometimes things just don't go well and you move on. My ex-wife married a Harper." Not very helpful, nor helpful on the other: "I don't, really. You might ask in the kitchen? I don't know where that is, but I'm sure there is one." "Apparently...." is how Breirande responds with a dark sigh, then snerting faintly at moving on. R'oan moved on a lot, apparently, in the Teen's eyes. But now, there's word of food -- or the lack of it -- and 'Rand looks momentarily furtive. "Uh...yeah. I'll do that." And again, for the older man who didn't immediately kick him in the teeth, there's another and quite polite, "Thank you for your attention, Master. Need to go find some food." Grroooowwwwwlllll. And off he steps, back out towards where those Kitchens are located. What a DAY. |
Leave A Comment