Logs:Dreams And Dishonor
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| RL Date: 15 July, 2008 |
| Who: Paige, Nerine, A'riste |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Opening up to fellow candidates - and friends - is hard to do for Paige. Yet, she tries anyway, knowing that all too soon, some of them may eventually be saying goodbyes to one another. |
| Where: Inner Caverns, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 2, Turn 17 (Interval 10) |
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| The glows in the inner cavern have been slightly muted, now, though they're still bright enough to work by. And the hearthfire roars warmly, banishing winter's still-lingering chill. Aeriste has found himself a seat near that fire, and has set himself to mastering the intricacies of robe-sewing. The long swath of white puddles in his lap, painted gold by the fire, like his hair, too, like his shirt, white today. Such a serene tableau, and yet, he must open his mouth to ruin it. "Fardles," he mutters. "OUCH. What do I look like, a drudge? Making me do my own sewing..." "Y'don' do yer own sewin' at Harper Hall?" Paige asks curiously as she approaches the hearth, settling in another seat nearby. She's got an unfinished robe in tow, too. "Not even fer chores, Aeriste?" Hers appears to be a little over halfway done, but the neckline and arm holes are still much too large; they'll need to be taken in considerably, or at least adjusted somehow for a better fit on the slim girl. "I am a delicate and refined instrument. I sing, I compose, I build things, I play things, I study. I have better things to do than to sew." Aeriste is very grumbly about it all; whether it's all true or not is moot. He says it like he means it as he glowers at his robe. Nerine shakes her head at the harper, taking up her usual seat on her cot, pulling the swath of white fabric that now that she had better light, seemed to be in different shades of white. "Aeriste at least won't look like a feline, with this spotted number." There are still several holes to be patched but the robe looks more like a patchwork quilt than a garmet. Paige glances briefly over at Nerine's robe, unable to suppress a small grin. "Aw, well. So long as a hatchlin' doesn' mistake ya fer lunch, ya'll prolly be alright? Though, maybe one'll think it looks - purty and come over and Impress ya!" Or eat you for supper, but she'll take the optimistic point of view. Shifting a little, she resumes work on her robe; her stitches aren't the fastest or the neatest, but her pace is at least steady and sure. "Sewin's creatin', too, " she offers mildly to the harper, "even if'n s'not music. Least, I can create better with it than music. I'm no harper." "Art is art, no matter the medium. My talents lie elsewhere. Yours do here, evidently." There is no censure whatsoever in Aeriste's tone. "Mine don't. At least, no more than passable." He lifts the robe to his shoulders to show her. The hem has been sewn up, the stitches neat and serviceable, but he has left off any embellishment whatsoever. He's picked good fabric, though, and someone's clearly shown him how to cut it properly to fit his narrow frame. It only makes his pallor worse, too: near-white hair, near-white skin, near-white robes. His eyes are blue enough to almost look like bruises. "Why aren't you a Weaver?" Paige shrugs a little at that, the corners her mouth lifting a little as he holds up his robe. "Tha's real good fer someone who ain't used t'sewin', " she remarks, ducking her head a little at the question. "Dun think I'm good 'nough t'apprentice, " she says at last, "and enterin' the crafts never entered m'mind. Always jus' helped out at home and took care o'the family. 'Sides, can't create somethin' outta nothin'. Only half-good at mendin'." And she holds up her own robe; it's a bit worn, but still good enough to make it through at least a few more stints on the sands. However, it's still too large, having once been worn by a much bigger person; she's still working on taking the sides in to fit better. "This is the sixth time I've redone it," Aeriste admits sheepishly. "I had to cut an inch off the bottom because I kept ruining the hem." He lowers the robe to his lap again, and considers her. "If you were nothing, you wouldn't be here." Paige doesn't appear to have much of a response to that, save for a brief glance and a small frown. "I dunno. I'm jus' worried tha' I won' be able t'measure up, y'know? M'brother told m'aunt yesterday he'll be comin' t'see the hatchin'. They want me t'Impress, I think, but I dunno if'n I wanna. If'n I do, can't go back home and help m'folks anymore. If'n I dun find a dragon, I'd still be lettin' people down, somehow. I guess I'm just 'fraid tha' I can't be what everyone wants me t'be." Shift, fidget. Aeriste is silent for a while, and continues to contemplate her- and then he looks down at his robe. "If you do, you can go back and help after you graduate. It's an Interval. Riders travel all over, once they can go /between/. And if you do go back, it'll be as someone who received a great honor, to Stand for Fort Weyr. It's not about measuring up." That he has to convince himself of it is beside the point; Paige is troubled. "It's about whether the right dragon for you is on the Sands that day." Nerine shakes her head. "It is certainly something alright, but I don't know about pretty," she responds as she begins to attach patches to the remaining holes. She chuckles a bit "hopefully its's up here that they are concerned with rather than how well we can sew." As she holds the patchwork robe to herself, she finds herself oddly pleased with the result. Nerine turns her gaze to the conversation at hand. "Paige, choosing to stand shouldn't be about making others happy. . ." She sighs as she stands and moves to a closer chair with her basket of patches and thread. "And your right Aeriste it isn't about measuring up ether." Nerine is convinced of this perhaps more than the others. "It is about the chance to do something, to chase a dream no matter how farfetched, Paige when was the last time you did something for yourself? It should be for your own happiness that you do this, not anyone else's." She sighs frowning a little at her quilt robe. Paige takes their words into consideration, chewing on her lip as she rotates her robe carefully to begin working on the other side. "I - " And truly, it takes her a few moments to come up with a reply for Nerine that doesn't revolve around making the occasional purchase, taking a nap or enjoying a really good meal. "I decided t'come here when m'aunt offered t'have me visit, " she says at last, brow furrowing. "I coulda refused and no one'd be any worse off. But I wanted t'come and see what 'twas like, this big place that - weren' home." And then she got way more than she bargained for. "Is it - part o'yer dreams?" she has to ask them both, suddenly. "Impressin'. Becomin' a rider. All tha'. I mean, I - I think it'd be nice. Real nice. And maybe I kinda find myself a'hopin' fer it while tryin' not t'be /too/ hopeful." "Just like that, yes," Aeriste states very softly, a Harper's inflection's and words, not an unsettled young man's. He keeps his gaze on his robe, worrying a fold of it between his long, thin fingers. "Hoping without being too hopeful, exactly. I don't... I... The dream I have, I... I don't know if I'll get it. It's not what I thought I wanted. I don't really know what I want. But... if you have to go home, Paige, it won't be in dishonor. Dragons chose you. That has to mean *something*, right?" Nerine shows a slight discomfort at the words. "hoping without being to hopeful? I suppose, I will be honest though I am already more hopeful than I really should be." She notes quietly. "No neither of you has to face any form of dishonor if you don't impress." She fidgets. "Does mean somethin', " Paige admits, "but I've yet t'figure out what that somethin' is. I dun really know what I want, either, but y'all are - some o'the best people I ever met. I'd miss ya somethin' terrible if'n I had t'go back home. Maybe I want - t'stay." And her expression definitely brightens at /that/ prospect; yes, staying is something that she wants to do, indeed, even if she won't come right out and say it half of the time. Still, perhaps being so open about herself has made her uncomfortable; for whatever reason, she eventually gets to her feet, tucking her unfinished robe away into a basket. "Y'won' hafta face dishonor, Nerine, " she says quietly. "S'like Aeriste said - dragons chose us, and it means somethin'. I think we just gotta figure out - what it means t'us." And with that, she begins the walk back to the barracks with an almost absent wave. |
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