Logs:Duty
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| RL Date: 8 May, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, Hattie, Lilah |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dee meets Hattie and does her duty; Lilah takes her to receive her candidate's knot. No one is entirely at ease, for reasons known and unknown. |
| Where: Records Room and Bowl, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 10, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Clouds make the skies leaden and gray, but no rain falls. A cool breeze often blows. |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Guzman/Mentions, N'jem/Mentions, Shevena/Mentions, Zennia/Mentions |
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>---< Records Room, Fort Weyr >----------------------------------------------<
Dual entrances provide access to the Weyr's Records Room: the great doors
that open out onto a short tunnel to the Bowl and a twisting set of stairs
that descends from the Weyrleaders' Complex. Within the room itself rows
of stone shelving are carved out of the walls and supplemented by
freestanding shelving of dark, polished wood arranged in neat, well-lit
aisles. Bright tapestries depicting scenes from around the Fort region
decorate the walls, each with a glow basket in a sconce immediately above
to provide light by which to see the details and to leaven the gloom that
would otherwise permeate the chamber. Underfoot, a richly woven carpet in
shades of pale cream to rich klah brown evoke in abstract, the colors of
the Weyr, while a subtle patterning at its center replicates the
fortification that is Fort's hallmark symbol. Even without seeing the
contents of those shelves, one would know the purpose of the room, given
the perpetual aroma of hides, scrolls, paper, books and ink.
A few small alcoves have been carved out of the stone and filled with
desks and chairs, providing relatively quiet places for those using the
records room to work without being disturbed. Immediately before the doors
that lead out to the Bowl, several long tables are arranged to provide
larger, communal workspaces. Scribes can find writing implements, ink,
paper, and other tools of the trade in a couple of discreetly located
cabinets behind the duty desk. This cabinet and the outer doors are
typically kept locked when no recordskeeper is on duty. The Records Room is well-tended this morning and there's unoccupied furniture aplenty, and yet, Dee is settled with a small stack of books of varied sizes on the richly woven carpet in as out of the way (which isn't much) section of floor near the tables more traditionally used for this sort of purpose. There are grumbles by the scribes on duty. She's not technically doing something wrong, probably, but this floor-sitting business when there are perfectly good chairs... well, it chafes the common sensibilities. Dee, for her part, seems fairly absorbed in what she's reading, oblivious to the mumbles, though polite to the direct encouragement offered her, "I'm fine, thank you," her alto pipes up, apparently unaware that they're asking to move her to a table for their comfort, not hers. Footsteps down the spiral staircase herald the arrival of one of only a few people who ever use those stairs, the who of those steps narrowed further when considering which of them spends the most time in the Records. The Weyrwoman is met at the end of that spiral by a girl only a little shorter than she is, and who bears more than a vague resemblance to the goldrider, but after a few murmured words and the delivery of scrolls into the younger woman's arms, they part ways, Hattie's path bringing her to the main working area of the cavern. When she discovers Dee there on the floor, she only stares, plainly unimpressed, before she moves forward to stand with the toe of one boot practically touching the stack of books. "Would you mind moving these from the floor." It's not a question. "Oh--" Dee starts, though it's not a sound of protest, just of surprise, for all that she can't have realized she's not really out of the way. Hazel gaze goes first to the boot of the foot touching the small stack of books near her where she occupies a not-really-out-of-the-way spot on the richly woven carpet near the long tables, and from the boot on up. It's when her eyes a half-breath later find Hattie's knot that she really scrambles into action. "Yes, of course," is perfectly willing and probably would have been her response to anyone who asked her in a more direct fashion than the records room staff had been up to that point, but the Weyrwoman warrants extra hurry. The young woman shifts from rump to knees to gather the books up to her chest and then pushes awkwardly onto her feet. The books are held as if they might provide her a shield as she rocks back to be 'out of the way' (not really, but an attempt). "Apologies, ma'am," is mumbled in an awkward attempt at good manners. There's nothing about Hattie's demeanour that suggests she was expecting any other response, a rather judgemental look levelled at Dee as she hugs the books to her and finds her feet, and it's only after a few moments of study that anything else begins to creep into her expression. In this case, it's the taint of exasperation. "Why the floor?" she puts to her, and it can't be a coincidence that her gaze finds one table, then another, before it returns to Dee and stays there with what might be an uncomfortable intensity. "Anything that gets trampled on and damaged gets repaired or replaced. Not at cost to the Weyr." Implicit: by those who get anything trampled. True or not, she seems secure in that declaration. It is the perfect time, surely, for Lilah to step into the Records Room with her usual respect for the place, bearing a cup of klah that she juggles with a tome of bound hides as she pushes open the doors before letting them fall closed behind her and cutting off the cool breeze from outdoors that has obviously mussed red curls that have been left down. She doesn't yet notice the two there, her path taking her with intention towards the recordskeeper's desk first, to set her mug down there first. Dee's tanned face takes on a touch of color in her cheeks when the Senior does not simply move on past her. There's a visible swallow and swift nod to agree to the terms and conditions she lays out. Then she has to come up with some sort of answer and it's another awkward moment where she bites her lip and thinks. "It's... I'm not used to..." She makes a gesture around the room. "It's all sort of... grand?" She sounds uncertain of the use of the word. Then there's a rush of words that is probably too much information, in the end: "I mean, we have a records place in Southern, but it's constructed, not in rock already, and it's- I can usually take the books I need with me to read in my room because they know Old Guzman and here I'm not known by anyone and some of these," the books she holds are indicated with a dip of her chin, "are references and they say I can't take them from here, and-- the floor helps me think." The answer comes finally. Finally. It's likely good that Lilah's presence isn't yet noted by the young woman or the verbal diarrhea in the face of two goldriders might've been worse yet. There's very little in Hattie's expression that makes approval or disagreement or anything discernible, for she only watches Dee with her features schooled into the same harsh lines as before. "I would've thought that believing somewhere to be 'grand' would encourage one not to sit on the floor," she drawls, reaching a hand expectantly towards her, seeking one book or all of them (she gives no indication of which). Her focus is momentarily drawn towards the doors, her observation of Lilah made with a low sigh. "Not that anyone else seems to be setting a good example," she mutters under her breath. "Just don't expose the texts to unnecessary risk, okay?" the Weyrwoman requests as her dark eyes swing back to Dee. "What's your name?" It is in the sweep of dark eyes over the records as Lilah sheds her riding jacket that picks up the pair, there, observing them even as she abandons her klah mug on the recordskeeper's desk, as if it might be his and not hers at all. Instead, she steps away to fold her jacket over a chair at one of those long, communal tables, before she ever starts in the direction of the two there. The brunette's arms fold down, the books balanced on forearms as the Weyrwoman reaches - she can take her pick: one on local weather conditions, one on local farmcrafting lore, a small book of anecdotal observations by a farmcrafter from five turns past, and something that is obviously not related and has the sort of ridiculous title that can only mark it as a romance novel. Hazel eyes follow Hattie's attention to the redhead and her klah before there's a swift and vigorous nod that then turns into a shake, and back to a nod as if the Southerner isn't entirely sure if she's supposed to be answering 'yes' or 'no' to the Senior's request and settles on the more verbal, "I won't, ma'am," as clearer communication. "Dee," is automatic and corrected quickly with, "Dahlia, I mean, but everyone calls me Dee." Her eyes are drawn back to the motion of the Junior even as she answer Hattie's question, making her words hold a measure of distraction as she watches jacket claim chair. Probability might be in Dee's favour today, since, though Hattie reaches with blind intent - and only more so when the books are offered - she manages to secure the book of observations and draws it to her to idly flip through a few pages. "Do you want me to be 'everyone', or do you want me to give you your proper name?" she enquires as she scans a line or two per page. She snaps the book shut and temporarily secures it against her ribcage, folding her arms across it. "And, since you're of Southern, what is it that you intend to do?" It must seem like something of a non sequitur, until she clarifies, "I won't insult your intelligence, nor Ali's ability to communicate. There's to be a clutch. You know that." It doesn't take long for Lilah to disappear into the rows of records, her jacket abandoned there and her klah abandoned elsewhere. Whatever her intent is in the records room today, or why it brings her into the stacks closer to Dee and Hattie, she doesn't reappear for a bit, at least. It's Hattie's last words that makes Dee's tan seem less robust. Answering the former, however, buys her time. Dee doesn't seem confused by the question so much as uncertain of how she ought to answer. "I'm-- I don't have a lot of experience with Weyrwomen, personally, ma'am. I'm not-- are Weyrwomen 'everyone' sort of people? I like Dee, but I shouldn't-- wouldn't mind if you took to calling me Dahlia. As it pleases you, ma'am." At least it can be said that the Southerner's inclined to try to be respectful and deferential. Now that she's said that though, she must say something to the rest. She rocks slightly back on her heels and stays there as she draws breath. "I intend to do my duty." This seems sincere. "If Fort asks, I will Stand." It's not, perhaps, the most enthusiastic of responses, but she manages to shove down any personal reservations that she has about the course so her tone comes out mild and neutral. "Admittedly, I meant to know which you would prefer, but since you like the diminutive," at least, that's what Hattie's going to refer to it as, "I think I can probably manage to call you what everyone else does." She's a little dry with that much of her response, a faint flicker of low-key amusement there, until the other matter at hand requires or demands a more sober touch. "It's my understanding that none of you have been sent against your will," the Weyrwoman says slowly, eyes narrowing a touch. "Unless there have been happenings in Southern that I'm not aware of?" It sounds like a genuine enquiry. "I won't lie and say we don't need you to Stand, but as much as I might want as many as possible for my queen's children to choose from, the choice is still your own." There's a very brief smile to answer the first - the sort that comes unexpectedly and then is forced away, into a straight and respectful expression as soon as Dee realizes it's come, as though she's not sure it's appropriate to smile at the Senior Weyrwoman. The matter of Standing for the clutch makes it easier because she doesn't have anything but a serious, if slightly guarded look in answer. "No, ma'am. We are all volunteers," Dee will confirm with resolve. "We all know what is expected of us." To answer the call to Stand. To that, though she adds, "I'm weyrbred, ma'am." In her hazel gaze is suddenly a force of emotion that has her blinking rapidly. "I know what it is to deny hatchlings their choices. Doing my duty is a responsibility I can accept," if perhaps not gladly. "Being responsible for what might happen should I not is not a weight I care to bear, ma'am." Then, with sudden determination, "If it pleases you, ma'am, I will Stand for Elaruth's clutch." It's almost asking. Almost. Silence greets Dee's answer, and only once that silence has settled and lingered a while does Hattie incline her head a little and unfold her arms to reach again (though she never quite invades Dee's space), the curl of her fingers requesting the rest of the books that she's holding. "My wishing it is only one component," she says gently, meant to serve as warning or reminder. "Even if I'd rather the potential for guilt not be your driving force, I can't deny you on grounds of pride or..." Concern? She doesn't get that far, opting to shake her head instead. "...You should meet Elaruth sometime. It's her you Stand for. Not me." Taking a deep breath, she flexes her shoulders back. "I'm afraid I've work to attend to, but I can call for someone to take you to the Headwoman to collect a knot. If you accept, of course." "Not that our dragons have the same talent in spotting Search potential as others," comes from the stack of records that Lilah steps out of, lacking the book that she came with. Or any book, really, as she approaches the Weyrwoman and Dee now. She assures Hattie, so easily, "I can see that she gets a knot." Dee surrenders the books as if there had never been any question of doing otherwise, but relinquishing them leaves her vulnerable. Her arms fall to her sides uselessly, bereft of the books that somehow granted her so much more than something to do with her arms. There's conflict in the young woman's wide face, but none of the doubt or reservation seen there keeps her from managing to square her shoulders and say in an oddly formal way, "I accept." She lets go of a breath more audibly than the rest as Lilah joins them, though not likely because the Junior has joined them. Hazel eyes widen slightly, but she remains silent as the assurance is made, managing only a, "I'd like that," which could answer meeting Elaruth and Lilah helping with the knot at once before she inclines her head respectfully and just... waits. The books, Hattie is careful to balance so that she doesn't drop any of them as she tips them towards herself and pins them there in the same fashion as before. Dee's acceptance is acknowledged in the same motion that has her tilting her head slightly to better bring Lilah into view, her retreat to a cooler manner either born of her junior's presence or the subject matter at hand; it's impossible to tell. A simple, low, "Thank you," is shared between the two of them too, before the Weyrwoman turns to head down the nearest row of shelves, to hunt down the correct location to return the books in her arms to. Beyond that, she doesn't linger, and soon moves back up the stairs and into council room and quarters above. Lilah's dark gaze follows her Weyrwoman as Hattie retreats, but Dee is not treated to much more of what is going on there before the goldrider's attention returns to the young woman with a gesture towards the doors of the records room. "Shevena will be in her office at this time of day," she informs her, even as she starts in that direction. There is no air of expectation for explanation, even if a quick flick of a glance at Hattie's back and then to the redhead betrays obvious curiosity. Dee's eyes come up again to find Lilah and nod, only to find her already moving and the Southerner's relatively long stride is employed to try to catch up. It's sort of an abrupt question that pops out of the brunette's mouth, but one that must have been rattling around in her head seeking her lips for some time before they find them, "Is duty not a good reason to Stand?" It's a wondering tone, like she really mightn't know the answer, or even if it's the sort of thing that can have only one correct answer. "You'll find that there is no good reason to Stand," is Lilah's dry response to that question, paired with a quick study of the young woman as she catches up with the hint of the goldrider's brows lifted. "Every dragonrider has a different opinion on what does or doesn't make a good reason. Some might say duty, others might say for yourself, others--. Well." The goldrider shrugs a shoulder, not noticing that she is missing her jacket until they step out into the cool, laden skies outside. And though it's obvious the moment she realizes, she doesn't hesitate even a little about going back for it. "What was yours?" Dee asks, likely not realizing this might be too personal a question to ask an important woman she's only met once before and not under the best of circumstances. If she realizes it after it's out, she doesn't try to take it back, the curiosity obvious in her thoughtful expression as she looks where Lilah is leading more than at the goldrider herself. It certainly does draw a weighted look from Lilah to Dee, though the goldrider only answers with a dismissive, "It was not a very good one. That, at least, all dragonriders could agree on." A pause, before she questions back of Dee, "Do you think yours is?" Dee chews her lip in answering thought, the question discomforting her though that doesn't stop her from addressing it. "I think it's as good a reason as I can have for Standing." It's a moment before she blurts, "My parents love each other, but not as much as they each love their dragons. If it's love like that, like a lot of riders say it is, I can't imagine living with the regret that I cost the love of my life theirs." It's sort of an awkward way to think about it, but the young woman seems resolute in that much at least. "Then, it seems, your reason will be good enough," Lilah continues with a dry neutrality, that dark gaze of hers giving little away as she looks back to the young woman once again. But she doesn't stop in leading her towards Shevena's office with sure steps. "And, it seems, good enough for Hattie to allow you to Stand." Dee swallows, delaying her answer. It's not even really an answer, but rather, "Hypothetically," she starts, the nervousness touching her voice, "Would it be wrong to Stand if one hoped there would not be a lifemate for them?" Lilah stops then, despite the chill of the wind and the enticing promise of the tunnel not so far off from them, to turn to the young woman with a challenge of her brows curving upwards. "Why would you Stand, then? Knowing that there could be, that you can never take this back if one of them chooses you?" she asks of Dee. Dee's answering stop is a moment too slow, bringing her abreast with the goldrider rather than the half-step behind she had been lagging and she turns to face her, perhaps awkwardly conscious of her own superior height. Her shoulders hunch slightly. She's silent a moment, obviously uncomfortable in the face of that challenge from the way her hazel gaze tries to look anywhere but directly into Lilah's dark one. "My parents' dragons told them there was only them, could only ever be them, for them," or perhaps that's just what Dee's dragonriding-happy parents told her. "Refusing one the option if I am its choice seems tantamount to a death sentence. Unhappiness or discontent," she won't go so far as to say misery, "can be lived with." Death... well. "That is if you believe the romance that there is only one person for one dragon," Lilah replies dismissively, the dark weight of her gaze remaining steady on Dee even as she avoids looking at her. "There are dragonriders who believe that, yes. But do you really think that out of everyone in Pern, a dragon's soul could only possibly match one?" "Even if you didn't believe it," Dee counters without thought for the fact that she's addressing a weyrwoman, her eyes suddenly changing course to seek Lilah's gaze, "Could you take that chance that you could be wrong? Knowing what that could mean?" "If the opposite meant being bound to a dragon for life in a moment that could never be taken back?" is countered back still, the weyrwoman unhesitating in leveling that question to Dee even as she meets that gaze with her own unreadable. "Once Impression is done, it's done. No matter how much you or I or Hattie might wish it differently." Dee looks a touch taken aback, unconsciously rocking back on her heels. "Is it any person's place to deny life to a helpless creature for the inconveniencing of their own happiness?" The idea is horrifying to Dee; that much is plain in her open face. She seems to finally remember herself, remember where she is and with whom she is speaking for her chin tips and her head bows. "I meant no disrespect, ma'am." Her face is still quite troubled, but her contrition is genuine. "If it were as simple as knowing that you would be doing so-- But when is the last time you have ever heard of a dragon not finding their lifemate? Regardless of which choices are presented to them," is all Lilah answers. If she has taken disrespect from Dee, there is only a lingering study of the young woman before the goldrider starts moving again, turning on a heel and walking with purpose towards the inner caverns. Dee's answer is silence. Silence and compliance in following the weyrwoman. She hasn't made move to go the other way though, so she must be set in her resolve to do this thing - her duty, whatever it is. Her expression hasn't changed though. Her fingers twist into her skirt as they go, a shiver rippling through her shoulders and frame. That's probably just the difference between Southern climes and Fortian autumn though. Probably. |
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