Logs:Ethran's Future
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| RL Date: 19 March, 2016 |
| Who: Farideh, Drex, Ethran |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Ethran's parents don't see eye-to-eye about his future. |
| Where: Farideh and Roszadyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 25, Month 4, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
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| The scene inside High Reaches' youngest goldrider's weyr is domestic in spite of the rain falling lightly on the ledge outside: a cheery hearth warms the outer room, and sitting on the rug is an almost-turn-old Ethran, merrily chewing and subsequently slobbering on a wooden block, while Farideh tries to entice him with other toys. "Wouldn't it be more fun to play with them instead of eat them?" she suggests, brightly, from where she sits cross-legged in a puddle of her own skirts. She attempts to take back the block from him, but gives up when he starts to fuss. "Fine. Fine. Eat it," she laments, tossing aside the dragon figurine she was trying to lure him with. Lady annoying looks on, from a safe distance under the couch, tail flicking. A rather drenched looking Drex enters, dripping water all over the floor. He does have mindfulness to shake his coat out at the entrance and hang it on the hooks there, although given the rest of him is completely drenched, it might be a somewhat limited gesture. His drenched nature doesn't really appear to entice Lady Annoying any further, and so it's towards Farideh that the erstwhile sailor heads, bending to give her a brief kiss, before making to flop onto the floor next to Ethran with an exhausted, exaggerated exhale. Farideh gives a baleful glance to the trails of water that her weyrmate leaves on his way in, and when he settles himself with that dramatic gesture, she eyes him sidelong. "Why the heavy sigh? Did something happen?" she asks, innocently enough, but lends herself towards gathering the blocks that Ethran has tossed around. Ethran, drops the blocks and makes happy sounds at Drex, who he precedes to try to climb, using all of his chubby not-quite-toddler strength. "Nothing," Drex lies, easily, although the spring rains and otherwise increasingly warm weather is a likely precursor to his typical restless wish to be out on the seas. Drex's shirt, at least, makes for a relatively dry handhold, and after a short time watching his son's attempts, reaches over to lift Ethran up, holding him at arms length above him, zooming him around. "Our kid's definitely going to be an avian," and certainly not a dragon. "Although," he muses, regarding Ethran, "You're going to have to make your ears grow even longer for wings." When the blocks are stacked in a symmetrical square of blocks-on-top-of-blocks, Farideh folds her hands in her lap and regards the two of them, expression placid. "Nothing sounds a lot like something," she sing-songs, and continues to watch Drex's zooming uneasily; however much she lacks in actual maternal skills, she seems to have the worrisome mom look down. "Why would he needs wings? Dragons have wings. Roszadyth can be his wings until he finds a dragon of his own, of course." Of course-- not treading dangerous waters or anything. The aeroplane style theatrics cease, abrupt, much to Ethran's dismay, and after he squirms a bit, Drex sets the boy down on his chest. He looks like he's trying to be even, though there's a set to his jaw and a timbre of annoyance in his voice that he's just not that good enough to conceal: "Why does he have to find a dragon of his own? Do you think he's not whole without one?" Dangerous ground, indeed! "I never said that he has to." Annoyance is met with defiance, mulishness seeping into her expression in a non-subtle way. "I would be perfectly proud of him whatever he chooses-- perhaps he'll show interest in the crafts-- but he lives here. It seems reasonable to assume he'll Stand, at some point in his life." Farideh reaches out to tug on Ethran's tiny, wiggly toes, and then slants Drex another stubborn look. "Dragons don't find everyone who wants one, either, but if he's going to have wings, it makes sense that they be dragon wings." Ethran's oblivious to the fight brewing between his parents, wiggling around on his dad's chest while his mother tries to catch his toes. Farideh's look is met with a similarly stubborn one from Drex. "You said until, not if, like it's sure to happen. What if I don't want him to stand?" "Why would you have any say in the matter? When," ahem, "Ethran is ready to stand, it's his choice, and not yours. Why would I stop him from doing that? Because you have a grudge against dragons? I don't know how you even sleep at night, knowing Roszadyth is in the next room," Farideh says, rolling her eyes and bracing palms on the floor as she prepares to stand. "Aye, it's his choice," Drex says, gruffly, turning Ethran so he's seated on his chest, facing Farideh with those guileless, innocent eyes. "And when he's spent a few summers on the sea, he'll understand it aint like all those harpers tell it, about how amazing it all is, and he'll decide he won't want to." Drex takes a breath, turning to gaze at Farideh as she starts to stand. "Do you want him to have to deal with all the dross you deal with? Being gutted when he's forced to sleep with someone he doesn't want? When he's stabbed just because he has a dragon? When he realizes some girl he loves will never settle for being second?" Luckily for them all, Farideh makes it to her feet before Drex drops those truth bombs. "You're not taking him on a ship," she tells him, simply. "Children don't belong on ships. You've had mutiny on your ship, before. One of those heathens could get it in their heads to hold him for ransom, so no-- no, he won't be going on any ships until-- well, unless he's older, but by then he'll have a craft or a dragon." She seems pleased by that, until she's not, her mouth tightening. "Some things are unpleasant, but they are not without purpose. What are you even trying to say?" Now, the glare. "I was on a ship as a child. I turned out fine," Drex says, huffily. He totally hasn't got any hang ups or anything, either. "Aint right that he only learns the Weyr way. He ought to learn the sailor way, too. He ought to have the choice. There's life outside the Weyr or a Craft." As Ethran tries to wiggle off Drex's chest after Farideh, his dad relents and lifts him to the ground, so that he can crawl towards her instead. Drex sits up, folding arms across his chest, staring at Ethran with a fixed sort of frown. "What if he hates the sea? When he's older, if he wants to go, then he can make that decision for himself. Here, he can get an education, and make friends, and have a home that doesn't float away or get-- destroyed in a storm." Farideh's hands have made their way to her waist, in typical akimbo pose. "But if he doesn't want to go, and dreams of dragons, that's fine too. You're being ridiculous," she sighs, glancing down as Ethran pulls himself up on her skirts and starts babbling away. "There's nothing wrong with being a dragonrider. Wanting to be a dragonrider-- and it's not as terrible as you say." "So it's okay to force him live and breathe dragons for his entire life and you call that giving him a choice about what he wants?" Drex uncrosses his hands, pushing to his feet, glowering now. "How many children at the Weyr actually choose not to stand? Aint a choice when it's the only one offered them and they've been told all their lives about how amazing it is. You," he stabs a finger in Farideh's direction, "Can be the one to comfort him when he doesn't impress, explain to him the fickleness of dragons and their attentions. I'm going to go back to my uneducated, friendless, terrible home that you hate so much." He turns to stalk towards the entrance, grabbing at his still damp coat and shoving arms into it. "Plenty of children don't stand! We don't force them to, that's just ludicrous." Tempers flaring now, there's no reason to hide the angry set of her jaw or the continued glare. "Don't pretend like you weren't looking for an excuse to leave anyhow," Farideh shoots back, and where she might whirl away, there's a tiny human hanging onto her skirts, so instead she picks Ethran up and marches in the opposite direction. Ethran, at least, doesn't seem bothered by the discussion of his ill-formed future, as his squeals peal through the weyr. |
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