Logs:Family And Duty
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| RL Date: 25 May, 2013 |
| Who: Ali, Dal |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Dal meets Ali, and answers some of her questions. |
| Where: Candidate Barracks, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 5, Month 11, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Reesa/Mentions |
| It'll be dinnertime in an hour or so, and many of Fort's Candidates are beginning to trickle back into the barracks after their day's duties, to prepare themselves. Dal, one of the lucky ones scheduled to a rest day, is already pink-faced from a recent scrub, and kneels at the trunk at the end of his cot. He's got a stack of presumably clean clothes next to him, and appears to be attempting (without much success) to fold them up properly to put them away, his brow knit in concentration. By now, Ali's probably a familiar face to most if not all of the candidates - whether by dint of being the clutchmother's rider, or a candidate coordinator, or the woman who can apparently send candidates home without any reason. So it's probably with a mixed reaction that her arrival generates as she appears in the doorway- pausing there to look at the candidates who are gathered. One of the younger boys, barely thirteen, draws her attention first, and the junior chats to him in low tones, before he scurries off out of the barracks without a backwards look. It's towards Dal's cot that she heads next, her gaze already flicking over his space. Unlike some of his compatriots, Dal doesn't show much of a reaction to Ali's arrival, although he's certainly been here long enough to recognize her. Nor does he seem perturbed when she approaches /him/, though he's quick to turn his head, resting back upon his lower legs. "Good afternoon, ma'am," he says, quietly and with obvious deference, the shirt in his hands lowered - rumpled and very badly folded - towards his lap. "Candidate," Ali greets in turn, with a careful, speculative look as she stops by his cot. "You're from the Hold, aren't you?" She doesn't name it, inferring that should somehow be obvious. Adjusting her shawl around her shoulders, she adds, "You're older than many of the others. How are you getting on?" Dal's fingers attempt, without much success, to iron out the creases in the shirt laid out over his knees. His attention, however, is otherwise wholly on Ali herself. "Yes, ma'am," he confirms. "My family work in the orchards. I'm - I won't say it's easy, ma'am, but I'm doing my best. It's my duty, and I think - that is to say, I hope that by being older, I can be helpful to the younger ones. Ma'am. I understand that some of them are very uncertain." That Ali herself is part of the reason for that uncertainty is no doubt true, but Dal seems to be earnest in what he's saying: he's not judging. Probably. It's almost an awkwardness, the way in which Ali hesitates, but she takes a step closer and reaches for one of his shirts, beginning to smooth it out and fold it, as neat as you please. As if the very action itself helps relax her, the junior actually smiles as she sets the neatly folded shirt on the cot. "That's very kind of you. I remember how- /different/ it all was for me, too." She wholly seems oblivious to any reason for the candidates' uncertainty, other than the norm of being in a Weyr. "Can you- maybe if you can let me know how the other candidates are settling in." A spymaster, she is not, and so the words are laced with a certain tone of discomfort, her gaze fixed on his clothes as something easier to focus on. As his gaze follows Ali's hands, Dal's mouth opens as if to object - but she /smiles/, and that in and of itself seems to be enough to set his mind a little more at ease; it certainly softens his own expression. "/My/ son is much younger than all of them, of course, but once a parent - well. Ilekzander is struggling; I think he's not used to looking after himself." There's a certain ruefulness to his words, as he glances back down at his shirts, but it's short lived. "Some of them are afraid of being sent home. They think... they think they will be disgraced." Ali reaches for another of his shirts, resting the material against her body to smooth out the creases. She starts to shake it out- but ceases as Dal's words earn a surprised look. "You have a son?" She looks somewhat uncertain- maybe about to make some further remark, but as Dal continues, she frowns. There's a sharpness in the dark-haired woman's sudden response that is unlike her- not that Dal knows her well enough to be aware of this: "I won't send them home if they're not-" she takes a deep breath, modulating her tone- they're being /looked/ at by some of the other candidates- "-I just want Issy's children to be safe. If they're not associated with Yviana and Kalst there's nothing for anyone to worry about." She's looking at Dal, but the words are probably as much for those listening as it is him. A nod confirms her question, but there's no opportunity for Dal to say anything more about his own child - instead, he's serious as he listens, his chin tilted up so that he can consider Ali directly, his lips just slightly parted. "A person would do anything to keep their children safe," he says, more at a murmur than anything else. /He/, no doubt more than most of the other Candidates, understands that, and it seems to go without saying that the children of one's dragon are but an extension of that. "I'll try and reassure them, ma'am. I think - it's an uncertain time for them." And for him? But he seems sure enough, in his own way. A slow exhale and a nod from Ali meets his understanding, the junior looking relieved. "Thank you, I- I appreciate that." The sentiment is genuine, earning a grateful smile that falters somewhat with her next words. "If they- if they were involved in something, you would tell me?" The question is soft- meant only for him to hear, and it fixes her gaze to the Fortian candidate. She's still holding one of his shirts, distractedly- like she's forgotten she's even picked it up. Dal's own smile is equally short-lived, and seems uncomfortable on him, despite being apparently genuine. "I would," he says, matching the pitch of his voice to hers, and answering without hesitation. "You're one of my Weyrwomen, ma'am. We're all here at your pleasure, and - it serves no one to see harm come to this Weyr." His words are quietly sure, and terribly serious... if, perhaps, a little over-the-top. "Good. I- appreciate that," the exhale that Ali breathes out is one of relief. She glances down- remembers she still has his shirt, and with an embarrassed grimace, continues folding it, adding it to the neat pile on the cot. "How- how old is your son? Is he here?" As Ali starts folding again, Dal attempts to do the same with the one in /his/ lap, though his skills haven't much improved from watching the goldrider at the task. "Of course, ma'am," he says, quietly earnest. "Jaymin is three, ma'am. He's with my parents, at ho - at the Hold." There's something softer about his tone when he talks about the boy - softer, and quiet melancholy, too: he /misses/ him. As she reaches for the next shirt, there's a sympathetic smile- and something oddly approving as well, in Ali's expression. "The Hold is probably best for him-" which is a notably holder-centric view, "-though of course he, and your grandparents, are more than welcome to visit. You'll have rest days here and there, too, so you'll be able to return to the Hold for the day." It's obvious she hears - and understands - his tone, even if she's oblivious about other things. She's straightening one of the sleeves of the shirt she's folding when she frowns, as if in sudden thought. "Khiabeth searched you, didn't she?" if there's a note of wariness it's faint, but it /is/ there. "It wouldn't be fair," says Dal, after a moment. "To uproot him again, especially not when this is -" Temporary? Uncertain? Possibly going to end in baby dragon who will take even more of his time? A Weyr? "I don't know if my parents will wish to visit, but I'm glad to have the opportunity to do so myself. I -" Her frown certainly hasn't gone by without his notice, but it's only now, having run out of other things to say, that he focuses more intently upon it. "Yes, ma'am, she did." "It's hard to know what will happen," Ali says, after a long pause, carefully straightening the pile of shirts after she's added another. "You should- think carefully about what's best for you, and for- for your child." The words, too, are spoken quite carefully, without looking at Dal. Of Khiabeth, she struggles to keep her expression even, but doesn't really succeed entirely, something between a discomforting grimace and chew of her lip. "She's- she's one of Issy's children," the goldrider finally says, although she gives the distinct impression that wasn't what she was going to say originally. Dal's answer, so quiet, is not without force behind it: "It's our duty to serve the Weyr, in whatever capacity is required." But his expression is uncertain, very clearly giving the impression that he's torn, not only by duty, but probably more - perhaps even his own desires versus what's best for his boy. /His/ not-terribly-tidy folding effort is set atop the cot, his fingers hesitating there. "Does she make you uncomfortable?" That, surely, must be a question asked of Khiabeth. Ali's looking at Dal's latest folding effort, fingers twitching then deliberately folding them together as if resisting the urge to refold the clothing. "Issy- the eggs are starting to show, but it'll probably be another two or three sevens before she even clutches. You should- think about it. You can still change your mind. But- I- I think you'd make a great rider, if that counts for anything." The junior fidgets a little, without any more clothing to distract her. The latter question makes her go still for a moment, the reaction as much an answer as what she says: "They were gone for over a Turn-" she stops, abruptly, there- looking awkward. "It's hard to know- what they were taught. Even if they are Issy's children." It's a mixture of protectiveness and uncertainty, followed by an uncomfortable shrug of shoulders. "If I chose not to Stand, and there /was/ a dragon for me in those eggs - what would happen?" Dal's question ends with his teeth resting uncertainly upon his lip, something in his expression suggesting he has an idea as to what the answer would be. "No. It's my duty to be here. Jay has my parents. They're - what he needs." Security. Stability. /Two/ of them. He's less certain, however, about her words on Khiabeth, his brow crinkling, his breath sucked in. "That must be difficult." Ali's fingers brush the edges of her shawl, her downcast gaze making her answer obvious, even if it takes her some time to put it into words. "Some people think that- that there's not /one/ right person for a dragon. But I- it's hard not to think that Issy is /right/ for me, even for all that- that we don't always agree." There's a softness as she speaks, like maybe if she says it too loud the queen might well /hear/. "But- you still need to do what's right for your family- your son. Family is important." There's a weight to the junior's words, and her gaze lifts as if to press that point home. She looks- uncomfortable, talking about Khiabeth, and so it's probably why she says, "Have you- do you know where everything is, yet?" It seems to be the answer Dal has anticipated, because he nods, just once, and terribly gravely. "Family is the most important thing," he agrees, "Family and duty. I will do my best to balance both, I promise." If he were any more serious, he might need to place his hand on his heart and swear it. "I think so, ma'am. People have been very helpful." His promise elicits a smile from Ali, and it lingers through his latter comment. "I'm glad to hear that." The noise of a couple of candidates coming in earns the dark-haired woman's attention, and it makes her straighten slightly. "I should leave you to it. You might need to work on your folding," she adds, with a grin, already starting to move on towards the next cot. Dal gives his shirts a rueful glance, and then turns his gaze back to Ali, giving her a surprising second smile - she's doing well! "Yes, ma'am," he says. "I'll try. Thank you. And - my duties to your queen, ma'am." And then /he/ will put those shirts she's so kindly folded away, and finish getting ready for dinner. |
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